"Ye'd better set right down here, sir," Mrs. Dempster advised, as she drew up a chair. "I'm goin' to leave yez to have a nice little chat while I clear up the dinner dishes. It'll do ye a heap of good, won't it, dear?" and she stroked Jean's head. "But ye mustn't talk too much."
Douglas glanced around the little room. It was a cosy place, and the partly-opened window let in the fresh air from the surrounding fields, together with the sound of the twitter of birds and the hum of bees.
"This was my room," the widow explained, "until Jean took possession of it. She wanted to stay right close to me an' wouldn't go to the spare-room off the parlour. I haven't had time to fix it up, an' I've asked Empty time an' time agin to git somethin' to put over that stove-pipe hole in the wall, an' that one in the ceilin'. But my land! ye might as well save ye'r breath as to ask that boy to do anything. But, there now, I must be off."
The good woman's face was beaming as she left the house and went back to the apple tree.
"Where's Empty?" she demanded of Joe, when she discovered that the lad was nowhere to be seen.
"I don't know," was the reply. "He got up just after you left, but I didn't notice where he went."
"That's jist like the boy. He's never around when he's wanted. He does try my patience at times," and the widow gave a deep sigh as she began to gather up the dishes.
In the meantime, Jean and Douglas were engaged in an earnest conversation. It was somewhat constrained at first, but this feeling shortly vanished.
"It was so good of you to play for me," Jean remarked. "I feel better than I have for days. I guess the music has chased the clouds away."
"I am so thankful that I have been able to help you," Douglas replied.
"You have had a hard time of late."