"I think we'll manage to adjust that," Donald countered confidently.
"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—"