"But if God takes care of me, Faver, I don't see why I need a nurse
bovvering," he was expostulating.

Joy didn't hear just how his family met this objection. She saw that
the lady looked about for her, and could not see her in the
gathering darkness.

Then she went back to the hotel, where she was very late for dinner.
She looked around for the riders, but she did not see them. Evidently
they were having dinner taken over.

* * * * *

Phyllis Harrington, rather regretfully, hooked a dog-chain to the
porch railing of the cottage she and her husband had just hired. It
was an entirely unnecessary part of the family bull-terrier's
wardrobe, and she intended to use it as an instrument of justice. So
she called her small son. She believed in making the punishment fit
the crime, and Philip had flagrantly run away, quite against orders,
the evening before.

He appeared at her summons, smiling angelically. Philip Harrington
had not the smallest visible excuse for being the son of his
parents, for his father was not particularly dark, and his mother
distinctly gold-blond. Philip threw back, it was supposed, to the
family Pirate, a semi-mythical person whom Phyllis said she'd had
some thirteen generations ago. Phyllis was a New Englander. The
Pirate must have been dark; at least Philip had tragic, enormous
brown eyes with dense lashes, a mop of straight black hair, and a
dusky skin, deeply rose-red at cheeks and lips. He also possessed