"I am sorry this time, truly--not just for playing pranks, for somehow that never seems really bad to me--it must be the original sin, I suppose. But I am sorry that I have just openly tried to make things mean and hateful for you. I never thought of it that way before. I thought it was sort of your job to put up with the mischief. I can't promise to be an angel like Treasure, for I was not born like that. But I am going to try very hard not to annoy you, and I'd like to be friends, if you don't mind."
Thinking it over afterward, Father Artman felt that Zee had left many loopholes for future escapades, but her voice had been sincere, and her eyes honest, and Miss Hodges had accepted the apology promptly. And knowing his girls, Mr. Artman felt confident that Zee's loyalty to the manse would keep her from open disgrace again.
"Something just has to be done about that Zee," Rosalie said to Doris. "And it certainly is up to you, General. Why, she gets more scatter-brained and harum-scarum every day. Can't you steady her up a little?"
"How? It is all right to say it is up to me--but who can take a puff of thistledown like Zee and steady it? She does not grow that way."
"Well, this will hold her down for a week or so, but you'd better think up some way of handling her. Something has to be done, and right away, too. Why, she is fourteen, and in high school. I was practically a young lady when I was in high school."
"You were practically a young lady when you were in kindergarten," said Doris gaily. "My, what pretty airs you did put on. You always would carry the finest handkerchiefs, and how you would scheme to get a fresh ribbon oftener than anybody else."
It did seem that so severe a lesson as this should be sufficient even for the Imp. Yet the very next morning Doris found herself involved once more. Going to the girls' closet on an errand, she was surprised to find Zee's school shoes, sensible, comfortable, roomy shoes of enduring calf-skin. The "Sunday shoes," of nice shiny patent leather, were not in sight. Yet Zee had gone to school.
"She is almost as problematic as Rosalie herself," said Doris.
She knew Zee's passion for the Sunday shoes, and that the calf-skin ones were abhorred by her fastidious young soul. But that she would openly revolt and toss all orders to the winds--Doris grieved over it heavily. But she would not take this to father, poor soul, he had trouble enough with her yesterday, and Davison's funeral to-day was grief enough.