" was the answer.

Roy watched practice that afternoon. He stood on the school side of the
hedge which marked inner bounds and, out of sight himself, saw Patten
playing on first. It was lonely work and after a while the figures on
the green diamond grew blurred and misty. Then, suddenly, Brother
Laurence's advice came back to him and Roy brushed the back of his hand
across his eyes and turned away.

"'When you're down on your luck,'" he murmured, "'Grin as hard as you
can grin.'"

So he tried his best to grin, and made rather a sorry affair of it until
he spied Harry walking toward the tennis courts with her racket in hand.
He hailed her and she waited for him to come up.

"I'm awfully sorry, Roy," she greeted him. "I told dad you didn't do
it."

"And he believed you at once," said Roy despondently.

[Illustration:"'When you're down on your luck,' he murmured, 'grin as
hard as you can grin.'"]

"N-no, he didn't," answered Harry. "He--he's a little bit stupid
sometimes; I often tell him so."

Roy laughed in spite of his sorrow.

"What does he say then?" he asked.

"Oh, he just smiles," answered Harry resentfully. "I hate people to
smile at you when they ought to answer, don't you?"

Roy supposed he did. And then, in another minute, they were side by side
on the stone coping about the stable yard and Roy was telling Harry
everything, even to the examining of Horace's trunk and the reason for
it.

"That's it!" cried Harry with the utmost conviction. "He did it! I know
he did!"

"How do you know it?" asked Roy.

"Oh, I just do! I don't care if he is my cousin; he's as mean--!"

"Well, suspecting him won't do any good," said Roy. "We can't see into
the trunk. And, anyhow, maybe he didn't bring the sweater back at all."

"Yes, he did too," answered Harry. "Don't you see he'd want to put it
back again so that you couldn't say that someone had taken it and worn
it? It's there, in his trunk."

"And I guess it'll stay there," said Roy hopelessly. "He won't be fool
enough to take it out now."

"Couldn't you make him open his trunk?"

"I don't see how. I couldn't go and tell him I suspected him of having
stolen my sweater; not without more proof than I've got now."

"I suppose not," answered Harry thoughtfully, her chin in her hand and
the heel of one small shoe beating a restless tattoo on the wall. "You
might--" she lowered her voice and looked about guiltily--"you might
break it open!"

"And supposin