owing wild, but the people who inhabited
the place wouldn't care. He felt quite sure about that. And anyway, it
would be dark by the time he reached there.

An hour later when Nancy Guilford opened the door in response to his
ring (for which she had been listening for some time) a perfect specimen
of cypress greeted her delighted gaze. It was bright green, symmetrical
and bushy-limbed. It was as perfect as the picture on a Christmas card.
Nancy's exclamations and gurglings of delight brought her mother to the
door, with the result that Sube was invited over that evening to help
trim the tree.

When he arrived some two hours later he found the gift tree mounted in a
disguised soap box, and standing at one end of the parlor from which the
furniture had been removed to facilitate the laying of the crash, with
the entire household gathered round about offering on-lookers' advice as
to the most effective way of decorating it.

This was not exactly as he had anticipated. He had planned to arrange
those details according to his own ideas and Nancy's. But somehow he
managed to live through it. If, however, he had known that the Guilfords
were entertaining company he would not have come. He hated to meet
strangers, especially tall women dressed all in black who think they
have got to talk to a fellow all the time.

When Sube was presented to Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger he fastened his gaze on
a little red spot on the crash and moved his lips deferentially,
although no sound came. Observing his embarrassment, Mrs.
Hotchkiss-Harger attempted to put him at his ease by the questionable
method of interrogation.

"So this is the young man," she remarked in her deep voice, "to whom we
are indebted for this beautiful tree?"

Sube nodded microscopically.

"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
cyp