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.

"I'm puzzled to-night," he began. "I never thought of it before."

"What is it?" Douglas questioned.

"You see that lamb?"

"Yes."

"It's in danger, isn't it?"

"It certainly is."

"And it wants to be helped, and saved? See how its head is raised, and it seems so glad that the Shepherd has come to rescue it."

"Is there anything puzzling about that?"

"Ah, but suppose that lamb didn't want to be helped, and held back, no matter how hard the Shepherd pleaded, what then?"

"He was strong enough to lift it up bodily and carry it back to the fold, was He not?"

"Ay, ay, I have no doubt about His strength. But I don't believe He would have done it. He would not have saved it against its will. He didn't want a rebellious lamb in His fold."

Joe lowered the candle and placed it upon a shelf. Then he looked intently into his companion's face.

"Jean doesn't want to come back," he whispered. "She's not like that lamb," and he jerked his thumb toward the picture.

"Perhaps she will change her mind," Douglas suggested.

"Do you think so?" was the eager question.

"Let us hope so, at any rate. But, come, you are worn out, and must get some sleep. Trust your trouble to the Good Shepherd. He will find some way to bring back your wandering lamb."

Douglas walked swiftly home, and obtained a little sleep before the work of the day began.

"Ye should have stayed in bed longer," Jake greeted, as he joined him at the barn.

"That's not my habit when there's work to be done," Douglas replied.

"But ye did an extry piece of work last night, though. Great punkins! how I'd like to 'ave been there."

"So you have heard about it already, eh?"

"Sure; couldn't keep a thing like that a secret fer two hours in this place. Sandy Morgan, on his way to the wharf, stopped to tell me about it. Ho, ho, it was great."

Jake continued his milking, and when he was through, he came to where
Douglas was sitting.

"I've been thinkin'," he began, "an' feel a bit uneasy about ye."

"In what way?" Douglas questioned, looking up from his milking.

"I'm uneasy about what Si will do. He'll hear only one side of the story from Ben an' the gals, an' they'll paint it as black as they kin, mark my word."

"I'm not afraid of the whole gang," Douglas replied. "What can they do to me?"

"I don't know," and Jake scratched his head in perplexity. "But I advise ye to be keerful. Si's an ugly brute when he gits his dander up, an' it's ginerally up most of the time."

Douglas was not left long in doubt as to what action Simon Stubbles would take. He was working with Jake that morning in the field back of the barn when a man approached. He carried a letter which he at once handed to Douglas.

"The boss wants an answer," he informed him. "He's in a big hurry about it, too."

Opening the letter, Douglas read the brief note, and as he did so an amused expression overspread his face. He studied it carefully for a few minutes without making any comment. Shoving it into his pocket, he was about to resume his work when the messenger stopped him.

"I want ye'r answer," he said.

"Tell your master that I shall answer him the first time I meet him,"
Douglas replied.

"But Si will give me hell if I don't take more than that," the man whined. "He told me to bring him a 'yes' or a 'no'."

"I can't help that. If you're willing to allow Si Stubbles to treat you like a dog, you must put up with the consequences."

Douglas stood and watched the messenger as he slowly ambled back across the field.

"Poor wretch," he remarked, "he is afraid to go back to his master.
Who is he, anyway?"

"Oh, he's only Barney Tompkins," Jake replied. "He's a useless feller, with a big family. He does odd jobs fer Si, runnin' errands, sweepin' the store, an' sich like. He's got no spunk."

"Like many more in this parish, if I'm not mistaken. Si doesn't want any one here who shows the least sign of spunk. He's given me notice to quit already."

"Great punkins! ye don't say so!"

"Yes, listen to this," and Douglas drew forth the letter from his pocket and began to read:

"JOHN HANDYMAN,

"Sir:—You have made yourself very objectionable in this place, so your presence is not wanted here any longer. I, therefore, give you notice to quit at once. This is a fair warning, and, unless you are altogether a fool, you will heed it.

"SIMON STUBBLES."

It took Jake a few seconds to grasp the full purport of these words. When he did at last comprehend their meaning, his face darkened and he stepped over to where Douglas was standing.

"Did Si Stubbles write them words?" he demanded.

"Yes, look for yourself," and Douglas handed him the letter.

Slowly and with difficulty Jake read it through. Douglas watched him with considerable interest.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked. "Are you not afraid of losing your help?"

