“Well, I talked to this poor man till we had walked quite away from the shops, and then he turned down a lane, and I went with him; and we were both rather tired, so we sat down together on some doorsteps inside an archway, and he told me all about himself.  His name is Jack, and his father and mother are dead, like mine; and he got drunk one night, and fell down and broke his arm, and then he went to a hospital; and when he got well and went back to his work again, his master couldn’t take him, because some one else was in his place, and he couldn’t get any work.  I asked him were there no pigs to keep, but he said there weren’t any in London, and he was there, and for six months, he told me, he had been ‘on the tramp’; that’s what he called it.  I asked him what that meant, and he said just walking on every day to no place particular.  And he said something about going to the bad, which I couldn’t quite understand.  Then I asked him why he didn’t go back to God, and he said he had been a good boy once, when he went to Sunday-school, and he had a very good uncle who kept a baker’s shop in London, and who wanted him to go and live with him, but he wouldn’t, because he was too good for him.  And I asked him why he wouldn’t go to him now, and he said he couldn’t tramp back again to London, it was too far, and he had no money.  So then I opened my purse, and we counted over my money together, and he said it was just enough to take him back, if I would lend it to him.  So, of course, I did, and he asked me my name and where I lived, and I told him.”

“The scoundrel!” muttered Sir Edward.

Milly paused.  “Why are you looking so angry, uncle?  I was so glad to give him the money; and then we talked a good deal, and I begged him not to be one of God’s probable sons any more.  Fancy!  He wouldn’t believe God loved him, and he wouldn’t believe that God wanted him back!  I told him I should be quite frightened to get away from God, and he—­well, he almost didn’t seem to care; he said no one cared what came of him, whether he was hung, dead, or not; and I told him no one cared for me much except nurse, but God did.  I feel He loves me, and I know He loves Jack just the same; doesn’t He, uncle?”

“And when did nurse find you?” inquired Sir Edward, evading this question.

Milly’s little face, which had been gradually brightening with the interest of her story, now clouded over again, and she hung her head.

“She was fearful angry with me.  She was quite hot and red, and she snatched me away, and said that Jack was a thief and—­and a vagbag, or something like that.  She scolded me all the way home, and I don’t think she will ever love me again.  She said it was just a chance she found me, and if she hadn’t come along that lane I should have been lost forever!  And she was angry most of all because I shook hands with Jack and wished him good-bye.  I don’t think nurse would run and meet a probable son if she had one; she thinks all ragged people are wicked.  But I’m—­I’m dreadful sorry I was disobedient.  Do you think I have been very naughty, Uncle Edward?”