"You look like a colored illustration from the _Graphic_," she
said irrelevantly. "You're just in time to assist discipline.
_Look!_" she pointed tragically to her victim.

He would have been happily disputing the opportune bone with Foxy, had
not that faithful animal's devotion led him to hand it over at once.

"Faver, make him take it away from me!" he demanded. "Faver, I'm all
chained up! I'm a little dog!"

Little Angela, who looked like a slim, tiny Christmas-card
_Christ-kind_, and was as fascinating a little demon as ever
coquetted with the world at large, struggled to get down, and
demanded to be chained up and be another little dog. Her father set
her down, whereat she made a bolt for the dog, the bone, and her
happily engaged brother.

"Do you think there's any way of conveying to him that this is not a
new amusement, Allan?" demanded his mother, half-laughing.

"Don't let's try," said Allan promptly. "Everything's going
beautifully. Philip's happy, and Angela's going to be gloriously
dirty in a minute, which will give her nurse something to wash. You
know how bitter Viola is about never getting the children to herself
for a minute."

Phyllis slipped an arm through her tall husband's, as they stood by
the steps together.

"No, but Allan, what _would_ you do?"