"Old? Why, I don't know—thirty—maybe more. He must be a little more, come to think of it. But you never think of age with the doctor. He'll be young when he's ninety."
"And you like him—so well?" Her voice was a little wistful.
"Next to dad—always have. You'll like him, too. You can't help it. He's mighty interesting."
"And he's a doctor?"
"Yes, and no. Oh, he graduated and hung out his shingle; but he never practiced much. He had money enough, anyway, and he got interested in scientific research—antiquarian, mostly, though he's done a bit of mountain-climbing and glacier-studying for the National Geographic Society."
"Antiquarian? Oh, yes, I know—old things. Mother was that way, too. She had an old pewter plate, and a dark blue china teapot, homely as a hedge fence, I thought, but she doted on 'em. And she doted on ancestors, too. She had one in that old ship—Mayflower, wasn't it?"
Burke laughed.
"Mayflower! My dear child, the Mayflower is a mere infant-in-arms in the doctor's estimation. The doctor goes back to prehistoric times for his playground, and to the men of the old Stone Age for his preferred playmates."
"Older than the Mayflower, then?"
"A trifle—some thousands of years."