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.