s and deeds; and hoped at
length for a perfection, in which he could actually turn the left
cheek, when the right had been smitten. The words of the Minister
increased his confidence in moral power, and rendered more lovely than
ever he regarded them before, many of the Saviour's precepts.

The subject engrossed his thoughts and feelings, when, one evening,
going to his barn with a lantern to close the door, he found a neighbor
in his granary measuring wheat! A second glance assured him it was
Tilly Troffater, his enemy; the mysterious, meddlesome, lying little
bandy Troffater, and he was stealing wheat!

Some of the neighbors had long surmised that Tilly owed the Squire a
groundless and secret grudge, as he did many others in the town. He
always seemed to be cooking spleen and getting up grudges. He enjoyed
apparent slights, and fancied insults, as a hungry dog his dinner; they
helped him so much in hatching quarrels and perpetrating spites and
revenges. But he always seemed to fear the Squire, and drop his
cockerel crest, whenever he met his glances; and no one suspected he
would dare to step so far upon his premises, even to execute revenge,
much less, to rob or steal. He had often said he would never stand
before Squire Fabens, and be obliged to look him in the face. But
alas, here he was overtaken in a crime! And what on earth could the
creature do? He would have given the apple of his eye to be anywhere
else at that moment.

He had an enormous bag, but as yet, there was only a little in it.
Fabens approached him, called him _neighbor_ Troffater, got hold of his
hiding hand, and shook it with a frank and earnest grasp, that would
have hurt a tenderer palm, and inquired after his health and that of
his family. Troffater straightened, and swelled, and blowed; and
cocked and crossed his black and blue eyes; but answered not a word.
Now was the time to test the power of kindness, and he gave it a trial.

He was glad, he said, that he happened to come with a light, for it was
very difficult to measure wheat in the dark; and began himself to fill
up the bag. Troffater looked more sullen and evil for a while, but he
soon began to wilt, and open his mouth with apologies. He declared, as
true as he lived, he would not have taken over half a bushel, and would
have returned again every kernel he borrowed. Fabens replied that it
would grieve him to know that any neighbor of his was in need of what
he could so