When Sube accompanied his family to church on the morrow he was conspicuous by reason of his scentlessness. Nobody sniffed at him; nobody moved away from him; his brothers walked uncomplainingly at his side. Any one but Sube might have thought that the storm which descended on him the previous night shortly after he had slipped into bed with his clothes on, must have clarified the atmosphere completely. For Mr. Cane had done very thoroughly that which is claimed to hurt the parent more than the child.

But Sube was uneasy. And he had reason to be; for Miss Lester was his Sunday School teacher.

A dark pall hung over him all through the church service; and when at the conclusion he sought to bring up reinforcements before moving on Sunday School, he learned to his dismay that Gizzard was confined to his home with a slight attack of Sunday-sickness from which he was unlikely to recover until nearly dinner time. So he faced the dragon alone.

But in common with other dragons Miss Lester's terrors waned on closer acquaintance. As he shuffled guiltily into his seat she wished him a pleasant good morning. But some little time elapsed before Sube could bring himself to believe that his sense of hearing was not playing him false. Then it occurred to him that she was going to arraign him before the entire Sunday School. And he lived over this volcano until the session was dismissed. The possibility that Miss Lester did not know the identity of her "Two Friends" never entered his mind.

Once or twice during the afternoon he wondered vaguely why she had refrained from "bawling him out," but by the next day he had forgotten all about Miss Lester and her troubles. They were completely blotted out of his mind by the relentless pressure of education; for school had begun again.

One day dragged along after another. At last a week had gone. Then a month. And spring was pretty well under way when Sube came home from school one noon, to all appearances quite bowed down with grief. Mag Macdougall, the family laundress, was dead.

The news was fittingly broken to those at the table, but seemed to occasion no great concern. His father remarked in what Sube considered a most unfeeling way that he hoped she hadn't taken with her the two shirts that failed to come back with his linen that week; and his mother's only comment was that she had decided to send the things to the laundry anyway.

Sube was shocked; but he was not discouraged. He took the position that the community's great loss was not fully appreciated, and at once launched into a eulogy of Mag's imaginary virtues that gave to her a character quite unlike that which she had borne in the flesh. And in conclusion he announced that the funeral would take place that afternoon at the Baptist Church, to which he felt he must go on account of poor little Lizzie Macdougall's being in the same room with him at school.

And although Mr. Cane cultivated the attitude of always expecting the unexpected to happen, this came as something of a surprise to him. For a moment he was at a loss for words; then he had more than he knew what to do with, out of which Sube managed to grasp the sentiment that any old day when he was allowed to remain out of school to attend one of Mag Macdougall's funerals would of necessity be a very cold one. And this was a warm spring day.

Sube remonstrated. He whined. He argued until his father forbade another word on the subject. Then in a highly rebellious and dangerous state of mind he started for school, brooding anarchistically over the element of paternalism that still survives in the American family. He would have been an easy convert for any kind of soap-box heresy, but fortunately no apostles of new thought chanced to cross his path.

However, when he had gone a short distance on his way he discovered that he was being followed. A rather rangy dog with a white background heavily sprinkled with black spots, and wearing a thick, stumpy tail which a railroad train had thoughtlessly docked to half-length, was sauntering along at a safe distance behind, apparently making no effort to get any nearer.

Sube whirled angrily, and catching up an imaginary rock went through most elaborate motions of hurling it at the dog, as he cried in a stern voice:

"Go home, Sport! Go home!"

Sport halted and began to sniff calmly at a tuft of grass beside the walk as if that had been his sole errand. He affected to be unaware of his master's presence. After sniffing for a moment he deemed the place worthy of excavation and began to scratch at it with his front paw.

Meanwhile Sube's orders had become more curt and angry. "Go home! I tell you!—Go home, sir!" he bellowed as he pretended to run at the dog, stamping his feet loudly on the walk.

But Sport calmly continued his investigations.

Then Sube caught sight of a real stone, and eagerly bent to pick it up; but before he could steady himself so as to throw it with any kind of aim, Sport beat a hasty retreat homeward, and the stone went clattering down the walk wide of its mark.

Having thus disposed of the dog Sube proceeded on his way with the thought that Sport must be losing his mind when he couldn't tell a school day from any other day. But Sport was far from losing his mind. A certain psychic agency called instinct by uncomprehending humans had told him that for Sube this was not to be a school day; but Sport realized that he could never hope to get this through the dull brain of an ordinary boy, so he made no attempt.

At the first corner Sube fell in with a company of his fellows bound for the cobble-stone church to pay their last sad respects to the mortal remains of Mag Macdougall, deceased. He would have avoided them if he could, but they were upon him before he was aware of their presence.

"Hey, Sube!" shouted Gizzard as he caught sight of his chum. "Goin'?"

This was somewhat awkward, but Sube managed to assume a look of bold confidence as he replied, "What do you s'pose?"

"I s'pose you are," returned Gizzard. "Everybody is. All the girls are goin', and even Biscuit Westfall!"

Sube was lost. This was the limit of human endurance. He might have stood it even if all the girls did go; but he had counted on Biscuit Westfall as the one person absolutely certain to be in his seat at school. And besides, the groundless suspicion was never wholly absent from Sube's mind that as far as Nancy Guilford was concerned, Biscuit needed watching. Then a voice came to him from the crowd almost as if the speaker had read his mind. It was unnecessarily high and nasal in quality.

"Nancy Guilford's goin'!"

Sube turned and glared into the grinning face of Dick Bissell, a tattered youth of questionable pedigree, who stood head and shoulders above the other boys, and who was no respecter of size so long as it was smaller than his. But immediately upon identifying Dick Bissell as the author of the gibe, Sube's glare melted into a sheepish grin, and he himself melted into the crowd and became as inconspicuous as possible.

