“Well, we were in the middle of talking when Maxwell came in, so we hushed, because Mrs. Maxwell said, ‘It makes my man so sad’; but, do you know, when Maxwell was bringing me home through the wood he asked me what we had been talking about, and he said he knew it was about the boy because he could see it in Mrs. Maxwell’s eye.  And then I asked him if he would run and kiss Tommy when he came back, and if he would make a feast; and he said he would do anything to get him home again.”

Milly paused, then said wistfully,—­

“I wish I had a father, Uncle Edward.  You see, nurse does for a mother, but fathers are so fond of their children, aren’t they?”

“It does not always follow that they are,” Sir Edward replied.

“The probable son’s father loved him, and Maxwell loves Tommy, and then there was David, you know, who really had a wicked son, with long hair—­I forget his name—­and he cried dreadful when he was dead.  I sometimes tell God about it when I’m in bed, and then He—­He just seems to put His arms round me and send me off to sleep; at least, I think He does.  Nurse says God likes me to call Him my Father, but of course that isn’t quite the same as having a father I can see.  Maxwell is a very nice father, I think.  I told him I would pray for Tommy every night when I go to bed, and then I told him that God had lots of probable sons, too—­the clergyman said so on Sunday, didn’t he?—­people who have run away from Him.  I’ve been asking God to make them come back.  I hope He will let me know when they do.  Do you know any one who has run away from God, uncle?”

“You are chattering too much, child,” said Sir Edward irritably; “sit still and be quiet.”

Milly instantly obeyed, and after some moments of silence her uncle said,—­

“I don’t mind your going to Maxwell’s cottage, but you must never take Fritz with you.  He is not allowed in that wood at all.  Do you quite understand?”

“Yes, but I’m very sorry, for Fritz doesn’t like being left behind; the tears were in his eyes when nurse told him he wasn’t to go with me.  You see, no one talks to him like I do.  He likes me to tell him stories, and I told him when I came back about my visit, so he wants to go.  But I won’t take him with me if you say no.”

When she was leaving him that night for bed, she paused a moment as she wished him good-night.

“Uncle Edward, when you say your prayers to-night, will you ask God to make Tommy come back home?  His mother does want him so badly.”

“I will leave you to do that,” was the curt reply.

“Well, if you don’t want to pray for Tommy, pray for God’s probable sons, won’t you?  Do, Uncle Edward.  Mrs. Maxwell said the only thing that comforted her is asking God to bring Tommy back.”

Sir Edward made no reply, only dismissed her more peremptorily than usual, and when she had left the room he leaned his arms on the chimney piece, and resting his head on them, gazed silently into the fire with a knitted brow.  His thoughts did not soothe him, for he presently raised his head with a short laugh, saying to himself,—­