"Will they kill it?" do you inquire. Kill it? No! How could they lay a knife on that delicate throat? Its tender looks would soften a heart of stone, and insure its safety. But what will they do with the panting prisoner? Not let it go! Little Clinton would put in his decided "No, no!" if they motioned to do such a thing. See how he dances and jabbers around it; touching its cool dewy nose with his little fat palms, clasping its velvet neck, soothing it, kissing it, and driving old Jowler out of the house, lest he may have a savage heart, which he proudly disdains, and offer to bite the beauty. A darling prize is that trembling fawn, as ever graced a dwelling. "And we must keep it," say they all. Some warm milk is offered it; but it turns its head from the basin. It is placed in a roofless corn-crib, on a bed of hay, with food before it; and Fabens works briskly for half a day, building a house for it. The time now is of leas value, as no crop is suffering, and he had designed a leisure day of this. About one o'clock the house is completed, and the lovely captive is removed to its new home, as gently as you would lay a meek babe in its bed. They sat down to dinner, and the fawn was the subject of all conversation. "It shall be Clinton's pet and playmate," said Julia; "and it shall have a bell on its neck, and eat bread and berries shortly out of his hand. I wish little Fanny was big enough to notice the pretty thing, and put her hand on it." "Dear thing!" said Mother Fabens, "it would seem like my pet lamb, in Cloverdale, and I should love it, myself, as I would a child, I'll warrant. But there, it does seem too hard to keep its nimble feet from the wild woods, whore it was made to caper?" "So I think," added the Major. "I go for giving all their liberty. I would not keep a saucy squirrel shut up in a cage; it would be better to kill it." After a hasty dinner had been taken, they all went out again to see the pretty captive, and found it lolling in the hot sun, and looking sad and forlorn. A fresh dish of milk was placed before it, and crumbs of sweet Indian bread were offered, but it laid down its poor head on the ground, and refused all food and comfort. Fabens was melted to a tear of pity by the sight. "The poor thing is too sad to eat, I suppose," said he, "and longs for a frolic in the forest." "I would say, down with the bars, and let it away, if it was not Clinton's," replied Julia. "It looks really hard to see it shut up here, when its very life is liberty. But how can we spare it now?" "See how meek and wishful it looks up to Clinton, when he pats and strokes its neck," said Major Fabens. "I'd like to have the pretty fellow around well enough; but it is not right to keep it from the woods. There, it seems to sink into the ground as if all hope was gone from its heart."