"Why, Zee, however did you happen to get here ahead of time?" demanded Doris, glancing up from the potatoes she was watching so closely, for potatoes have a most annoying way of burning if you leave them a minute. It had taken Doris a long time to learn that.
"Um, yes, I am a little early, I guess," said Zee, in a still small voice. She busied herself about the table without reminder from her sister, an unwonted procedure for the Imp, but Doris was too concerned with the meal to pay much heed.
Rosalie and Treasure came in together a few moments later, and Zee was sent to call their father to the table.
"And don't dawdle, Babe, for things are piping hot, and we must allow three minutes for the blessing, you know."
Zee's appetite, usually above reproach, was negligible that day, and her gay voice, always so persistent in conversation, was quite subdued. But when the meal was over she lifted modest eyes to her father's face.
"I hope you aren't very exceptionally busy to-day, father," she began ingratiatingly.
"I am. I have Davison's funeral to-morrow—and it is not easy to conduct the funeral services of a bad man in a way that will afford comfort to his mourning relatives."
"I knew you would have a hard time of it, father," said Doris sympathetically. "I was hoping they would get some one else— The Methodist minister is new here, and doesn't know Davison as we did."
"One good thing about him, father," said Rosalie, "he never killed any one that we know of. You can come down strong on that, and sort of glide over everything else we know about him."