"But we must not lose sight of the fact that Sube has told the truth,"
Mrs. Cane reminded him from time to time.
"Don't keep harping on that all the while," growled her irate husband.
"He's told the truth all right; but it's a pity he couldn't have begun to tell it a little sooner."
After a few more turns up and down the room Mr. Cane came to a stop before his son.
"Are you perfectly certain there hasn't been some mistake about this?"
he asked desperately. "Are you perfectly certain that the tree came from the Harger lot?"
Sube hesitated. "Well, I ain't sure," he admitted finally. "It was pretty dark."
"Let's be thankful for that!" exclaimed his father fervently.
"But _she_ is," Sube added after a moment.
"What do you mean by that?" asked his father suspiciously.
"Why, I mean that I didn't know _whose_ lot it was; but she went up there this afternoon and found one of her trees gone--"
"Yes, but somebody else might have taken it! You say you are not certain which lot you took it from."
"But I could tell in a holy minute if I should go up there--"
"Sube!" his father glared at him dangerously. "You are positively forbidden to go anywhere near that cemetery for the next six months! If you do,--I will turn you over to the authorities, and let the law take its course. Don't forget that! I mean it!--And now, you may go to bed just as fast as you can get there."
"But I want to tell you some'pm--"
"I don't care to hear another word. I've heard quite enough for one night. Go--to--bed!"
As Sube dragged himself unwillingly up the stairs, Mrs. Cane said to her husband:
"Well, at last the tide has turned. Sube has discovered the truth."
"Huh! I must say he picked out a fine time to discover it," was her husband's grim rejoinder. "Why, if Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger should believe I ever did such a thing as rob a cemetery of its shrubbery, she'd never trust me again--and besides, I'd die of shame and mortification."
"Well," comforted Mrs. Cane, "in the first place, she'd never believe such a thing. And in the next place, what does an old evergreen tree amount to compared with the truth? I must admit that I was somewhat surprised to see you trying to lead your own son into evasion when he was doing his best to tell the truth."
Next day, with an armful of packages Nancy Guilford ascended the Canes'
front porch and rang the doorbell. And as Annie was stuffing the turkey Mrs. Cane herself opened the door.
"How is Sube feeling to-day?" asked Nancy in her most winning tone.
Mrs. Cane had not heard that he was ill, but she guessed at once that his early retirement of the evening before must have been based on an imaginary indisposition. "Come right in, and see for yourself," she invited cordially.
Sube was cornered in the library; there was no escape. And it was with the face of a desperado at bay that he confronted Nancy as she entered.
"Hello!" she called cheerfully. "Feeling better to-day? I was so sorry you couldn't stay last night."
Sube glared at her in silence as she went on placidly.
"I brought over your presents for you. Most of 'em are jokes. You mustn't open 'em until after I go."
But as Mrs. Cane stepped out of the room Nancy changed her mind, and decided to open one present, a longish package which she tore open and from which she produced the butt of a cypress sapling.
"I tried to tell you about this last night," she whispered hurriedly, "but you wouldn't let me get anywhere near you. There! See where the carpenter sawed it off! There's no little black ring on that end at all!"
Sube took the stick into his hands mumbling dazedly, "Well, what do you know about that!"
Instinctively his gaze went to the other end, which he had hacked off with the ax, and on which he saw something that he hastened to cover with his hand. At this moment Mrs. Cane reentered the room; but she saw nothing of the stick, nor did she notice the deformity of Sube's left side, which was plainly visible through his jacket.
Nancy at once stood up, and after a fitting exchange of holiday sentiment, announced that she was on her way to slide down hill, and took her departure. But she could not by any possibility have more than reached the gate when Sube threw into the furnace the only existing evidence of his guilt; and as he watched it turn into uncommunicative ashes he muttered to himself, "Nance is _all right_! But if they ever catch me tellin' the truth again--they'll _know_ it! Here I got to stay in the house all day when I might jus' well be slidin' down hill."
He stood and gazed at the glowing coals long after the piece of wood had been consumed, and as he gazed, he wondered.
"Would Nance 'ave done as much for Biscuit Westfall?" he asked himself.
He didn't believe she would. And he was right.
THE END