From sheer paralysis of will power Joy let him draw her hand through
his arm in his accustomed way, and march her off towards the
Harrington cottage between himself and Grandmother. She felt like
Mary-Queen-of-Scots being led to execution, and exceedingly
regretful that she had never learned to faint. Suddenly a wonderful
thought came over her.

"Let me run ahead, please, and see if Phyllis is at home," she
asked, and ran ahead of them without waiting for an answer.

It was golden, late afternoon, and she could see Phyllis on her
veranda. She was lying in the hammock with little Angela nestled
beside her, and Philip constructing something monumental with screws
and wires on the floor by them. She had apparently been telling them
a quite unexpurgated edition of Little Red-Riding-Hood, for as Joy
flew up the steps Philip swerved with a startled look.

"Do you think there could be a wolf after Joy?" he inquired of his
mother.

"Phyllis, please, I want to talk to you alone," Joy panted. "I have
to tell you before _they_ get here. And--" she laughed a little
breathlessly--"it isn't fit for the children's ears."

"You don't know what their ears are used to," Phyllis answered
leisurely. "Philip, darling, you can go and hunt for your friend Mr.
Jones on the links, if you want to."

Philip dashed off, grinning happily. He had hopes, which his mother