"We div it more to eat," said Clinton, "and I'll tum and seep with it, and cuddle up to its back, and Dowler shan't touch it."
"Do what you think best," said Julia; "but I should like to keep it for Clinton!"
"But how should we like to be in its place?" asked Matthew, "away from our family, confined from our native sports, shut up from the free air and hills, though they would feed us well and fuss over us? I want to let down the bars now, and see how quickly it will scamper from its prison."
"I feel for it as much as you can," answered Julia. "I feel for its poor mother; and what would I do if Clinton had strayed like the fawn, and we knew not where he was? But do keep it one day longer. Its gentle looks may make Clinton more tender. I'll pull fresh clover, and make its bed softer, and it shall be shaded more coolly from the sun."
"Let it away," said Major Fabens. "It looks so sad, may be it'll die before morning if you keep it penned up here;" and down went the bars, and into the house they hastened, and turned, and looked to see it leap to the woods. But it was not away in such a hurry. It rose, and walked gently into the house after them, so tame had it become already, and remained a few moments, looking thanks for their kindness; Clinton patted its soft shoulders, and kissed it tenderly, and then it walked gently away, and vanished in the woods; leaving the beholders more tender and kind for the visit, more in love with liberty, and more admiring the beautiful creatures of God.
VIII.
A LAMB LOST.
The autumn time had come, and fields, and woods, and waters were lit with its yellow beams. The blooms of spring, the splendors of summer had departed, or were sobered for the dust. Still a beauty was on the world. A pure, ethereal mildness breathed as from heaven, and the sun was so kindly and glad as he rode on in glory, he gave a sweet glance to every suppliant, whether plant or flower, or tree or man; and you could have looked into his warm face and felt regaled by his gracious smile. And the holy sky seemed now to stoop down and poise its breast on the bending hills, and again in majesty retire to a loftier archway of the fair blue Infinite, and glimmer and glow like a sea of glass. Eloquent type of the face of that Father whose glory lights the heavens, whose spirit breathes, and whose love abounds in every world.
The year had not been all sunlight or joy. Clouds had gathered and dissolved, and disappointments now and then occurred to our manly farmer, and called for more faith and courage. In the summer, the rains were so frequent, and superfluous, his crops were damaged, and the slopes on his fallows were cut into gullies, and swept of their soil. Premature frosts had nipped his corn slightly, and his buckwheat was not worth harvesting. A tolerable crop of wheat and other grains; and a harvest of loves, and lights, and strengths, however, were yielded him, to supply all his natural and spiritual needs, and the Lord was praised for his gracious care.
Fabens was now advanced to years of more grave reflection, and every object in Nature and Life addressed his mind with more suggestive and serious words. His religious impressions were deepened; and his religious sentiments, active and susceptible. He had studied a few fine books, and transferred their wisdom to his heart; he had studied Nature and Scripture; and he walked in light and peaceful ways. He relied on God as the Infinite Friend; and never a cloud was brought over the earth, whether of storm or grief, but he called to mind the promise of the Father, "the bow shall be seen in the cloud."