Mrs. Jukes was greatly puzzled over all that had taken place out upon the road. She had been watching from a front window, and at times had been tempted to go for Jake that he might witness the interesting scene. But she was afraid that she might miss something if she left even for a few minutes. When she saw Nell and Douglas coming to the house, she was at the door ready to receive them.

"Well, I declare," she exclaimed, "if you folks haven't been having a time out on the road this afternoon. It was mighty lucky that no teams passed, or the horses would have run away with fright at your actions."

"I am afraid you will discharge me for neglecting my work," Douglas laughingly replied.

"I guess you needn't worry about that. It all depends on what caused you to neglect your work, and it was a mighty good one, if I'm any judge. My, I was glad to see you roll Ben Stubbles in the dust. What's he been up to, now?"

"You saw him clutch Miss Strong by the arm, didn't you?" Douglas asked.

"Indeed I did."

"Well, then, see," and he pointed to the stain on Nell's dress. "We need a little warm water and soft bandages, or something that will do for the present."

"My lands! did that brute do that?" Mrs. Jukes exclaimed. "It's no wonder you rolled him in the dust. Just come inside and I'll get what you want in a jiffy."

Very gently and with considerable skill Douglas washed and dressed the injured arm. He made no comment about the nature of the wound, though it was not hard for him to surmise in what way it had been inflicted. He saw where the knife had pierced the soft flesh, and his hands trembled slightly as he thought how serious must have been the attack, and how great the strain upon Nell's nerves.

"You are as good as a doctor," she laughingly told him. "No one could do any better than that."

"Oh, I took a course in First Aid at one time, and the knowledge I gained has served me in good stead on many occasions." Douglas was just on the point of saying that it was at college where he had learned such things, and that then he had been seriously thinking of becoming a medical missionary. It was the nearest he had come to giving himself away since he had been at Rixton, and he determined to be more cautious in the future.

Mrs. Jukes insisted that Nell should remain for supper.

"I would have had it ready now," she told her, "if I hadn't spent so much time at the window. But I guess it was worth it. I won't be long, anyway, and Jake has not come from the field yet."

Douglas was greatly pleased when Nell at last consented to stay. He went out to bring in Jake, and when he returned, he found Nell playing with the Jukes' children. Her face was bright and animated, and she seemed to have forgotten all about her recent troubles. The little ones were delighted at the stories she told them, as well as the games she knew, and they would not leave her when supper was ready, but insisted on sitting next to her at the table. Douglas sat opposite, and he was perfectly content to let the others talk. Nell was near; he could look upon her face, and listen to what she said, and he was satisfied.

Jake was in great spirits when he learned what had happened.

"Great punkins!" he exclaimed. "I wish I'd been there to have seen it."

"But what about the corn?" Douglas asked. "It didn't get much hoeing to-day."

"Never mind about the corn, John. Ye kin hoe it agin, but ye might never git another chance to roll Ben Stubbles in the dust. Ho, ho, that was a good one!"

When Nell left to return home, it was but natural that Douglas should accompany her. He asked permission to do so, and her acceptance brought a great joy to his heart.

The Jukes watched them as they walked toward the road.

"That's settled, all right," was Mrs. Jukes' comment.

"What?" Jake asked.

"Why, can't you see for yourself? They're deep in love with each other, that's what it is."

"Umph!" Jake grunted. "I never thought of it before. It takes a woman to see sich things. My, John'll git a prize if he hooks Nell. Strange that she takes to him, an' him only a hired man. Why, she's fit fer a parson's wife."

"I don't believe he's only a hired man," his wife replied.

"Woman, what d'ye mean?" Jake demanded in surprise.

"Oh, I don't exactly know. But he's the queerest hired man I ever saw. He's got a good education, and just think how he plays the fiddle. Why, he is wasting his time working as a hired man for small wages, when he might be earning big money somewhere else. That's what's been puzzling me for days."

"Mebbe he's a dook or a prince, Susie, in disguise. I've heered of sich things. But he's a prince all right, fer I don't know when I met a man I think as much of as him. An' as fer farm work, why he can't be beat. He knows it from A to Z, an' that's sayin' a good deal."

