Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
"Now Fweep ain't the brightest creature in the Universe, so he can't understand why we're so gosh-fired eager to leave. And as long as he's got Four, he's happy. Why should he make himself unhappy? As a favor to Four, he'd let us leave—if we'd leave Four here with him, which we ain't gonna do. "That's the problem. All we got to do is figure out the answer. No use lapsing into tantrum when he got annoyed. "Now, Grampa," Fred soothed, but his face was concerned. Fred, once called Young Fred, was Grampa's only son. He was sixty and his hair had begun to gray at the temples. "That landing was pretty rough, Junior." Junior was Fred's only son. Because he was thirty-five and capable of exercising adult judgment and because he had the youngest adult reflexes, he sat in the pilot's chair, the control stick between his Grampa started to say something, but an 8-year-old boy looked up from the navigator's table beside the big computer and said, "Well, gosh, Junior, that's why we picked this planet. We fed all the orbital data into Abacus, and Abacus said that orbital perturbations indicated that the second planet was unusually heavy for its size. Then Fred said, 'That looks like heavy metals', and you said, 'Maybe uranium—'" "That's enough, Four," Junior interrupted. "Never mind what I said." Those were the Peppergrass men, four generations of them, looking remarkably alike, although some vital element seemed to have dwindled until Four looked pale and thin-faced and wizened. "And, Four," Reba said automatically, "don't call your father 'Junior.' It sounds disrespectful." Reba was Four's mother and Junior's wife. On her own, she was a Junior had won her was, to Grampa, the most hopeful thing he had ever noticed about the boy. "But everybody calls Junior 'Junior,'" Four complained. "Besides, Fred is Junior's father and Junior calls him 'Fred.'" "That's different," Reba said. Grampa was still waving his puzzle circuit indignantly. "See!" The made me push the wrong button and the dad-blasted thing beat me again." "Stop picking on Junior," Joyce said sharply. She was Junior's mother and Fred's wife, still slim and handsome as she approached sixty, but somehow ice water had replaced the warm blood in her veins. "I'm sure years ago." "Go back to your games, Grampa," Fred said impatiently. "We've got work to do." Grampa knitted his bushy, white eyebrows and petulantly pushed the last do, have you? Whose flivver do you think this is, anyhow?" "It belongs to all of us," Four said shrilly. "You gave us all a sixth "That's right, Four," Grampa muttered, "so I did. But whose money bought it?" "You bought it, Grampa," Fred said. flivver? Eh? Who made possible this gallivanting all over space?" "You, Grampa," Fred said. "You bet! And who made one hundred million dollars out of it that the rest of you vultures are just hanging around to gobble up when I die?" "Sometimes I think we've made a terrible mistake with him. He should have friends, play-mates. He's more like a little old man than a boy." But Junior nodded meaningfully at Fred and disappeared into the chart room. Fred followed casually. Then, as the door slid shut behind him, he asked impatiently. "Well, what's all the mystery?" "No use bothering the others yet," Junior said, his face puzzled. "You Fweep?" Joyce drew her chair farther back toward the wall, revulsion on her face. "Four! Get that nasty thing out of here!" "You mean Fweep?" Four asked in astonishment. "I like you, gal. Never forget it." "I like you, too, Grampa. If you'd been a few years younger, Junior would have had competition!" "You bet he would!" Grampa leaned back and cackled. Then he leaned married a jerk like Junior, anyhow." Reba looked thoughtfully toward the airlock door. "Maybe I saw "That's the idea, Four. You'll be a Peppergrass yet. How about building "Yep," Grampa said. "Too easy." Four thought a moment. "There's a modern variation with three The airlock door swung inward. Through the oval doorway walked Fred, followed closely by Junior. They were sweat-stained and weary, scintillation counters dangling heavily from their belts. "Any luck?" Reba asked brightly. "Do we look it?" Junior grumbled. "Where's Joyce?" asked Fred. "Might as well get everybody in on this at once. Joyce!" "I could think of worse things," Reba said. "I like your spunk, Reb," Grampa muttered. "Speaking of children," Junior said, "where's Four?" "Here." Four came through the airlock and trudged across the room, carrying a curious contraption made of tripod legs supporting a "Well?" Fred prompted. "It shifts." "That's impossible," said Junior. "Not for Fweep," Four replied. Four," he said, holding out the pircuit proudly. "A missionary takes over a non-rowing type cannibal, leaves him there, and then the rowing cannibal takes over the other cannibal and leaves him there and—" might be a trifle more than disastrous for us." Four giggled at the thought. Joyce glared at him furiously. "Four! Act your age! We've got to do something with him. It's preposterous that we should be detained here at the whim of a mere blob!" "Don't call me 'Grammy!' Well, what are we going to do, just sit around and wait for that thing to die?" muttered, and walked quickly after Joyce. "Give her one for me!" Grampa called. Fred's shoulders twitched as the door closed behind him. From the room came the filtered sound of high-pitched voices rising and falling like "Fwiend," it said. "Well, now," Grampa said maliciously, his eye on Joyce, "that's no problem. We can just leave Four here with Fweep." In a voice filled with sanctimonious concern, Joyce said, "That's quite a sacrifice to ask, but—" "Joyce!" Reba cried, horrified. "Grampa was joking, but you actually mean it. Four is only a baby and yet you'd let him—" The land of the Fweep turned like a fat old man toasting himself in front of an open fire, and Junior sat at the computer's keyboard swearing in a steady monotone. "Junior!" said Joyce, shocked. Junior swung around impatiently. "Sorry, Mother, but this damned thing won't work." "I'm sure that calling it names won't help, and besides, you shouldn't it would only say that the logical answer is the one I sug—" "Mother!" Junior warned. "We decided not to talk about it any more. Four is strange enough without encouraging him to think like a martyr. It's out of the question. If that's the only way we can leave this planet, we'll stay here until Four has a beard as white as Grampa's!" "Well!" Joyce said in a stiff, offended tone and sat back in her chair. Grampa lowered the nippled bottle from his lips and chortled. "Junior, got the makings of a Peppergrass yet." because he doesn't like gravity that's polarized in a straight line, and he don't want Four to leave him.

<question>:
What are the names of the Peppergrass lineage from youngest to oldest?

<options>:
A Junior - Four - Fred - Grampa
B Four -  Junior - Fred - Joyce - Grandpa
C Four - Fred - Reba - Junior - Grandpa
D Four - Junior - Fred - Grandpa

<answer>:

D