Joe's lips moved, but a groan was the only sound he uttered, as he crouched there, the picture of abject misery.
"Where's Jean?" Mrs. Dempster demanded, laying her right hand kindly upon his shoulder.
"Gone! Gone!" was the low despairing reply.
"Couldn't ye find her?"
"See," and the old man pointed to his torn clothes and bleeding hands. "I followed her over the rocks and through the bushes. I was too slow and fell so often that she got away. Oh, my Jean, my little lass! She doesn't know her father any more; she wouldn't listen to his voice calling to her."
"You poor man," and Mrs. Dempster wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. "You are tired out, and must have a cup of tea an' somethin' to eat. Then you must go right home an' git some rest. Me an' Empty will find Jean as soon as it gits light. The dear child, she used to come here so often, an' her an' Empty were great playmates."
The rest and the food strengthened the weary man, and Mrs. Dempster's hearty manner cheered him. When he at length arose to go, Douglas offered to accompany him, and together the two passed out into the morning air.
CHAPTER XIII
NOTICE TO QUIT
The shoe-maker was very tired, and he leaned heavily on the arm of his companion all the way up the road. He did not speak, and Douglas made no effort to start a conversation. Reaching home, Joe opened the door of his shop and entered. Douglas was about to bid him good-bye when the old man asked him to come in for a few minutes. Lighting a candle, Joe held it carefully before the picture of the Good Shepherd.