Don Mike slid off the porch and went to his own room, returning
presently with a guitar. "I've been wanting to play a little," he
confessed as he tuned the neglected instrument, "but it seemed sort of
sacrilegious--after coming home and finding my father gone and the
ranch about to go. However--why sip sorrow with a long spoon? What's
that ballad about the old-fashioned garden, Miss Kay? I like it. If
you'll hum it a few times--"
Ten minutes later he knew the simple little song and was singing it
with her. Mrs. Parker, in dressing gown, slippers and boudoir cap,
despairing of sleep until all of the members of her family had first
preceded her to bed, came out and joined them; presently they were all
singing happily together, while Don Mike played or faked an
accompaniment.
At eleven o'clock Farrel gave a final vigorous strum to the guitar and
stood up to say good-night.
"Shall we sing again to-morrow night, Don Mike?" Kay demanded, eagerly.
Farrel's glance rested solemnly upon her father's face. "Well, if we
all feel happy to-morrow night I see no objection," he answered. "I
fear for your father, Miss Kay. Have you told him of my plans for
depleting his worldly wealth?"
She flushed a little and answered in the affirmative.
"How does the idea strike you, Mr. Parker?"
John Parker grinned--the superior grin of one who knows his superior
strength, "Like a great many principles that are excellent in theory,
your plan will not work in practice.
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