CHAPTER IX.

THE APPEAL.

THE story of the Prodigal Son had always touched her, and the childish voice trembled as she read of the young man's repentance and resolve to return and confess his sin to his father. A picture arose before her of a weary wayfarer, toiling homeward, grief, pain, suffering in every line of his face; but that face was the face of Brother Bob.

"When he was yet a great way off," the child read, "his father saw him and had compassion."

Ah! What a father that was! But would dad act like this? And a passionate prayer went up from the little burdened heart:

"Dear Lord, make dad like the father that had compassion."

Dina's own heart was so full, and her eyes so brimming over, that she could neither read further nor see. Covering her face with her hands, she shook with sobs.

"Why, child, what is it?" inquired Mr. Ellis in unusually tender tones. "Tell me, Geraldine?"

Dina, with a great effort, mastered her emotion.

She must speak now, and she realised how much might depend upon her words.

"Dad," she said, in a little broken, pathetic voice, "when that poor naughty son who had been to the bad—came home and found his father so kind, and tender, and forgiving, that would help to keep him, wouldn't it, from going wrong again?"

"I should think it might," replied Mr. Ellis, surprised at the question, and still more at the earnest way in which it was put.

But he was fairly startled when Dina threw herself on her knees by the bedside, and clasping her father's hand between both hers, said, "Oh, dad, the prodigal that went to the bad, and came to grief, and was tired, and starved, and sick, and so very, very sorry for being naughty, has come home. Oh, dad, dear dad, will the father forgive him and give him a welcome, and help him to be good? Dad, tell me quick, for my heart's breaking. Will he say, 'This my son was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found'?"

The child ceased speaking, but her heart was one fervent prayer during the silence that followed, broken at last by a husky voice, very unlike Mr. Ellis's usual sharp tones:

"You wish this very much, Geraldine?"

"More than anything else in the world."

"So be it, then. Since the father in the parable could forgive his prodigal, I can—I will forgive mine."

And so it came about that Bob Ellis returned home, to begin a new life and be a comfort when he had hitherto been only a sorrow. The whole household rejoiced over his return, and Miss Burnard was especially interested in the young man, for in him she recognised a patient whom she had visited in a hospital a year or two before, and in whom—she had felt sure—were great possibilities for good.

"It's time we stopped calling Dina, the wrong twin," said Gerald, the first time that the invalids came downstairs to an early dinner. "She's always doing things that no one else likes to do, and she's the pluckiest little beggar that ever was, and the tender-heartedest."

"Oh, don't, Gerry dear!" pleaded Dina. "I'm so often wrong; I'm always getting into trouble, and—"

"Getting other folks out!" whispered Brother Bob.

"Well," said Miss Burnard, "if to be the wrong twin means to be always striving—in spite of difficulties and temptations—to do right; if it means to confess oneself in the wrong and to try to make amends—then, Dina darling, there is not one of us who would not be glad to change with you and be a wrong twin too."

"Hear! Hear!" said Mr. Ellis.

"Three cheers for the righter of the two right twins!" cried Gerald.

THE END.

——————————————————————————————————— LONDON: PRINTED DY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.