After having walked up and down his room, conversing with himself, for some time, the attorney concluded that the agency must be given to somebody when Sir Arthur should have to attend his duty in Parliament; that the agency, even for the winter season, was not a thing to be neglected; and that, if he managed well, he might yet secure it for himself. He had often found that small timely presents worked wonderfully upon his own mind, and he judged of others by himself. The tenants had been in the reluctant but constant practice of making him continual petty offerings; and he resolved to try the same course with Sir Arthur, whose resolution to be his own agent, he thought, argued a close, saving, avaricious disposition. He had heard the housekeeper at the Abbey inquiring, as he passed through the servants, whether there was any lamb to be gotten? She said that Sir Arthur was remarkably fond of lamb, and that she wished she could get a quarter for him. Immediately he sallied into his kitchen, as soon as the idea struck him, and asked a shepherd, who was waiting there, whether he knew of a nice fat lamb to be had anywhere in the neighbourhood. “I know of one,” cried Barbara. “Susan Price has a pet lamb that’s as fat as fat could be.” The attorney easily caught at these words, and speedily devised a scheme for obtaining Susan’s lamb for nothing. It would be something strange if an attorney of his talents and standing was not an over-match for Simple Susan. He prowled forth in search of his prey. He found Susan packing up her father’s little wardrobe; and when she looked up as she knelt, he saw that she had been in tears. “How is your mother to-day, Susan?” inquired the attorney. “Worse, sir. My father goes to-morrow.” “That’s a pity.” “It can’t be helped,” said Susan, with a sigh. “It can’t be helped—how do you know that?” said Case. “Sir, _dear_ sir!” cried she, looking up at him, and a sudden ray of hope beamed in her ingenuous countenance. “And if _you_ could help it, Susan?” said he. Susan clasped her hands in silence, more expressive than words. “You _can_ help it, Susan.” She started up in an ecstasy. “What would you give now to have your father at home for a whole week longer?” “Anything!—but I have nothing.” “Yes, but you have, a lamb,” said the hard-hearted attorney. “My poor little lamb!” said Susan; “but what can that do?” “What good can any lamb do? Is not lamb good to eat? Why do you 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 it better.” “More fool you,” said he. “It feeds out of hand, it follows me about; I have always taken care of it; my mother gave it to me.” “Well, say no more about it, then,” he cynically observed; “if you love your lamb better than both your father and your mother, keep it, and good morning to you.”