“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.”