"It's a cypress, isn't it?" she persisted.
Again Sube's head moved slightly, although it would have taken a mind reader to translate the movement.
"Why, I had no idea that cypresses were indigenous to this part of the country. Where did you get that tree, young man?"
Sube started visibly. This was a question he was hardly prepared to answer. "Th—that tree, th—there?" he stammered in confusion. "That tree?—Why—"
Once more the success of well-handled dilatory tactics was evident; for Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger suddenly burst into tears.
"Oh, it all comes back so clearly," she sobbed. "I went to the nursery myself—broken and crushed as I was—and selected the four dainty cypresses that were planted at the four corners of the lot where my poor dear Clarence was laid to rest. They must be just about the size of this one! I must go and see them to-morrow. Why, I haven't seen those darling little trees since the day they were set out!—Oh, dear—!"
"There, there, sister," comforted Mrs. Guilford. "How could you have seen them when you have been abroad all the time? They've had the best of care, and they were looking be-autiful the last time I saw them—"
"Ah, yes, I stayed away that I might learn to forget!" moaned Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger between huge convulsive sobs. "But how the old grief closes in on me the moment I return. Oh, I must go to the cemetery to-morrow!"
"MY FATHER GOT IT FOR ME"