After making all the allowance I could for Gran'pa's novel home-coming, I was under the impression that once those new glands were safely embedded in him his progress from old age to youth would be a slow and rhythmic movement, like the gradual and normal recovery from an illness. But, alas, I was mistaken. There was no doubt about Gran'pa's progress, but instead of being steady and even, it followed a wild zigzag course, interspersed with sudden outbreaks of half-delirious childishness. To-day, he was sensible and quiet and dignified. To-morrow, he was silly and noisy and skittish. He had apparently either developed a dual character or was suffering from a grave lack of self-control.

The only reasonable explanation I can give of these phenomena is that Gran'pa had been dozing and dreaming in the peaceful backwaters of life until he had grown extremely stiff and awkward. Now that he was at last awakening, he was metaphorically pinching himself, stretching, kicking out, getting rid of that objectionable "pins-and-needles" sensation, and giving vent to little whoops of joy at finding the grim nightmare of impending death was untrue. In this half-sleeping, half-waking state, his perspective naturally was distorted, and he did many things which were shamefully undignified and childish. The experiment with the motor scooter was certainly the most dramatic of all these "outbreaks," for it was the least expected, and had found me totally unprepared.As the days passed, however, I grew more accustomed to his freaks, and came to regard them as the natural result of adding another "young" member to the family. Some men would undoubtedly have called in a mental specialist when Gran'pa attached half a walnut shell to the kitten's tail and spent the whole morning watching the poor little creature waltzing and somersaulting round the dining-room floor. But I preferred to adopt the more Christian-like attitude of viewing the incident merely as a good-humored, boyish lark. After all, it didn't hurt the cat and it certainly amused Gran'pa and kept him out of further mischief—so what harm was there?

But when he began inciting Molly, who was already quite enough of a handful, I found it necessary to be very firm with him.

Without wishing to give the impression that I'm a kill-joy where youngsters are concerned, I must admit that I believe in a certain amount of juvenile restraint, even in these days of enlightenment and free education.

The case in point—which is only one of many dozens which occurred in the six months succeeding the operation—was actually due to my own thoughtlessness, and I record it in detail to show that one cannot be too careful when dealing with the young.

Ever since Molly was eight years old, I had celebrated her birthday by taking her to see that hardy old stage annual "Peter Pan." This year, I thought that it would be a gracious act to include Gran'pa in the ceremony, more particularly as he had just paid me that initial five thousand dollars, due under Clause 3(a) of our written agreement.

So the three of us journeyed up to town early, had dinner, and then went to the theatre to see Barrie's wonderful version of Eternal Youth.

As Gran'pa had not been to a theatre since he was sixty-five—that is over thirty years previously—it was not surprising to find him deeply moved by the opening scene in the nursery. When Mrs. Darling sang her three offspring to sleep in their little cots, I noticed Gran'pa sentimentally blinking his eyes.

Presently, Peter Pan entered and Gran'pa sat up and became very restless. He craned his neck upwards and forwards and sideways to improve his view of the stage; he twitched, he made little excited grunts of merriment, he giggled when Peter let Tinker-bell out of the drawer, and he roared when the boys began taking lessons in the art of flying.

As the play proceeded so Gran'pa's excitement grew, until people in front commenced turning around and glowering at us.

"Restrain yourself, Gran'pa!" I whispered, nudging him in the ribs.

"Do what, George?" he asked, without even taking his eyes off the stage.

"Keep quiet and don't fidget so much."

"But it's so exciting!"

He quietened down for a little while, but completely lost his head when the underground scene came on. The first appearance of the pirates and the wolves had been trying enough to his feeble powers of self-restraint, but they were nothing to those thrilling moments, when the pirates vanquished the Indians and captured the children, and the green-faced Captain Hook poisoned Peter's medicine.When the curtain dropped on that scene, Gran'pa was in a terrible state of excitement.

"Come and have a brandy," I whispered.

"Thanks, George! I think I will."

I led him to the bar and there he steadied his nerves and I quenched my thirst.

After that, he was much better and managed, without collapsing, to get through the ghastly nightmare of the Doodle-Doo Quest on the Pirate Ship. But there were moments when Molly and I were compelled to hold him down in his seat.

"Disgraceful!" I heard someone growl behind us.

"Absurd, bringing a doddering old chap of that age!" whispered another.

In spite of the low, angry murmurs of the audience in our immediate vicinity, we contrived, however, to sit through the whole play without causing a riot, and when we eventually left the theatre, I explained to Gran'pa exactly what I thought of him.

"I couldn't—help it!" he said listlessly, as if every drop of his energy had gone.

"But it's so pitifully weak and selfish, behaving as you did," I remonstrated. "Think how it annoyed the other members of the audience."

He tried to answer but could not.

Then his legs gave way, and he suddenly sat down on the pavement and began crying hysterically.

