"Oh, I don't believe I'd go on the day before Christmas," Mrs. Guilford advised gently.
"I must!—I must!—I can't wait a moment longer!"
Then with a supreme effort Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger mastered her grief, and removing her black-bordered handkerchief from her reddened eyes, turned to Sube who had been watching her with keen interest, and said:
"You haven't yet told me where you got that tree, young man."
Sube had to swallow once or twice before he managed to mumble, "Don't know exackly."
"Don't know?" she demanded. "How can it be possible that you don't know? You cut this tree yourself, did you not?"
"No, ma'am. I—"
"You didn't! Well, who did, then?"
"Ma'am? Oh,—who cut this tree?—Why,—why, my father got it for me!" he finally stammered out. "I don't know jus' where he did get it. Out in the woods somewheres, I should—"
"Ah! Then he cut it himself, did he?"