Mr. Artman rose from the table rather wearily and Zee brought his hat for him humbly.
"I hope you believe that I am sorry, father," she said as they set out together.
"I think you are sorry to bother me, but I must admit that I do not think you are sorry you annoyed Miss Hodges."
"I do think it was rather a good joke on her," admitted Zee.
"Miss Hodges is doing one good and noble thing. She is working hard, long hours and very wearily to earn money for herself and her mother and that little nephew who lives with them. She has to labor for her very bread, and for theirs also. Any one who makes life harder than need be for those who must toil for their existence is—excuse me, dear—but any one who does that is either needlessly cruel or criminally thoughtless. Whether she is the type of woman you like, whether she appeals to you personally or not—that is nothing. The fact remains that she is working for her life—and I hate to think it is my little girl making things hard for her."
Zee marched along beside him sturdily, without speaking for a while. Her dark merry eyes were clouded. Her rosy lips were a straight scarlet line. Two blocks, three blocks, they traversed in silence. Then she slipped little clinging fingers into his hand, and said softly:
"Father, I am sorry now—and I won't ever, any more. I have tried to tease her, and I like to make the other kids laugh. But I never thought of it the way you told me. Will you try not to be ashamed of me?"
His hand closed over hers companionably.
"And, father, you need not believe me to-day—that I am sorry. Wait and I will prove it to you. For don't you think I see that we preachers have to make things easier for folks, instead of harder?"