“Ah, well,” the old fellow answered; “we’ve always been your debtors.  And it’s a debt that grows.”

He loaded his pipe and was silent, for, after the fashion of the aged, he dared assume that his youthful auditor would understand just how the Brents regarded him.

“Well, my heart’s lighter for our talk, lad,” he declared presently.  “If you don’t mind, I’ll have a little nap.”

Donald, grateful for the dismissal, returned to the kitchen, where Nan was preparing the vegetables.  Her child at once clamored for recognition, and, almost before he knew it, Donald had the tyke in his lap and was saying,

“Once upon a time there was a king and he had three sons——­”

“He isn’t interested in kings and princes, dear,” Nan interrupted.  “Tell him the story of the bad little rabbit.”

“But I don’t know it, Nan.”

“Then you’ll fail as a daddy to my boy.  I’m surprised.  If Don were your own flesh and blood, you would know intuitively that there is always a bad little rabbit and a good little rabbit.  They dwell in a hollow tree with mother Rabbit and father Rabbit.”

“Thanks for the hint.  I shall not fail in this job of dadding.  Well then, bub, once upon a time there was a certain Mr. Johnny Rabbit who married a very beautiful lady rabbit whose name was Miss Molly Cottontail.  After they were married and had gone to keep house under a lumber-pile, Mr. Hezekiah Coon came along and offered to rent them some beautifully furnished apartments in the burned-out stump of a hemlock tree.  The rent was to be one nice ear of sweet corn every month—­”

The tale continued, with eager queries from the interested listener—­queries which merely stimulated the young laird of Tyee to wilder and more whimsical flights of fancy, to the unfolding of adventures more and more thrilling and unbelievable until, at last, the recital began to take on the character of an Arabian Nights’ tale that threatened to involve the entire animal kingdom, and only ceased when, with a wealth of mournful detail, Donald described the tragic death and funeral of the gallant young Johnny Rabbit, his fatherless audience suddenly burst into tears and howled lugubriously; whereupon Donald was hard put to it to bring Johnny Rabbit back to life mysteriously but satisfactorily, and send him scampering home to the hollow hemlock tree, there to dwell happily ever after.

His tale completed, Donald happened to glance toward Nan.  She was regarding him with shining eyes.

“Donald,” she declared, “it’s a tremendous pity you haven’t a boy of your own.  You’re just naturally intended for fatherhood.”

He grinned.

“My father has been hinting rather broadly that a grandson would be the very last thing on earth to make him angry.  He desires to see the name and the breed and the business in a fair way of perpetuation before he passes on.”

“That is the way of all flesh, Donald.”