"All the time, sir, an' that's what worries me. She broods an' broods, an' sighs an' sighs, poor thing, till my heart aches fer her."
"And nothing will cheer her up?"
"Nuthin' that me an' Empty kin do an' say, so that's the reason why I sent fer you. I thought mebbe a little music might have some effect. I've heard read from the Bible in church that when old King Saul was down in the dumps, an' dear knows he deserved to be, the cloud passed from his mind when David, the shepherd lad, brought his harp an' played before him. Now, 'sez I to meself, sez I, 'if that old feller with all his cussedness could be cured in that way, why can't a poor, dear, troubled lassie like Jean Benton?' An' so sez I to Empty, 'Go an' see if that wrestler won't come,' sez I. We've always called ye 'the wrestler,' sir, since ye put Jake Jukes on his back. 'Mebbe he'll bring his fiddle an' play a few old-fashioned tunes to chase the shadder from the poor thing's brain. I hope ye won't mind."
"Not at all," Douglas replied. "I shall be only too pleased to do anything I can. Shall I go into the house?"
"I've been thinkin' that mebbe it would be better to play out of doors. Her winder is open, so if ye'd jist go under the shade of that tree there, she'd hear ye quite plain, but won't be able to see ye. I don't want her to think that the music is fer her special benefit."
Following Mrs. Dempster's directions, Douglas went to the tree and leaning his back against the bole began to play a number of old familiar hymns. It was a peculiar situation in which he thus found himself, and he wondered what the result would be. He had entered enthusiastically into the widow's little plan, and he never played so effectively as he did this morning. He felt that a great deal was at stake, and he must do his best. He recalled how a certain woman had taken him to task when she learned that he played the violin, which she called the "devil's snare" for luring people to destruction. He had tried to reason with the woman, but to no avail. He believed if she knew what a blessing his playing had been to so many people she would really change her mind.
Douglas had been playing for some time when his attention was attracted by the shoe-maker, who had risen from the chair and was walking toward the house. No sooner had he entered by the back door than Mrs. Dempster followed. Douglas went on with his music, at the same time wondering what was in their minds.
He had not long to wait, however, for presently the widow came to the door and beckoned him to come. He at once obeyed, and crossed over to where she was standing.
"Don't make any noise," she warned, "but foller me. I want to show ye something."
Tiptoeing across the floor, Mrs. Dempster led him to the door of the little room where the invalid was lying. Pausing just at the entrance and looking in, the sight which met his eyes was most impressive. Bending over the bed was Joe with his face close to Jean's, whose arms were clasped about her father's neck. They were both sobbing, though neither uttered a word. Douglas grasped the whole situation in an instant, and turning, he quietly retreated through the kitchen and out of doors. He was at once joined by Mrs. Dempster. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and Douglas' own eyes were moist.