At the same time, from the expression of his countenance, she judged that his understanding had grasped nothing.

She turned therefore to the parable of the prodigal son, and read it.

Even that had not a few words and phrases unknown to Gibbie, but he did not fail to catch the drift of the perfect story.

For had not Gibbie himself had a father, to whose bosom he went home every night?
Let but love be the interpreter, and what most wretched type will not serve the turn for the carriage of profoundest truth! The prodigal's lowest degradation, Gibbie did not understand; but Janet saw the expression of the boy's face alter with every tone of the tale, through all the gamut between the swine's trough and the arms of the father.

Then at last he burst--not into tears--Gibbie was not much acquainted with weeping--but into a laugh of loud triumph.