"The lad simply defies me--it is not the first ill turn he has played me," so he reasoned in his blindness and loftiness, while poor Jep's heart was well-nigh breaking. Still he never flinched or yielded, but locked the innocent lamb into the outhouse, and carried the key in his pocket. "He'll be sending one of these days to take him away, and he shan't have him--he can't know how I love him," so said the poor boy. [Illustration: "SPOTTIE."] "The squire's servant and Master Ru have been here, lad, for the lamb; and they're coming again to-morrow, and'll burst the outhouse door if ye lock him in. 'Tis all over, lad; ye mustn't resist--surely a roof over your father's head is better than any lamb." These were his mother's tidings, when he came in tired, after a long journey to the doctor's for medicine, one cold spring evening, and Jep bowed his head. "Mother, I must be with Spottie a while," said he, when it was time for him and wee Margaret to go to bed; and then he stole out into the outhouse, there in the cold and the darkness to weep and ponder over his great trouble. Could he give the darling up? Could he? A sense of wrong, of cruel injustice, made his heart bitter. He had locked himself in, and well he had, for, as he wept, some one tried the outhouse door. "I'd let it be till to-morrow, Master Ru: 'tis mean, and very like thieving, to steal upon poor folk so, and try to break their locks." It was James, the footman at the Hall, who spoke, and it was Ru who answered him. "Yes, and he's bound to let me have him, because of his sick father and the house. You see we're offering him a good price, and 'tis my father's lamb, you know." "Yes; but maybe Jep doesn't think so; still, a fair price is a fair price, and once the money is his, the lamb is yours," returned the servant, and then there was silence again. "I must e'en bear it like a man, for father's sake," said he, as he stood at the door, under the quiet stars, locking his pet in for the last time. And, on the morrow, before it was light, he led the lamb away over the crisp, frosty grounds, his woolly coat wet with his and Margaret's tears; but the boy was very calm and brave now, with his great sorrow and resolve upon him. "No, it shall be a free gift; I can't take money for Spottie," said he to the footman, who came out to receive the unconscious animal, and offered him the price of it.