"I've found a note from Philip, Viola," Phyllis called as they neared the house. "He's lunching out, it seems." She handed Viola the note. "I hav gon out too Lunchun," it stated briefly. "Yours Sincerely, Philip Harrington." "He'll come back," his mother went on, with a perceptible relief in her voice. "He has a corps of old and middle-aged ladies about the village who adore him. He's probably at Miss Addison's--she's his Sunday-school teacher. He really should have come and asked, I suppose. Well, come in, Joy, and let us eat. Allan won't be back--he's gone off to some village-improvement thing that seems to think it would die without him." They ate in solitary state, except for Angela, and after that nothing happened, except that they separated with one accord to take long, generous naps. Joy was awakened from hers by Phyllis' voice, raised in surprise. "But, Miss _Addison!_" she was saying, on the porch below Joy's window, in a tone that was part amusement, part horror. Joy slipped on her frock and shoes and ran down to share the excitement. When she got down, Phyllis was just leading the visitor into the old Colonial living-room, and they were having tea brought in. Philip was nowhere to be seen. "A _wheel_barrow!" Phyllis was saying tragically, as she took her cup from the waitress, who was listening interestedly, if furtively. "A wheelbarrow," assented Miss Addison, a pretty, white-haired spinster. She, too, took a cup. Phyllis cast up her eyes in horror and, incidentally, saw Joy. "Come in," she said resignedly. "I'm just hearing how Philip disported himself at his 'lunchun.'" "I didn't mean to distress you, but I really thought you should know, Mrs. Harrington," pursued the visitor plaintively. "I'm eternally grateful," murmured Phyllis, beginning, as usual, to be overcome with the funny side of the situation. "But--oh, Joy, what _do_ you think of my sinful offspring? Miss Addison says Philip spent the luncheon hour relating to her how his father went to the saloon in the village, had two glasses of beer, was entirely overcome, and had to be brought home in--in--" by this time Phyllis was laughing uncontrollably--"in a _wheel_barrow!" Joy, too, was aghast for a moment, then the situation became too much for her, and she also began to laugh. "Good gracious!" she said. "And that isn't all!" Phyllis went on hysterically. "After Allan's friends, or the policeman, or whoever it was, tipped him off the wheelbarrow onto the front porch (imagine Allan in a wheelbarrow! It would take two for the length of him!), he staggered in, and would have beaten me, but that my noble son flung himself between! Then he was overcome with remorse--wasn't he, Miss Addison?--and signed the pledge." "Good gracious!" said Joy, inadequately, again. "Now, where on earth," demanded Miss Addison, "did he get all that?"