r 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."

"I wish it were not his way. My inability to comply with his desires
isn't going to render dad or me any happier."

"Dear old boy, what a frightful predicament you're in!" she murmured
sympathetically. "I wish I could be quite certain you aren't really in
love with me, Donald."

"Life would be far rosier for all concerned if I were quite certain I
was mistaking an old and exalted friendship for true love. But I'm
not. You're the one woman in the world for me, and if I cannot have
you, I'll have none other--Hello! Weeping has made this young fellow
heavy-lidded, or else my fiction has bored him, for he's nodding."

"It's time for his afternoon nap, Donald." She removed the sleepy tot
from his arms and carried him away to his crib. When she returned, she
resumed her task of preparing dinner.

"Nan," Donald queried suddenly, "have I the right to ask you the name
of the man who fathered that child?"

"Yes," she answered soberly; "you have. I wish, however, that you
would not ask me. I should have to decline to answer you."

"Well, then, I'll not ask. Nevertheless, it would interest me mightily
to