"Groaning and grunting again, poor old man," said Boodles cheerfully, rather glad there was no light, as she did not want him to see she had been crying. "You must laugh and be funny now, please, for I've come home dreadful tired, and if you go on worrying I shall begin to groan and grunt too. I'm ready to have my boots taken off." "Don't talk like that. Your throat sounds all lumpy," the old man complained, getting up and groping towards her in the dark. "What have you been doing--quarrelling?" Boodles made noises which were intended to express ridicule, and then said miserably: "Saying good-bye." Weevil knelt upon the carpet and began to unlace the first boot he could find, groaning and grunting again like a professional mourner. "Did it hurt, Boodle-oodle?" he asked tenderly. "Horrid," she sighed. "It made you cry?" "Ees." "That was the Brute, darling. I've warned you of him so often. He doesn't let any of us escape. He shows me rabbits in traps, and he makes you cry. I believe you are crying now." "Not much, daddy. Only a few little tears that were late for the big weep," said Boodles, burrowing her face into a cool cushion. "I want you to laugh. You don't laugh so much now," he complained, drawing the boot off carefully, and then feeling inside to make sure that the foot had not come away too. "One day you said I laughed too much, and I wasn't to do it any more," said a doleful voice. "Ah, but there was a reason for that," said the old man cunningly. "I thought the Brute would be angry if he saw you laughing so much. That was before I took him by the throat and flung him out of the house. He hasn't been here since--not to worry you anyhow," he chuckled. "You must explain that, please, and a lot of other things besides," she said hurriedly, sitting up and trying to locate the exact position of his head. Old Weevil laughed in a silly sort of way. "It's a little personal matter between the Brute and me," he chuckled. "But I come in. I'm the respondent, or whatever you call it. Now I must hear all about it," she said. "You're not old enough. I shan't tell you anything until you are twenty-one." "Yes, you will. I'm not a baby now. I am eighteen, and I feel more--nearly eighty-one to-night. I've got one boot on still, and if you won't answer I'll kick." The old man jumped playfully upon the threatening foot like a kitten upon a ball of wool. "Daddy-man, I'm serious. I'm not laughing a bit. I believe there is another cry coming on, and that will make you groan and grunt dreadful. Is it true you are my grandfather?" The question was out with a rush, and murmuring: "There, I've done it," Boodles put her face back into the cushion, breathing as quickly as any agitated maid who has just received an unexpected offer of marriage. Whatever Weevil was doing she could not think. He appeared to be scrabbling about the floor, playing with her foot. Both of them were glad it was so dark. "Who told you that?" he said.