I called a taxi, gathered him up, and hustled him into it, where he sat twitching in the corner like a man with Saint Vitus' dance.

Although I don't pretend to understand very much about medical science, I do know that thyroid gland secretion has a remarkably stimulating effect on the mental faculties. With too little of it, one is dull and lifeless; with too much of it, one is active and highly strung. Could it be that Alfred's glands were too vigorous, and that what was normally good for monkey was abnormally bad for man? It was a very discomfiting thought, and I grew so alarmed at Gran'pa's condition that I decided to get him a bromide draught. It would, at any rate, afford temporary relief.

So we drew up at the nearest chemist's shop, where I bought Gran'pa a soothing powder.

"Stick your tongue out," I ordered, when I returned to the taxi.

He protested at first, but soon gave way, and I carefully tipped the white pacifier into the centre of the scoop-shaped receptacle which he was holding out in readiness.

"Now swill it down with this," I said, handing him a glass of water.

Again he obeyed.

Then he settled back in his corner and fell sound asleep.

"This is cheerful!" I thought. "How on earth are we going to get him into the train at Waterloo?"

I considered the matter for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that we should have to taxi home.

Much to Molly's delight, I broke the news to the reluctant driver, and away we sped at last.

When we got back, Nanny and I put Gran'pa to bed, gave him a glass of hot milk and hoped for the best.

The following morning he came down to breakfast, looking more aggressively energetic than ever.

"You're very full of beans," I said.

He braced his shoulders."Yes," he replied. "It must have been that powder, George!"

"That was a soothing powder, man!" I exclaimed. "Not a tonic."

"You don't say so!"

"I certainly bought it as such!"

He looked into the fire for a moment or so, in mild contemplation. Then he turned to me again.

"That was a wonderful play, George. D'you know any more like it?"

"No! It's unique. Even if it were not, I wouldn't take you to another of the same kind."

"Why not?"

"Can't you remember?"

"I recollect being very interested in it."

"Is that all?" I gasped.

He paused.

"I was dreaming a good deal last night," he confessed, sheepishly.

"What sort of dreams?"

"Oh! Nightmare and things.... That fellow Captain Hook was after me. So were those wolves."

His eyes were shining and his cheeks glowing. There was no doubt that "Peter Pan" had left a very vivid impression on him.

"Would you like me to send for Dr. Croft?" I asked.

"No! Certainly not! Don't you ever get ... roused, George?"

"Yes! I did last night!"

"Wonderful play!" he murmured, entirely missing my point. "Wonderful ...!"

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.

"All right! Don't bother! The day has evidently come when even my own child turns against me."

Molly was now on the verge of confession but at the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour, Gran'pa overcame her. He deliberately placed the forefinger of his right hand in his mouth, took it out again and made the sign of a cross on his beard! Molly watched him, like a rabbit hypnotized by a snake.

"I can't, Daddy!" she murmured, clutching spasmodically at my hair. "It's wicked to break a promise...."

And that is precisely where the matter stood for the next two days. My curiosity pulled one way and Molly's honor the other. I think the two forces were about equally matched. Luck, however, eventually gave my side the advantage—and the dread secret was suddenly out in all its startling nakedness.

One evening, instead of returning home about six, as I had expected, I came back a couple of hours earlier. It was a cold, wet, miserable winter's day, and I naturally concluded that Molly and Gran'pa would be amusing themselves in front of a roaring fire. Imagine my surprise when Nanny said that they were in the tool-house outside—"making something."

I hurried out to see what mischief was afoot; but there was no sign of them anywhere.

"That's funny," I said to Nanny. "They're not there. Are you certain?"

"Quite!" she answered, a little wearily. "They've been out since two o'clock."I went to the tool-house again, and even looked under and into things. Still no trace!

"They must be indoors!" I said.

Nanny looked at me wildly. The last few weeks had told on her, and I regret to say that she was not the woman she had been.

"They went out at two," she reiterated, slowly and firmly. "And they've not come back into this house again, or I should have seen them."

"But—they must be somewhere!" I exclaimed, growing alarmed.

"I'm sure they're old enough to look after themselves. I've got plenty to do without..."

"Come, come, Nanny! Don't lose your temper!"

"Lose my temper!" she cried, suddenly bursting the dams which had been holding back the accumulated floods of weeks of storm and tempest. "If you'd had to put up with half what I have, you'd pack up your things and go this very minute."

"But why didn't you tell me of this before?"

She snorted.

"Tch! You are just as bad yourself! It's wicked, that's what I call it! The Almighty never intended us to live as long as your grandfather hopes to—and it's going against His laws to start cutting up all those poor little defenceless monkeys. It's disgusting.... To think of that old man capering about with those nasty little animal glands in him!"

It was the first time I had ever seen dear old Nanny really lose her temper. I was simply spellbound.

"Nanny ..." I began.

