shook all over so that she could hardly walk.  She cried so much when she saw Tommy that Maxwell had to pat her on the back and give her a glass of water; and Tommy he sat down on the little seat inside the porch, and he said—­these were his very words, uncle—­’I ain’t fit to come home, father.  I’m a disgrace to your name,’ and Mrs. Maxwell—­Tommy told me—­she just took his head between her two hands, and drew it to rest on her shoulder, and then she bent down and kissed him all over and she said:—­

“’My boy, who should you come to when you are in disgrace and trouble but your own father and mother?’

“Tommy said, when he told me this, ‘It fair broke my heart, miss,’ and then he gave a great sob, and I began to cry, and then Mrs. Maxwell came up, and her hands were all floury, for she was making an apple pudding, and she cried too, and then we all cried together—­at least, Tommy turned his head away and pretended he didn’t, but I saw he did.”

Milly paused for breath, and her eyes looked wistfully into the glowing coals before her.

“I didn’t know prodigal sons were sad when they came back, but Tommy seemed so sad that he made me sad too.  Why do you think Tommy cried, uncle?”

Sir Edward did not reply.  He was gazing dreamily into the fire, and something of the wistfulness in his little niece’s face seemed to be reflected in his.  He gave a start after a moment’s silence.

“Eh, child?  What are you saying?  Have you finished your story?”

“Why, no, uncle, not nearly.  Are you tired?  Nurse said I must not tire you too much.”

Sir Edward laughed, but it was not a happy laugh.

“Oh, finish your story by all means, little woman,” he said, and Milly continued:—­

“We all cheered up when Mrs. Maxwell asked me if I’d like to stay to dinner.  I asked if it was the feast, and she laughed and said, ‘Yes.’  She had a roast leg of pork in the oven, with some stuffing and apple sauce, and, uncle, it was lovely!  Maxwell came in just in time, and he looked so happy, and then we all sat down to dinner, but I asked Maxwell to say first before we began:  ’Let us eat, and be merry, for this my son was dead, and is alive again, he was lost, and is found.’  He folded his hands and said it like grace, and Mrs. Maxwell said ‘Amen’ when he had finished, and wiped her eyes with her apron.  I told them we must all be very merry, but Tommy wasn’t, I’m afraid.  He kept looking first at Mrs. Maxwell and then all round the kitchen, and then at Maxwell, and then he sighed very big sighs.  He said he couldn’t believe he was at home, but he told me, when I asked him quietly afterwards, that he was really very happy, he only sighed and looked sad because he thought how foolish he had been to stay away so long.  I was very sorry for one thing about him, uncle.  He wasn’t in his best clothes.  They were all too small for him, and the slippers wouldn’t fit him, but Maxwell says