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." "No?" "No." For the second time that day Kay saw Don Mike's face light up with that insouciant boyish smile. Then he skipped blithely across the garden thrumming the guitar and singing: Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord! At seven o'clock next morning, while Miguel Farrel was shaving, John Parker came to his door, knocked, and without further ado came into the room. "Farrel," he began, briskly, "I do not relish your way of doing business. Where are the spark plugs of my two cars?" "My dear man, I haven't taken them, so why do you ask me? I am not flattered at your blunt hint that I would so far forget my position as host as to steal the spark plugs from my guest's automobiles." "I beg your pardon. Somebody took them and naturally I jumped to the conclusion that you were the guilty party." Don Mike shaved in silence. "Do you know who removed those spark plugs, Mr. Farrel?" "Yes, sir, I do." "Who did it?"