"Don't you 'Nanny' me! I've had enough of it. There hasn't been a moment's peace since the day your grandfather first put foot here. He's a Godless old man and ought to know better at his time of life. I won't stay in this house after to-night. No! not if you offered me a fortune!"

"You don't mean ..."

She flamed out again.

"Not for a fortune!"

She suddenly rushed from the kitchen, upstairs, and into her own room.

I heard the door crash to with nerve-shattering emphasis. Then a deadly silence enveloped the house.

"Good Lord!" I gasped.

For a full minute I stood quite still, paralyzed and helpless. This, surely, was the beginning of the end. Without Nanny, life was unthinkable—comfortless—void!

I gazed miserably at the wretched English winter outside, and it seemed to symbolize all the grayness and coldness of the future. It also drew my attention to the fact that Molly and Gran'pa had still to be found. Where were they? Where could they be?

I put on my hat and coat and hurried down the garden in the pouring rain.

"Molly!" I cried. "Where are you?"

The trees sighed and shook a deluge of tears on me.

"Confound the old fool!" I muttered, floundering through the mud and filth which surrounded the fowl-pens.

Even the hens themselves withdrew from my wrath.

"Are you there?" I clamored, thrusting my hand through the low doorway.

The only answer was a scurrying on the part of the feathered folk....

I stood up again and looked around the deserted and sodden garden. As I did so, I saw a thin thread of blue smoke dismally ascending from the midst of the raspberry canes.

"Ah!" I cried. "So that's where you are!"

In a second, I had bounded over the squelching celery bed and cabbage patch and reached the tell-tale spot.

"Molly!" I shouted.

The sound of voices reached me from the bowels of the earth! Puzzled and angry, I thrust aside the wet and clammy canes, stepped forward—and suddenly found myself treading on air.

When I had recovered from the jolt and splash, it became apparent that I was now at the bottom of a huge rectangular hole some four or five feet in depth, and that the "floor" on which I stood, ankle deep in mud, rose at a fairly steep angle to the normal level of the garden. With my characteristic bad luck, I had plunged in at the "deep end."

Turning quickly round, I discovered what was obviously the entrance to nothing more nor less than a crudely fashioned "dug-out" or underground retreat, which was shut off from the outer world by an improvised door of patchwork pieces of wood. From behind this, proceeded the faint sound of human voices, apparently shouting some sort of primitive song: "Wah-wah! Wah-wah-woo!"

I listened for a moment or two. Then I sniffed at the unmistakable odor of grilled kippers—the kind of nauseating smell one usually associates with gypsies' tents, caravans and cheap lodging-houses.

Here, at last was the explanation of all these weeks of secrecy and furtiveness on the part of Molly and Gran'pa! This is what had happened through taking them to see the underground scene in "Peter Pan." This was how they showed their gratitude!

I thrust a hand between the soft muddy earth and the top of the "door," tugged, and down it came with a splash, followed by a gush of foul smoke and kipper-laden air.

The "Wah-wah-woo!"-ing ceased, and an ominous silence reigned in its place.

I waited for the poisonous fumes to clear a little, and then ducked my head and peered into the dug-out. In the light of a couple of candles and a blazing wood-fire, I caught sight of Molly, hastily removing a kipper impaled on the end of a pointed stick, and Gran'pa thrusting a half loaf of bread into his pocket.

"Come out!" I shouted.

Molly emerged, slowly and sheepishly. She was wet through, muddy, black-faced and reeking with the mingled odors of damp earth, smoke, and grilled fish. As she stood before me, she shivered in the cold and driving rain.

I tried to convey to her some idea of my utter amazement and anger, but realized that the English language was not intended for the expression of such powerful emotions as mine were at that moment.

"Go into the house, immediately!" I cried at last. "You'll catch your death of cold!"

"Daddy ..." she began wheedlingly.

"Don't you touch me! I'm dirty enough already!... Scoot!"

She scooted; and I went in and hauled out Gran'pa who was behaving like a sulky schoolboy. I was mad with him—mad at the dangerous complications which might follow Molly's exposure to such weather.

"I daren't say what I think of you!" I flamed. "But I'll tell you my opinion of myself. I was a fool ever to help you in this idiotic monkey business. You may have been troublesome in the old days, but you were at least harmless. Now, you've become not only a nuisance to the whole household, but a menace as well. A thundering good hiding is what you really deserve...."

He shrank back into the cover of the dug-out and the rain pelted down on me in torrents.

"Oh! Don't be afraid!" I said. "I wouldn't touch you for worlds. If you wish, you can stay and 'pig' it in there for all eternity. I'm certainly not going to ask you into my house again."

I looked at his mud-stained beard, his grubby face, his dirty clothes, and his filthy hands, and suddenly my anger gave way to a feeling of disgust and repulsion.

Without another word, I turned, and strode quickly towards the house.