_Daniel!_ At the mention of his Christian name Mr. Pennycook
quivered. He knew he was in for it now, but he didn't care. It occurred
to him that he might as well, to quote a homely proverb, "be hanged for
a sheep as a lamb." He had visited the Hat Ranch to tender aid and
sympathy, and despite the impending visitation of his wife's wrath he
resolved to be reckless for once and deliver the goods in bulk.

"Your poor mother was a sensible woman, Donnie girl," he told the
orphan, "an' you're a dutiful daughter to follow out her last wishes
under these--er--deplorable circumstances--er--er--I mean it's a
terrible hard thing to lose your mother, Donnie, an'--damme, Donnie,
I'm sorry. 'Pon my word, I'm sorry."

Mrs. Pennycook's lips moved, and while no sound issued therefrom, yet
did Dan Pennycook, out of his many years of marital submission,
comprehend the unspoken sentence:

"_Dan Pennycook, you're a fool!_"

"Ya-a-h" growled Mr. Pennycook, thoroughly aroused now and striving to
appear belligerent. His wife silenced him with a look; then turned to
Donna. She had a duty to perform. She was a great woman for "principle"
and the performance of what she conceived to be her duty. She was a
well-meaning but misguided person ordinarily, who loved a fight with
her own family on the broad general ground that it denoted firmness of
character. Mrs. Pennycook was so long on virtue and character herself
that half her life was spent disposing of a portion of these attributes
to the less fortunate members of her household.

She entered now upon a calm yet stern discussion of the perfectly