"I am afraid we can't, Zee. Sometimes I think there is quite a lot in common between the heathens and us preachers--and this is another bond of sympathy. So we will stick to the shoes ourselves." Zee looked very sad indeed as the shiny shoes were taken up-stairs and carefully locked in an old trunk. Then sudden determination dawned in her dark bright face. She raced into the yard, and began a desperate course of exercise, jumping, running, clambering up and down. Gentle Treasure, trailing her devotedly, was put to woeful plights. And Doris, looking out, could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the violent performance of lazy little Zee. Then came revelation. "I am sorry for you, Treasure," panted Zee, pausing a moment. "But I am going to run and jump and climb and jar the life out of these old stogies." For a moment Doris hesitated. Then she turned resolutely and closed the window. "Providence had to overlook quite a little, even in the saints in the Bible," she said to herself excusingly. "I guess I can overlook a few things myself. Isn't it strange," she said to Rosalie, "that somehow the naughtier folks act the sweeter they seem?" "I don't know what you are talking about," laughed Rosalie. "But if you mean me, I quite agree with you." CHAPTER IV THE BLESSING Oh, day of rest and gladness! There was one hour in the week when Doris felt she could lean back and sigh aloud in relief and contentment, with every member of her little family before her and mischief out of the question--the hour of the Sabbath morning worship. Father was in the pulpit, Rosalie was at her side in the choir loft--and Rosalie in the choir loft was a changed being, for some inner, inherent sense of fineness restrained the naughty fairies in her witching eyes for that one hour only. And down in the eighth pew to the right sat Treasure and Zee, very respectable, very reverent, very austere. Rosalie never missed one word of her father's discourses, but Doris, strangely enough, once in a while went wandering. It was so blissful to see the brood safe sheltered before her eyes. It really was the only time when she could think with any degree of consistency or comfort, without fear of violent and climactic interruption. But one morning, just as she was getting pleasantly relaxed, and father was nicely started in Point One--she opened her eyes wide, and leaned forward. There in the ninth pew next to the aisle--Deacon Fenton's pew, and how annoyed he would be when he arrived in the middle of Point Two--right there, as sure as you're born, sat that aggravating, infuriating, mysterious Mr. Wizard that nobody knew.