The next morning while we were at breakfast, the odor of June roses wafting in through the open window, the delicious flavor of red-ripe strawberries tickling our palate, and the anticipation of rice griddle-cakes exhilarating us, the millennium came. For the five young Polydores bore down upon us _en masse_. "Father and mother have gone away," proclaimed Ptolemy, who was always spokesman for the quintette. This intelligence was of no particular interest to us--not then, at least. We rarely saw father and mother Polydore, and they were apparently of no need to their offspring. Ptolemy's next announcement, however, was startling and effective in its dramatic intensity. "We've come over to stay with you while they are away." I laughed; jocosely, I thought. Silvia paid no heed to my forced hilarity, but ejaculated gaspingly: "Why, what do you mean!" "They have gone away somewhere," enlightened our oracle. "They went to the train last night in a taxi. They have gone somewhere to find out something about some kind of aborigines." "Which reminds me," I remarked reminiscently, "of the man who traveled far and vainly in search of a certain plant which, on his return, he found growing beside his own doorstep." Silvia paid no heed to my misplaced pleasantry. She was right--as usual. It was no time for levity. "I don't see," spoke my unappreciative wife, addressing Ptolemy, "why their absence should make any difference in your remaining at home. Gladys can cook your meals and put Diogenes to bed as usual." "Gladys has gone," piped Demetrius. "She left yesterday afternoon. She was only staying till she could get her pay." "Father forgot to get another girl in her place," informed Ptolemy, "and he forgot to tell mother he had forgotten until just before they went to the train. She said it didn't matter--that we could just as well come over here and stay with you." "She said," added Pythagoras, "that you were so crazy over children, that probably you'd be glad to have us stay with you all the time." My last strawberry remained poised in mid-air. It was quite apparent to me now that there was nothing funny about this situation. "Milk, milk!" whimpered Diogenes, pulling at Silvia's dress and making frantic efforts to reach the cream pitcher. Huldah had come in with the griddle-cakes during this avalanche of news. "Here, all you kids!" commanded our field marshal, as she picked up Diogenes, "beat it to the kitchen, and I'll give you some breakfast. Hustle up!" The Polydores, whose eyes were bulging with expectancy and semi-starvation, tumbled over each other in their eagerness to "hustle up and beat it to the kitchen." Our oiler of troubled waters followed, and there was assurance of a brief lull. "What shall we do!" I exclaimed helplessly when the door had closed on the last Polydore. I felt too limp and impotent to cope with the situation. Not so Silvia.