"Let her alone, George! You don't deserve a daughter! The child has spirit and it ought to be fostered, not squashed. In my young days a girl of her age would have wept her eyes out at the mere thought of leaving home--let alone going abroad and perhaps flying by aeroplane. This is the chance of her life. Isn't it, Molly?" "Yes!" she cried, jubilantly, running to him and jumping on his knee. I groaned. These two . . . _children_ were inseparable--and incorrigible. "The sea voyage," went on Gran'pa, relentlessly, "will do her fifty times as much good as all the schooling in the world." "I doubt it . . ." I said, feeling like a dog in the manger. "_We_ don't! Do we, Molly?" "No . . . _fear_!" she chortled, simply pouncing on the last word. "It will be the loveliest thing that ever was!" She got down from the knees of her confederate and protector and ran over to me: "Oh! Daddy! You might let me." "You'd be terribly sick," I said, pulling at her hair. "I wouldn't mind a bit. It'll be only at first. I should soon get over it." "There are no theatres or moving pictures in Gaboon." "Pooh! I can see those any time!" "You'd leave Nanny?" I asked, playing my last trump. She hesitated a moment--until the obvious struck her. "But couldn't she come, too?" "By all means!" I said, glaring at Gran'pa. "This is a quiet little family trip. We might even invite a few dozen friends as well." "Now, George!" admonished Gran'pa. "Don't be feeble! Molly's suggestion is quite natural, but unfortunately, my dear," he said, addressing her direct, "it would not be convenient to take Nanny. She will stay and look after the house. And, in any case, she wouldn't want to come. She was never intended for quick transit from place to place." Like all the rest of Gran'pa's ideas, this one of taking Molly with us to Gaboon looked idiotic at first; then it slowly emerged into a perfectly reasonable though slightly unconventional project. After all, the sea voyage would undoubtedly do her good. The question was, would the climate of Gaboon do likewise? I asked this ninety-five-year-old usurper of my parental authority what he had to say to that? "Oh, I don't think you need worry, George. There are spots on the north bank of the river which are moderately healthy, so I've ascertained. In addition, we shall seldom be away for more than a few nights at a time--that's the beauty of aeroplaning!" "Meanwhile, where's Molly going to stay? She can't wander about alone." "She'll be with other whites--at one of the mission stations." "Heaven help the missionaries!" I gasped. "You are rude, Daddy!" cried Molly. "After all, my dear," I explained, "a missionary is only sent out to enlighten the poor misguided heathen--he isn't supposed to tackle the modern white girl as well."