They closed the doors of the barn sadly and went into the house.
How quiet and cool and beautiful the manse was that afternoon. They walked slowly, appreciatively through every room. Doris, sitting in the bay-window with the eternal mending, was like a glorious madonna, and they put their arms around her and kissed her tenderly, as girls returned from a long absence. But she took it very placidly. They saw Rosalie lying on her bed up-stairs, reading, and eating an apple. How pretty and dear Rosalie was. They stood in the doorway and looked at her almost worshipfully. Outside their father's study they stood a long time, thinking, but went at last to their own room and closed the door.
A little later they heard their father at the telephone, asking questions—but it was aimless conversation, they could make nothing of it. How strange it was that they had not been missed. Such wonderful things had happened, life had been spared to them by less than a fraction of an inch—and here were their loved ones, Doris mending, Rosalie eating apples, father writing a sermon—as serenely as though two dear young daughters had not just been returned to them from the shadow of the grave.
They sat in their room, waiting, talking not at all. After a while Doris called them to supper, and they took their places in subdued silence. What a wonderful way father had of asking the blessing—why, every word of it seemed to call down a benediction on every one at the table. And how good the dinner was—they were not hungry, but it was delicious food, unbelievably well cooked. And Doris in the big kitchen apron was exquisite.
When they reached dessert, Zee rose to the height of public confession.
"Father, Treasure and I—and principally I, for I did it—were very naughty. We took the car out of the garage, and smashed the door getting it out, and we drove into the country and nearly killed horses and wagons and autos and ran into ditches and bent the fenders and ran down a lot of chickens, and got stuck, and a man brought us home. We are very sorry."
How calmly they took it!—a climactic, criminal thing like that—after all, they were rather a sordid family.
Father looked at the girls soberly, noted their pale faces, the dark circles under their weary eyes.
"I know it," he said at last gravely.
"Oh, father, you knew it—and you didn't try to find us?" There was pain and reproach in Treasure's voice.