“Most certainly not,” was the quick reply.  Then taking his cigar from his mouth, Sir Edward asked: 

“And does all your play consist in killing people?”

“I only try to kill the bear and lion and Goliath, because they’re so wicked and so strong.”

Milly continued,—­

“This is such a lovely place to play in—­trees are so nice to have games with.  Shall I tell you some more?  Do you see that little tree over there?  That’s where I sit when I’m the probable son, and when I’ve sat there a long time and been very miserable, and eaten some of the beech nuts that do for husks, then suddenly I think I will go home to my father.  It’s rather a long walk, but I get happier and happier as I go, and I get to walk very quick at last, and then I run when I see my father.  Do you see that nice big old tree right up there with the red leaves, uncle?  That’s him, and I run up and say, ’Father, I have sinned; I am not fit to come back, but I am so sorry that I left you,’ and then I just hug him and kiss him; and, do you know, I feel he hugs and kisses me back.  He does in the story, you know.  And then I have a nice little feast all ready.  I get some biscuits from nurse, and a little jam, and some sugar and water, and I sit down and feel so happy to think I’m not the probable son any more, and haven’t got to eat husks or be with the pigs.  Don’t you think that’s a beautiful game, uncle?”

“Do you get all your games from the Bible?” inquired Sir Edward.  “I somehow think it is not quite correct,” and he looked very dubiously at his little niece as he spoke.

“Well,” said Milly, the earnest look coming into her eyes again, “I love the Bible so much, you see.  Nurse tells me the stories ever so often, and I know lots and lots of them.  But I like the probable son the best.  Do you like it?”

Sir Edward replaced his cigar in his mouth and strolled on without a reply.  His little niece’s words awakened very uncomfortable feelings within his heart.  Years before he had known and loved his Bible well.  He had been active in Christian work, and had borne many a scoff and jeer from his companions when at Oxford for being “pious,” as they termed it.  But there came a time when coldness crept into his Christianity, and worldly ambition and desires filled his soul.  Gradually he wandered farther and farther away from the right path, and when he came into his property he took possession of it with no other aim and object in life than to enjoy himself in his own way and to totally ignore both the past and future.  Beyond going to church once on Sunday he made no profession of religion, but that custom he conformed to most regularly, and the vicar of the parish had nothing to complain of in the way in which his appeals for charity were met by the squire.  It is needless to say that Sir Edward was not a happy man.  There were times when he could not bear his own thoughts and the solitude of his position; and at such times there was a hasty departure for town, and some weeks of club life ensued, after which he would return to his home, and engross himself in both his literary and country occupations with fresh vigor.