“What’s ‘strafen’ and what’s ‘zanken,’ Daisy?” asked the Colonel, pronouncing the latter like “z” in buzz.
Ruth went up to her father and took his face between her hands, dropping a light kiss on his eyebrow.
“ Strafen is when one whips bad boys and t—s—zanken is when one only scolds them. Which shall we do to you, dear? Both?”
“We’ll take coffee first, and then we’ll see which there’s time for before we leave you hemming a pocket handkerchief while Rex and I go trout fishing.”
“Such parents!” sighed Ruth, nestling down beside her father and looking over her cup at Rex, who gravely nodded sympathy.
After breakfast, as Ruth stood waiting by the table where the fishing tackle lay, perfectly composed in manner, but unable to keep the color from her cheek and the sparkle of impatience from her eye, Gethryn thought he had seldom seen anything more charming.
A soft gray Tam crowned her pretty hair. A caped coat, fastened to the throat, hung over the short kilt skirt, and rough gaiters buttoned down over a wonderful little pair of hobnailed boots.
“I say! Ruth! what a stunner you are!” cried he with enthusiasm. She turned to the rod case and began lifting and arranging the rods.
“Rex,” she said, looking up brightly, “I feel about sixteen today.”
“Or less, judging from your costume,” said her mother. “Schicksalsee isn’t Rangely, you know. I only hope the good people in the little ducal court won’t call you theatrical.”