"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." "But, Ruthy, you don't understand. I did it to save Luther. If Deacon Whitlock knew who it was he would tell Luther's father and Luther might get a lickin'." Ruth shook her head. "Your duty was to tell the truth--or say nothing." "No, sirree! That isn't true. The Bible says do unto others as you'd like to have other fellers do unto you. And I did just what I would want Luther to do for me." This line of defense was confusing, and Ruth was familiar with his skill in argument. She knew well enough the pitfalls he could dig for the embarrassment of any adversary. So, regarding him with the sternest look she could bring into a very gentle face, she said: "It is wrong to tell lies and you know it is. And you are bad--just bad. Why don't you button up your coat in front? The snow is actually blowing down your neck." And she drew the collar of his overcoat closer about his throat and tried to fasten it. "Why, the button is gone! Joanna ought to see to it. You really ought to have a mother, Drowsy. You aren't half taken care of." This time Cyrus had nothing to say in his own defense. She laid a hand against his cheek. "Your face is hot. I believe you are sick now!" Cyrus smiled, and nodded. "I shouldn't wonder if I was." "Why? How do you feel?" "Oh, sort of--sort of--funny." "How, funny?" "I don't know. Sort of cold and then hot and then cold--and kind of trembly. That's why I didn't hit Luther on the head instead of down on his back." "Now, Cyrus Alton, you go straight home and tell your father just how you feel. Tell him all about it." Then, with increasing severity: "It's a shame you haven't got a mother. I believe it is because you are bad and that's the way God punishes you." Then she turned away and started on again, Cyrus close behind. In front of her own home she stopped suddenly and wheeled about;--so suddenly that Cyrus walked against her. He took a backward step, and as they looked into each other's faces he said, quietly: "No, it doesn't." Ruth's eyes opened wide, in surprise. "Doesn't what?" "It doesn't mean what you asked." "But, Drowsy, I didn't ask anything!" "You thought it, though." "Thought what?" "That because I told lies now I would not be an honest man when I grew up. But that isn't so. I shall be an honest man."