"I wonder what Ben will do now?" Mrs. Jukes mused. "He must be about wild. I saw him go up the road in his car just before supper, and he was driving like mad."

"He'll do something, mark my word," Jake replied. "He'll try to git even with John somehow. I should have given him warnin'. He shouldn't be out at night. It isn't safe."

"Oh, he can take care of himself, all right. I'm not anxious about him, though I am quite nervous concerning Nell. Ben and the rest of the Stubbles will do their best to make it hard for her."

Nell and Douglas did not go up the road, but walked slowly down across the field toward the river. It was a roundabout way, but that suited them both, as they would have more time together, and this latter was far more private. For the time being, they were happy, talking and laughing like two joyous children. Their faces were radiant, and their eyes were filled with animation when at length they reached the river and stopped by the old tree where Douglas had first seen Nell.

"This has been a wonderful day to me," he remarked, as he stood looking out over the water. "I little realised this morning that we would be standing here now. It was here that I first saw you, and heard you playing over by that tree."

"Don't mention that night," Nell pleaded. "I want to forget it, and everything that is past."

"And this afternoon, too?"

"Everything except your great kindness to me. I shall never forget that, and I don't want to, either."

"I am so glad that I was able to rescue you from that brute. My only regret is that I was not near to save you from harm last night. If I had been there, that would not have happened," and he motioned to her wounded arm.

Nell turned her face quickly to his and her eyes expressed a great wonder.

"Why, how did you learn about that?" she enquired. "Who told you?"

"No one. I am an amateur Sherlock Holmes, and have drawn my own conclusions from what I have seen and surmised. Jean is jealous of you, and 'that way madness lies.' Am I not right?"

"You certainly are," and a tremour shook Nell's body as she recalled the incident of the previous evening. "Oh, it was terrible! Jean is so jealous of me. She thinks that I have taken Ben from her, and she would not believe a word I told her. She would listen to nothing, but said I was lying."

"And you were not?" Douglas eagerly asked.

"No. I simply told her the truth, and that Ben is nothing to me, and that I never tried to take him from her. But she would not believe me."

A feeling of wonderful rapture came into Douglas' soul as he listened to this candid confession. So Ben was nothing to Nell. It was almost too good to be true. There was hope for him.

"But you often met Ben by the tree over there, did you not?" he at length questioned. "It was there I first saw you when you played such sweet music. I remember he joined you that evening."

For a while Nell remained silent with her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the ground. Douglas was afraid that he had said too much, and had offended her. But when she lifted her face and he saw the expression upon it, he knew that he was wrong. Her cheeks were aglow with animation and her eyes beamed with eagerness.

"Do you mind if I tell you something?" she asked. "Part of it is known only to Nan and me. I feel that I can trust you."

"I shall be delighted to hear," Douglas replied, "and I am most grateful for your confidence in me."

"I am very much worried about what will happen to us and our little home," she began. "You see, when father was a professor at Passdale he bought this place for a summer residence, and my dear mother always loved it so much. When he became blind, we moved here, and lived very comfortably because he had a private income. But in a fatal moment he was induced to invest all he had in the Big Chief gold mine out west. Every one was talking about it and what a splendid investment it was. We were sure that in a few months we would be very rich. But you know what happened to that. There was bad management somewhere, the works shut down, and so many people were ruined."

"Indeed I know," Douglas emphatically replied. "I was bitten, too, and lost my all. It wasn't much, to be sure, but it meant a great deal to me."

"It was ruin to us," Nell continued. "For a while I thought father would go out of his mind, he felt so badly. Then, to add to our trouble, Nan became ill, and it took our last dollar to pay the doctor and other expenses. At length, we were forced to mortgage the place to Mr. Stubbles to pay our grocery bill which had grown so large. It is that which has been hanging over our home like a terrible cloud for several years now."

Nell paused and looked out over the water. The glow of evening touched her face and soft hair, and made her seem to the young man watching her as if she were not of this earth, so beautiful did she appear. What right had such a woman to be troubled? he asked himself. How he longed to do something to help her.

