rees, and I love trees. And this wood is so lovely.
Why, I might get lost in it, mightn't I? I have never been here before.
In my story-books, children always get lost in a wood. Uncle Edward, do
you think the trees talk to one another? I always think they do. Look
at them now. They are just shaking their heads together and whispering,
aren't they? Whispering very gently to-day, because it is Sunday.
Sometimes they get angry with one another and scream, but I like to hear
them hum and sing best. Nurse says it's the wind that makes them do it.
Don't you like to hear them? When I lie in bed I listen to them around
the house, and I always want to sing with them. Nurse doesn't like it.
She says it's the wind moaning. I think it's the trees singing to God,
and I love them when they do it. Which do you think it is?"

And so Milly chatted on, and Sir Edward listened, and put in a word or
two occasionally, and on the whole did not find his small niece bad
company. He told her when they entered the house that she could go to
church every Sunday morning in future with him, and that sent Milly to
the nursery with a radiant face, there to confide to nurse that she had
had a "lovely time," and was going to tea as often as she might with
"Mrs. Maxwell in the wood."

CHAPTER IV.

MRS. MAXWELL'S SORROW.

Milly spent a very happy afternoon at the keeper's cottage the next day,
and came down to dessert in the evening so full of her visit that she
could talk of nothing else.

"They were so kind to me, uncle. Mrs. Maxwell made a hot currant cake on
purpose for me, and the cat had a red ribbon for company, and we sat by
the fire and talked when Maxwell was out, and she told me such lovely
stories, and I saw a beautiful picture of the probable son in the best
parlor, and Mrs. Maxwell took it down and let me have a good look at it.
I am going to save up my money and buy one just like it for my nursery,
and do you know, uncle--"

She stopped short, but not for want of breath. Putting her curly head on
one side, she surveyed her uncle for a minute meditatively, then asked,
a little doubtfully:

"Can you keep a secret, Uncle Edward? Because I would like to tell you,
only, you see, Mrs. Maxwell doesn't talk about it, and I told her I
wouldn't--at least, not to the servants, you know."

"I think you can trust me," Sir Edward said gravely.

"This is it, then, and I think it's so wonderful. They have got a real
live probable son."