“And he got up and went back to his father. But the loving father was looking out for him, and when he saw him coming over the hill-top, he ran to meet him, and threw his arms about him; and the son said—
”‘Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.’
“But the father said, ‘Bring forth the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet, and let us make a feast and be merry, for this my son was dead and is alive again, he was lost and is found.’”
Night after night Flo had listened to this story, always with a question at the top of her lips, but never until to-night had she courage to put it.
“Was the best robe, a jacket and trousers and little weskit, ma’am?”
“Very like,” said Mrs Jenks, bending over a fresh seam she was beginning to unpick.
“But you hasn’t no lad comin’ back fur that ’ere jacket, ma’am?”
Mrs Jenks was silent for fully two minutes, her work had fallen from her hands, her soft, gentle eyes looked afar.
“Yes, Flo dear,” she said, “I have such a lad.”
“Wot’s ’is name, ma’am?”