That was the refrain throughout breakfast. Both Molly and he excitedly went over nearly every detail of the piece. Wolves, Indians, Pirates, Underground Houses, Mermaids, Fairies--all these provided far more sustenance than mere marmalade and toast and bacon. Indeed, for the next week or so "Peter Pan" was the chief topic of conversation between the juvenile and rejuvenated members of the household. It became an obsession with them. I couldn't understand it, because no play, however wonderful, could possibly produce such an effect by itself. Was there any other influence at work on Molly and Gran'pa? I concluded that there was, for presently they began whispering together, nudging one another, and occasionally making furtive signs during meal-times. "What are you both up to?" I asked one day. "Why do you keep winking at your grandfather, Molly?" "It's . . . only in fun, Daddy." "Quite so! But what is the fun?" "Don't bully her, George!" butted in Gran'pa. "Is this _my_ child, or yours?" I demanded. The old sinner's eyes twinkled. "I'm remotely responsible," he said. "You're directly responsible for some other underhand work that is going on. Since you two have joined forces, Molly's behavior has become the last word in 'Frightfulness.' That's bad enough in all conscience, after the years of good example I've set her, but what really hurts is the fact that she neglects me, too. I might easily be a stranger in my own house!" Molly was at my side in a second, with her arms round my neck and a glowing little cheek pressed against mine. "_Daddy!_ I don't neglect you! I only play with Gran'pa more than I used to." "You never play with me," I growled. "Oo--oo--oo! . . . I did last night!" "Merely out of pity. You didn't want to." "Only because I was tired, Daddy. . . ." "There you are! Why are you so tired nowadays? You didn't used to be. It's because you waste all your energy larking with Gran'pa, while I'm slaving at the office all day. Then there is nothing left for me in the evenings." I caught her glancing fearfully in the old man's direction, and knew at once that they actually _were_ up to something. "Gran'pa," I said. "What is this terrible secret which is eating into my daughter's life and destroying our happy home?" "Don't be absurd, George!" "Very well! I shall find out sooner or later. . . ." Both Molly and her confederate grew very quiet at this threat of ultimate discovery. I looked at Gran'pa sternly. "Is it," I asked, "anything to do with that wonderful project, about which you have confided in Molly, but not in me?" "You silly old Daddy! Of course it isn't!" cried Molly. "Nothing whatever to do with it, George!" corroborated Gran'pa. Molly pushed her fingers pensively through my hair. She was evidently wavering. "Shall I tell him?" she pleaded at last to her abettor. "It's not fair to worry her like this, George!" he exclaimed.