look
so pale, girl? Are not sheep killed every day, and don't you eat
mutton? Is your lamb better than anybody else's, think you?"

"I don't know," said Susan, "but I love her dearly."

"More silly you," said he.

"She feeds out of my hand, she follows me about; I have always taken
care of her; my mother gave her to me."

"Well, say no more about it, then; if you love your lamb better than
both your father and your mother, keep it, and good morning to you."

"Stay, oh stay!" cried Susan, catching his coat with an eager,
trembling hand--"a whole week, did you say? My mother may get better
in that time. No, I do not love Daisy half so well." The struggle in
her mind ceased, and with a calm voice she said, "Take the lamb."

"Where is it?" said the Attorney.

"Grazing in the meadow, by the river-side."

"It must be brought up before nightfall for the butcher, remember."

"I shall not forget it," said Susan, steadily.

As soon, however, as the cruel man turned his back and left the house,
Susan sat down, and hid her face in her hands. She was soon roused by
the sound of her mother's feeble voice calling her from the inner room
where she lay. Susan went in.

"Are you there, love? I thought I heard some strange voice just now
talking to my child. Something's amiss, Susan," her mother went on,
raising herself as well as she could in bed, to look at her daughter's
face.

"Would you think it amiss, then, my dear mother," said Susan, stooping
to kiss her--"would you think it amiss if my father was to stay with
us a week longer?"

"Susan! you don't say so?"

"He is, indeed, a whole week--but how burning hot your hand is
still."

"Are you sure he will stay?" asked her mother. "How do you know? Who
told you so? Tell me all quick!"

"Attorney Case told me so; he can get him leave for a week longer, and
he has promised he will."

"God bless him for it for ever and ever!" said the poor woman, joining
her hands. "May the blessing of Heaven be with him!"

Susan was silent. The next moment she was called out of the room, for
a messenger had come from the Abbey for the bread-bill. Susan always
made out the bills, for although she had not had many writing-lessons,
she had taken great pains to learn, and wrote in a neat, clear hand.
It is true she was in no mood to write or add now, but the work must
be done. Having carefully ruled lines for the pounds, shillings and
pence, she made out the bill and gave it to the boy