He was distinctly relieved when a moment later a concerted movement towards the church began. At his side walked the faithful Gizzard, who, after they had gone a short distance, asked:

"What you so mum about?"

"Who? Me?" grunted Sube. "How you want a feller to act when he's goin' to a funeral?"

The truth was that in addition to the humiliation put upon him by Dick Bissell, Sube was feeling a little lonely in his outlawry. The other boys doing exactly what he was doing were guiltless. But he was a criminal. He alone must be on the watch for tattle-tales, must run the risk of punishment. On the whole he was in an excellent frame of mind to get the most out of a funeral.

As the company reached the church it deployed and spread itself over the spacious stone steps that reached across the front of the edifice. It was still occupying this position when Biscuit Westfall, at the side of his mother, approached and, raising his hat formally to the collective company, passed inside.

After a little interval the girls arrived and with a shy giggle or two hurried up the steps and disappeared through the massive doorway. Whereupon Dick Bissell took occasion to stroll over to Sube and suggest that if he was going to sit with the girls he'd better be going inside.

Sube indulged in another of his sickly smiles, which for a boy of his spirit required no small amount of effort. But at that moment the cortÉge arrived and dissipated any insane notions of self-destruction that might have been forming in his outraged brain.

The boys followed the casket into the church in much the same manner as they would have followed the band in a street parade, but instead of going all the way to the altar they slipped into the rear seats, where they stayed just long enough to find out that a funeral was not at all unlike church. Then by twos and threes they began to desert.

When a sufficient number had assembled in front of the church a quiet game of tag was proposed, to while away the time until they should be permitted to view the remains. And they at once proceeded to the nearby church-sheds as a place marvelously adapted to the sport.

The game was less quiet than had been anticipated, and after a little actually threatened to put the funeral out of business. Whereupon ol' Joe, the sexton, hastily forming an alliance with big Lew Wright, rushed out to disperse the noise-makers. Big Lew was an elder or deacon or something whenever anything of importance was taking place at the Baptist Church, and at other times he ran a sawmill. He enjoyed the reputation of handling logs and boys in much the same rough manner; and he scattered the participants in the game as he would have brushed away a handful of sawdust.

The gang was withdrawing silently, albeit sullenly, when without warning there came flying over the sheds a large chunk of sod to which a quantity of soil was clinging. This disrespectful offering struck big Lew in the place where his ready made necktie connected with his rubber collar, forcing from his mouth a noise that sounded very much like profanity.

Sube did not throw the sod, but he saw it strike; and he knew instantly that was no place for him. In a desperate attempt to make a quick getaway he fell down. And when he regained his feet the angry elder or deacon or something was upon him. But somehow he managed to wriggle through a hole in the fence inches smaller than his body and started for the lumber yard nearby with big Lew, who nimbly scaled the fence, close behind.

Somewhere among the piles of lumber Sube shook off his pursuer. Then he crossed the railroad tracks by crawling under a slowly moving freight train and finally reached a place of safety in a clump of willows behind the sauerkraut factory, but not until he had left a fair impression of his body in a puddle of slippery brine that had been drawn from a vat of ancient kraut.

As he entered the refugee camp a moment later he was hailed with delight. But his popularity was short-lived. The boys were sorry about his accident, but had a peculiar way of showing it. They stopped bemoaning the fact that they had not been able to view the remains, and began to comfort Sube with bits of pithy humor, meanwhile keeping him at a distance. Sube took this in good part until Dick Bissell suggested that it might be interesting if Sube should go to the church in his present state and ask to see Nancy home.

Sube scowled; he blushed; he bit his lips, and clenched his fists; but once more Dick Bissell's size and reputation won a psychological victory, and Sube managed to produce the sheepish grin—and the crisis was over.

Excited hoofbeats on the floor of the nearby livery barn now attracted the boys' attention. These were followed by such sounds as men utter when they wish to calm the ruffled spirits of a restive horse.

Dick leaped to his feet. "Hey!" he cried. "There's some'pm doin' in the liv'ry barn! I'm goin' up and see the fun!"

He started forthwith, the others trailing after him. Far in the rear came Sube, humiliated and indignant at what had happened, and apprehensive about what would happen when he reached home. The liniment episode was still strong in his memory; and to become involved in another affair of bad odor so soon afterwards seemed to him like trifling with Providence. Sube clambered slowly up the bank and walked into the livery barn. It was as Dick Bissell had suspected. Something was doing. An undersized bay mare was receiving her spring haircut.

Sube's brother Sim would have recognized at a glance that it was Fretful Mollie; for he knew every horse in town by its first name, and most of the horses knew Sim. But Sube was no horseman. He could tell the difference between a horse and an automobile; he could probably have picked a horse from a herd of cows ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But he was no lover of horseflesh.

As he stood watching Mollie tremble and plunge whenever the clippers touched a ticklish spot, he became conscious of a movement at the door of the barn, and glancing around he beheld Sport. Sube was astonished, for he had supposed that the dog was safe at home. But Sport had been following him all the afternoon; never very far behind, and for obvious reasons never very conspicuous.

When Sport perceived that his presence had been detected he tried to make the best of a bad situation. He pretended that their meeting was the merest sort of coincidence; that he had come there strictly on business of his own, but was none the less glad to see his master. However, human like, Sube misunderstood all this; and pointing an automatic finger at the dog, muttered:

"Didn't I tell you to go home?"

Sport fled. And as he went scurrying down the alley he was kept busy dodging several sticks, a tin can, and one or two old shoes.