er 'em. He
boasts that he is a loyal member of the Church of England, an' a church
warden, so he can't stand any other form of 'ligion."

"Oh, I see," Douglas mused. "It's a case of the dog in the manger."

"Put it any way ye like," Jake replied, as he once more stretched
himself out on the grass. "Si Stubbles rules this place, an' I guess
will rule it as long as he stays here."

Douglas looked at his watch and rose suddenly to his feet. It was
later than he had imagined.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, "and will not be back for dinner."

"Where will ye git anything to eat?" Jake asked.

"Oh, I'll pick up a bite somewhere. But if I don't, I won't starve, as
I had such a good breakfast."

Douglas walked rapidly up the road, for he wanted to be in time for the
service at the shoe-maker's, and he had only a quarter of an hour to
get there. He saw, in passing, what he supposed was the Stubbles'
home. It was a large house with the grounds well kept, and surrounded
by fine trees. He observed several people upon the spacious verandah,
who watched him as he went by. He longed to see Stubbles, that he
might judge for himself what kind of a man he was. Perhaps he was not
such a terrible person, after all, and one with a little common sense
and tact might handle him all right.

When Douglas reached Joe's place, he was surprised to find the door of
his little shop partly open. Peering in, he saw the old man in his
accustomed place, with his head buried in his hands. Thinking that he
might be sick, Douglas entered and asked him what was the matter.
Somewhat startled, Joe lifted his head and Douglas was shocked at the
haggard expression, upon his face, and the look of wretched misery in
his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, laying his hand upon the old man's shoulder.
"Are you ill?"

"Jean's coming home," was the low reply.

"So you told me. Isn't that good news?"

"Ah, but she's coming not as I expected. She's coming home for
repairs."

"For repairs! I do not understand."

"Read that, then," and Joe handed him a letter, all soiled with tears.
"It's from Jean herself."

It took Douglas but a few minutes to read the scrawl, and grasp the
meaning. It told of failure in the city, and that she was coming home
to the care of her parents. It was easy for Douglas to read between
the lines, and he knew that more was contained there than appeared on
the surface.

"She's coming to-morrow," the old man mo