"So you came to the rescue, and started farming."

"There was nothing else to do," she smilingly replied. "I felt the responsibility, and had to do something. I didn't know much about gardening at first, and made many mistakes. But we have managed to live, pay the interest on the mortgage and part of the principal. But we are in danger of losing everything now," she added with a note of sadness in her voice.

"In what way?"

"You see, the mortgage was due the first of July, and it should have been paid then. But we did not have the money, not even enough to pay the interest. Our garden did not do very well last year, and the winter was a hard one. After we had paid father's life insurance, there was very little left. We did not know what to do and were greatly depressed. It was then that father went with Nan to the city and played on the streets. I knew nothing about it until they came home with the money they received through your kindness. We were thus enabled to pay the interest on the mortgage, as well as our grocery bill at the store. You little realise how grateful we are to you for what you did for us."

"I have never been so thankful for anything I ever did," Douglas earnestly replied. "Little did I realise that night when I stopped to watch your father play, what the outcome of my act would be. But now that the interest is paid, how is it that you are in danger of losing your home?"

"Simply because Mr. Stubbles wants the money. It is only a small amount now, and by another summer we could have it all paid."

"But surely Stubbles doesn't need the money. I understand that he is very rich."

"I am not so certain about that. There have been rumours abroad for some time now that he is not as rich as people imagine, and that he is having some difficulty in carrying on his business. Anyway, when I went to see him about the mortgage, he told me in no gentle way that he must have the money and at once. If not, he said he would foreclose and sell the place. But he has not done so yet."

"Why?" Douglas asked the question eagerly. He believed that he knew the reason now, and if his surmise were true it would explain something which had puzzled and worried him for days past.

"He has been waiting, that is all," Nell's voice was low as she spoke. Her eyes were fixed upon the ground, and a deep, rich flush was mantling her cheeks and brow. Then she lifted her head and spoke with considerable embarrassment. "Yes, he has been waiting," she repeated, "waiting for something to happen. It all depended upon that."

"I know. He has been waiting to see what answer you would give to Ben.
Is that it?"

"Yes, that's it."

"And you have refused him?"

"Couldn't you tell that by what happened this afternoon?"

"Certainly. But I wished to hear it from your own lips. And so you think Stubbles will be very angry and will foreclose at once?"

"There is no doubt about it. I am sure that he will. Ben will see to that. I am afraid you do not know the Stubbles yet. They will stop at nothing, especially the men."

"I think I know something, more perhaps than you realise," and a slight smile flitted across Douglas' face. "And I believe I know now," he added, "why you met Ben by the old tree. There was so much at stake that you did not wish to offend him."

"You have guessed right. Oh, it was terrible! I felt like a hypocrite all the time, and yet I had not the courage to refuse meeting him for fear of what would happen."

"But you had the courage at last, though?"

"It was only when I could stand him no longer. I knew for some time that he was not a good man, but his actions of late have so disgusted me beyond all bounds of endurance that I refused to have anything more to do with him. There, I have told you all, and I feel greatly relieved."

"I suppose you hardly know what you will do if you lose your place. Is there not some one from whom you could borrow enough money to pay off the mortgage?"

"I am afraid not. We have no security to give, and, besides, I dread the thought of asking for help. Father will be almost heartbroken, and it will make him more bitter than ever."

"At what?"

"The Church and all connected with it. Mr. Stubbles has been a warden here for years, and the way he has acted has been partly the cause of father's bitter feelings. Now he will be worse than ever. I wonder what the new clergyman will be like."

"Perhaps he may be able to settle matters."

"I am afraid not. He will have to do as the Stubbles say or leave, just as the others did. If he should happen to be a very strong-minded man and will stand up for justice and right, he will have a most difficult time of it. In that case, father would be his firm friend, though I fear he could do but little to help him."

"His moral assistance would mean much, though, would it not?"

"Perhaps so," and Nell sighed. "But I think I must go home now. Father and Nan will be wondering what has kept me. Won't you come and see father? I know he wants to talk to you about his book. I am thankful he has something to occupy his mind."