"Damn Si Stubbles!" Jake roared. It was only when wrought up to the highest pitch of fury that Jake swore, and then it was well for his enemies to beware of him. "No, I'm not afraid of losin' ye, an' Si Stubbles ain't the man wot kin drive ye away, either. You jist stay where ye are."

"I intend to," Douglas calmly replied. "But let us get on with our work."

Though outwardly calm, the letter he had received rankled in his heart. The idea that one man could rule a whole community was abhorrent and unnatural. He had no intention of leaving, and he was determined to meet Simon Stubbles and have it out with him face to face. Suppose he should be driven from the parish, how could he ever come back again? How could he return as rector to be the contempt and laughing-stock of all? No, he would oppose Stubbles to the bitter end. The worst they could do would be to kill him, and he was not afraid to die if necessary.

It was near evening and they were hauling in the last load of hay from the field near the road, when an auto, bearing several men, sped past.

"It's Ben bringin' the delegation from the station," Jake explained, as he watched the rapidly disappearing car.

"What delegation?" Douglas queried.

"Why, didn't I tell ye?" Jake asked in surprise. "Well, I clean fergot all about it. There's to be a big Church meetin' to-night in the hall. Si got word an' he sent notice all around."

"What is the meeting about?" Douglas enquired.

"It has something to do with the new parson who is comin', so I understand."

"So you are to get another clergyman, are you?" Douglas asked as indifferently as possible.

"Seems so. The Bishop has a man all ready, who will be here in a few weeks. I pity the poor feller, I really do, though I can't say I'm much set on parsons since our experience with the last ones."

"You think he will have a hard time of it, eh?"

"He's sure to, an' unless he's somethin' out of the ordinary, he'll be in the same fix as the others. He'll be bound to buck up agin Si sooner or later, an' then there'll be trouble."

Douglas was greatly interested in what he had just heard, and he made up his mind to attend the meeting, tired though he was. He wished to hear and see for himself and not depend upon second-hand information. The meeting was to be public, so he had a perfect right to go.

When the chores were finished, he picked up the paper which had arrived that day from the city. He knew that the meeting would not begin for some time, and the rest would do him good. He glanced first at the big headlines until he reached one which arrested his attention.

"A WELL MERITED HONOR; DR. RANNAGE, RECTOR OF ST. MARGARET'S CHURCH OF THIS CITY, APPOINTED ARCHDEACON BY HIS BISHOP."

Douglas studied these words very carefully, and then read the long account of the new archdeacon's life, and of the work he had accomplished at St. Margaret's! The article was most laudatory, and spoke of his ability as a preacher, an organiser, and a public-spirited citizen. It referred to Dr. Rannage as a hard worker, who visited his people, rich and poor, in season and out of season, doing all he could for their temporal and spiritual welfare.

With an exclamation of impatience and disgust, Douglas threw aside the paper and left the house. He knew that most of the statements contained in what he had just read were false. The honor was not "well-merited," but had been bestowed simply because Dr. Rannage was rector of St. Margaret's and a special friend of the Bishop. He smiled at the thought of his visiting "his people, rich and poor alike, in season and out of season." He knew for a certainty that Dr. Rannage called only upon a few of the influential members of his flock, and left his curate to look after the "temporal and spiritual welfare" of all the rest. He tried to picture Dr. Rannage in such a parish as Rixton, living on a small salary, and trying to keep the Church life strong and healthy, at the same time combating the opposing influence of the Stubbles. And suppose he succeeded, by doing an herculean work, would he be rewarded in the same manner as if he were rector of St. Margaret's? He smiled grimly at the mere suggestion of the idea. Whoever heard of a poor country parson being singled out for such an honor, no matter how much he might merit it?

Douglas was walking slowly down the road as he thought over these things. Several people drove past on their way to the hall, and he saw a number of men walking on ahead. The sun was just lingering on the far-off horizon, and he was quite sure the meeting would not begin for half an hour at least. The delegates had not gone by yet, and so it was not necessary for him to hurry.

Coming to the road leading to Mrs. Dempster's, he looked at the little house over in the field, and wondered if Jean had been found. His notice to quit, the news of the Church meeting, and the announcement of Dr. Rannage's elevation had so occupied his attention that he had little time to think over the events of the past night. But now he thought of the heart-broken shoemaker, and a desire came upon him to know if anything had been heard of the wayward daughter.