“Stay, oh stay!” cried Susan, catching the skirt of 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 my lamb half so well.” The struggle of her mind ceased, and with a placid countenance and calm voice, “take the lamb,” said she. “Where is it?” said the attorney. “Grazing in the meadow, by the river side.” “It must be brought up before night-fall for the butcher, remember.” “I shall not forget it,” said Susan, steadily. As soon, however, as her persecutor turned his back and quitted the house, Susan sat down, and hid her face in her hands. She was soon aroused by the sound of her mother’s feeble voice, who was calling Susan from the inner room where she lay. Susan went in; but did not undraw the curtain as she stood beside the bed. “Are you there, love? Undraw the curtain, that I may see you, and tell me;—I thought I heard some strange voice just now talking to my child. Something’s amiss, Susan,” said her mother, raising herself as well as she was able in the bed, to examine her daughter’s countenance. “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?” inquired her mother. “How do you know? Who told you so? Tell me all quick.” “Attorney Case told me so; he can get him a week’s longer leave of absence, 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 closed the curtains, and was silent. She _could not say Amen_. She was called out of the room at this moment, for a messenger was come from the Abbey for the bread-bills. It was she who always made out the bills, for though she had not a great number of lessons from the writing-master, she had taken so much pains to learn that she could write a very neat, legible hand, and she found this very useful. She was not, to be sure, particularly inclined to draw out a long bill at this instant, but business must be done. She set to work, ruled her lines for the pounds, shillings and pence, made out the bill for the Abbey, and despatched the impatient messenger. She then resolved to make out all the bills for the neighbours, who had many of them taken a few loaves and rolls of her baking. “I had better get all my business finished,” said she to herself, “before I go down to the meadow to take leave of my poor lamb.”