There was something chugging inquiringly out there. And it was--it was, indeed, John's little doctor-car. And it held John, and it was slowing up. As these facts, one by one, became apparent to Joy and Angela in their excursions above the hedge, there was great happiness in the garden. "I knew he'd come!--He said he'd come!" announced Philip gleefully, pushing like mad. "He said he would! He's been here every day since they went. I asked him yesterday"--these sentences were interspersed with the pantings necessary to pushing a swingful of ladies--"I asked him whyn't he stay for dinner, and he said--he said he wanted to go home an' have luncheon wiv Joy. So I s'pose he'll stay today, long's you're here." In Joy's naughty mind a Great Idea sprang to birth. Whyn't he stay, indeed? He didn't know about Gail's coming to brighten his fireside, and there wasn't any reason why he should. "He'll stay if I can make him," she told Philip gaily. In the back of her head--she should unquestionably have had her hands slapped--there was a beautiful and complete picture of Gail being insolently alluring to three empty chairs and a luncheon table and four unoccupied walls. "See John!" screamed Angela, trying to clap her hands, and having to be grabbed hastily so she shouldn't fall out of the swing. "Johnny! Johnny! Come in!" John looked up in time to see the swing before it went downward again. He waved his hand as it came up, and the third time it rose Joy saw the car still, but no John. He was coming in. He appeared a moment later, striding over the lawn. The children dashed for him, as usual. "Johnny, Johnny!" they clamored. "She says you can stay to lunch! She says she will if you will." With the way made so easy for her erring feet, what could Joy say but "Don't you want to?" She did not insist. But John accepted on the spot with unsuspecting heartiness, and Philip solved the last problem by scampering off over the rustling leaves to telephone that John wouldn't be home for luncheon. So they had a very merry luncheon, though an occasional whiff of guilt made Joy fall silent--which was not noticeable, because Philip's conversation flowed on brightly in all the breaks, and sometimes when there weren't any. "Want me to take you back, Joy?" John asked when they were done, looking down at her quizzically, as he had a trick of doing. "Gail must want you by this time." "Gail!" stammered Joy. Then her courage came back, as it usually did when she summoned it, and she laughed. "Heavens, I am discovered!" she quoted. "Why, John, you don't mean to tell me you ran away too?" "I didn't run away," countered John. "I promised Philip yesterday that I'd stay here to luncheon with him. In fact, I think I promised to summon you. I stopped at the house to do it just now and found you here already. I explained matters to Gail, and she is up in Mother's room, having her luncheon there."