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“She actually blushes!” laughed Philip. “Now if it were Dad! Still the same pair of lovers, Mothery?”

“Nonsense, Philip. How good it is to have you again! How did you happen to come so unexpectedly?”

“I was all through, lessons and quizzes, and took a notion to come. Packed in an awful hurry and forgot to telegraph. The bunch was along. But let me clean up, Mother, before I answer questions,—I’m so dingy and hot! You see I’m here, husky as ever, and wasn’t fired! Home looks pretty good to me!”

“Very well, saucy boy!” Sylvia Van Buskirk shook her head, in smiling reproof of her son, who turned to give direction to the butler standing near, unhearing, unseeing, a suitcase in each hand. “There’ll be a big bag, a couple of trunks and some boxes of books later, Watts. Don’t know where I did get all the junk. Have Louis bring up the suit-cases right away. And how are you yourself?”

“Watts’” dignity gave way to a warm smile, for all the servants liked Philip Junior, or “Mr. Philip”, as they called him. Three or four at a time, Philip took the low steps, whistling as he went.