"Don't know, you young rascal! You have eyes. What's his name?"
But Cyrus, with a protesting, most polite and sorrowful gesture with both his hands, again proclaimed his ignorance. "I really don't know, sir. The air is so full of snow I didn't see his face."
Deacon Whitlock again spluttered. His speech was incoherent, but doubt and anger were plainly indicated. However, he turned away—still muttering.
Then the Guardian Angel approached the liar. "Cyrus Alton! How can you do such a thing?"
"What thing?"
"Deacon Whitlock knows perfectly well you knew who it was, and that you told him a lie. And he will despise you for it. So would everybody else. So do I despise you for it."
His only answer to this was a look of mingled sorrow and remonstrance. Then, instead of trying to defend himself, as the Guardian Angel expected, he looked away. He also heaved a sigh,—a sigh of weariness and discouragement, an unboylike, elderly sigh such as grown-ups use.
The Guardian Angel continued. "And I should think you would be ashamed to be such a coward."
Cyrus stiffened at the word. "A coward!"
"Yes, coward. People only lie when they are afraid. If you had been brave you would have told the truth."