road, and the gate leading to the house was always
kept closed. A board fastened to the gate bore the imposing name of
"The Castle" in bright gilded letters.

As Douglas opened the gate and entered, a team had just rounded the
corner of the house on its way to the barn. As it came in front of the
house, Stubbles himself appeared upon the verandah, carrying a table
napkin in his hand, for he had not yet finished his dinner. He was in
no pleasant frame of mind, and was furiously berating the teamster.

"What do you mean by driving in front of the house?" he demanded.
"Don't you know any better?"

"I've got to git that hay down there in the corner," the teamster
surlily replied. "If I don't go in this way, how am I to git out, I'd
like to know? I can't turn down there."

"Carry the hay out, then, you lazy rascal."

"It'll take me all the afternoon to do it, an' then ye'll growl at me
if I don't git done before night."

"None of your impudence to me," Stubbles roared. "I'll make an example
of you if you dare to speak that way again."

He was livid with anger, and, forgetting where he was, he took a step
forward as if he would then and there chastise the man with his own
hands. As he did so, he stepped off the platform, and with a wild
shriek and a frantic effort to save himself, he went headfirst down the
steps to the ground below.

Douglas had been standing not far off listening with considerable
interest to the angry conversation between master and man. But when he
saw Stubbles take the wild plunge, he rushed forward and picked up the
injured man. The latter was groaning and cursing, contending that he
was killed, and that the teamster was to blame for the accident.

Lifting him in his arms, Douglas carried him up the steps just as Mrs.
Stubbles came from the house.

"Oh! what is the matter?" she cried. "What has happened to Simie?"

"He's had a bad fall," Douglas replied. "Hold the door open while I
carry him into the house. Show me where to lay him."

Into the sitting-room he carried the wounded man, and placed him upon a
large sofa near the window. Mrs. Stubbles followed, and stood over her
husband, wringing her hands in despair.

"Are you much hurt, Simie?" she asked. "Shall I send for the doctor?"

"Shut up your bawling!" her husband ordered. "I'm not killed, though I
thought I was at first. Get some warm water and bathe my bruises.
Confound that teamster! I'll discharge him at once.