"Do we have to go to school?"
"Oh, dear, sweet, darling General, it never happened before since we were born."
"What do you think, father?" said Doris slowly.
"You are the General," came the quick response.
"Then," said Doris, in a clear triumphant voice, "step on it! What do we care for school, and work, and mending, and dishes, and— Begin, Mr. Folsom. We'll see the morning through."
It was lovely to see precious old father take that gay young interest in bolts and screws—how readily his laughter sounded—how deep and pleased his voice rang out. Poor, dear Mr. Davison—well, we preachers are only to lead, and not to judge, and Doris was very, very sure the angels in Heaven must know many good and tender things about the man who did this kindness to her father.
Some of the people of the fold thought the family had mentally run amuck. Whoever heard of an impecunious minister taking an expensive auto in preference to a money-making cow? It was incomprehensible. But even those who wondered, smiled with loving sympathy when the family bundled joyously into the motor "just to have a good time for an hour."
"But wherever in the world we are going to scare up money for gas is more than I can figure out," said Mr. Artman, looking at the girls with sober eyes. "We've got the car—but it won't run itself. It costs twenty-five cents a gallon, and we only get about eighteen miles to the gallon—"
"Don't do figures, father, it makes my head ache," pleaded Doris. "We must concentrate. Where is the money for gas? Everybody think now."