About two thirds along the next block――Pud was walking slowly and keeping to the shade of the oaks and maples――his thoughts returned to the conversation with Mr. Tully and he chuckled. Then the chuckle was succeeded by an expression of doubt. Mr. Tully would be sure to call after dinner and learn that Pud’s father had gone to Thatcher for the day and Pud would be called on for explanations, and his explanations didn’t do much good. Pud’s conscience didn’t trouble him a bit, for he had told nothing but the truth to the minister, but his mother never could be made to see the difference between telling fibs and telling the truth as Pud sometimes told it. Pud sighed. Life was very difficult at times! Choosing the side gate rather than the front, Pud made his way along the grass-grown driveway, that, flanked by ancient syringa bushes, led to a dilapidated stable at the rear of the lot. Once, when Pud was a very small boy, the stable had held a horse and a carriage. Now it held nothing but rubbish and discarded furniture, and was used by none save Pud. Pud didn’t, of course, go on to the stable. He stopped at the little latticed porch at the back of the small white house, crossed it, and pulled open the screen door. Mrs. Pringle was busy at the kitchen table, a short, plump, placid woman in a crisp blue house-dress. ‘You’ve been gone a very long time, dear,’ she said as Pud entered. ‘I’ve been waiting for those lemons quite twenty minutes.’ ‘Well, you just want to blame that old minister, then,’ said Pud defensively. ‘Gee, he can talk more in ten minutes――’ ‘Pud, you mustn’t speak like that about Mr. Tully. What did he talk about?’ ‘About――oh, about the weather, and you and dad, and how he was going to call after dinner, and――’ ‘Call here?’ exclaimed Mrs. Pringle. ‘Sakes alive, what for? You’re sure he said _after_ dinner?’ ‘Yes’m.’ ‘Well, I wonder what he’s coming about,’ mused Pud’s mother. ‘Look in the refrigerator, dear, and see if there’s any root beer there. Mr. Tully is awfully fond of it.’ ‘If there is,’ asked Pud, ‘can I have some, Ma?’