f deep pity came into his heart. Why should such a worthy man have to
endure so much? he asked himself. He knew the cause of the trouble,
and his thoughts turned to the cowardly cur who had brought such misery
upon the humble home. It was not right that Ben should escape, and he
felt that something should be done to expose the villain. But if he
told what he knew, who would believe him? Ben would defy him to
produce evidence of his dastardly deed, and most of the people in the
place would side with him. They would say that Jake's hired man had
trumped up a lie about Ben Stubbles out of mere spite.

Douglas brooded over this during the rest of the morning, and as he
continued his work after dinner he was still thinking about it and
wondering what he could do to bring about Ben's deserved punishment and
humiliation. It was galling to him to see the fellow strutting about
and lording it over everybody.

About the middle of the afternoon, happening to glance down the road,
he was astonished to see Joe walking slowly along, swaying from side to
side, as if he were dizzy or had been drinking. Douglas believed that
something more than usual was the matter, and by the time the old man
had reached the corn patch he was standing by the side of the road.

"What is wrong?" he asked. "Is Jean dead?"

"Worse than dead," was the low reply. "Oh, if she were only dead! God
help my Jean, my darling Jean!"

Joe's face was drawn and haggard. His eyes were red as if they had
been rubbed hard and long. His body trembled so violently that Douglas
feared that he might collapse where he stood.

"Won't you sit down?" he asked. "You must be tired. Rest awhile."

"Sit down! Rest!" Joe slowly repeated, as if he did not fully
comprehend the words. "How dare I think of rest with my poor child's
troubles on my mind?"

He ceased and let his eyes roam across the fields toward the Dempster
home. Then he straightened himself up and turning to his companion
clutched him fiercely by the arm. His lips moved, though no word was
uttered. But his eyes and face said all that was necessary. A
heartbroken father was being torn by a wild passion, and what anger is
more terrible than that caused by an injury to an offspring, whether of
man or beast? Douglas made no effort to soothe the grief-stricken man.
He realised that the storm must beat itself out, and that words of
comfort or sympathy would be empty sounds falling on unheeding ea