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."