r--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,--

"Where is my cigar-case? I will go and have a smoke to get rid of this
fit of the blues. I shall have to curb that child's tongue a little. She
is getting too troublesome."

And while he was pacing moodily up and down the terrace outside, a
little white-robed figure, with