"What shall I talk about?"

"Anything you like. You never seem to be at a loss for conversation."

Milly considered for a moment.

"I've had so few people to talk to lately, you see; I generally talk
most to Fritz. He understands, I'm sure, but he doesn't talk back. When
will you be quite well again, uncle?"

"Not this side of Christmas, I'm afraid."

"Oh dear, what a long time! But I'm very glad God has made you better.
Nurse said it was a mercy you hadn't broken your neck. Do you know,
uncle, I saw such a sad sight yesterday morning. I was down in the fir
plantation with Fritz, and we came upon a dear little rabbit caught in a
steel trap. Maxwell said a poacher had put it there, and he was very
angry. The rabbit was quite dead, and his two hind legs were broken.
Wasn't it dreadful? What is a poacher, uncle?"

"A thief--a man that steals game that isn't his."

"Maxwell says there are lots of poachers about. I'm so afraid he will
think Tommy is one when he comes back. I do hope he will be careful,
because if it's dark he might make a mistake. Wouldn't it be dreadful if
he hurt his own prodigal son! And I expect Tommy will look very like a
poacher. He is sure to have ragged, dirty clothes. If I was----" Here
Milly paused, and gazed dreamily in front of her for some minutes in
silence.