"He was a very nice man," Mrs. Cane hastened to explain. "He lived and died in Rochester. And you must be very courteous to Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger, as she is one of your father's very best clients. Her husband was a splendid man--" "Where was he buried?" asked Sube. "He was buried here in the family lot beside his father and mother." "But Clarence was a tight-wad, was he?" Sube repeated. Mr. Cane squirmed. "Oh, that was just a joking way of speaking," he explained seriously. "He was a fine fellow; a very successful business man; he realized that it was the pennies that made the dollars, and ran his business on the lines of strictest efficiency and economy; and although he was well off, he lived very simply--" "I see," Sube assured him. "He _was_ a tight-wad!" "Please, Sube!" Mrs. Cane was very gentle, but very much in earnest. "Please don't ever say that again. It might get back to Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger's ears, and if it did it would offend her terribly. She isn't in a very humorous state just now, and she couldn't possibly see the joke. It would be a very serious matter if she should be offended by any member of our family as she is about the most important client I have just now. You won't ever mention this matter again, will you, my boy?" "Oh, no! Not if you don't want me to. But we all know he _was_ a tight-wad, don't we?" If Sube had desired to mention the matter to Mrs. Hotchkiss-Harger, which no doubt he would have done at the first propitious opportunity, he would have had no chance until the next evening; for he did not see her until then. But when he saw her he did not go out of his way to converse with her. He made himself as small as possible and started for the farther end of the room. He was one of nineteen of Nancy's little friends who were assembled in the library chattering like magpies, while, beyond the closely drawn parlor curtains, her father and mother were lighting the candles on the Christmas tree. One moment the young people were fairly on tip-toe with pleasant anticipations--and the next they were silent and shocked. For the front door of the house had suddenly burst open, and in rushed a tall woman heavily veiled, and generously cloaked in broadtail. As she entered, she had involuntarily called on her Maker for help; and as if the response were not sufficiently prompt, she sought to enlist the additional aid of her sister, whose name she moaned rather than called. At her entrance the buzzing library became as silent as the third strike; but when she began to repeat her sister's name with increasing anguish, there were quick movements to points of vantage near the door, and several of the more venturesome boys poked their heads out and stared. The confusion in the hall did not last long, however, for Mrs. Guilford came flying from the parlor, and taking her sister into her capable arms led her gently down the hall and into a side room, the door of which she quickly closed behind them.