William, Increase,
Homer, and Lemuel--the eldest eight-and-twenty, the youngest sixteen.
All were strapping fellows, and each as a matter of course had fallen
over head and ears in love with Ruth.

They were good lads and knew it to be hopeless. She had stepped into
their home as a goddess from a distant star, to abide with them for a
while. They worshipped, none confessing his folly; but it made them her
slaves, and emulous to shine before her as though she had been a queen
of tournay. Because of her presence (it must be sadly owned)
challengings, bickerings, even brotherly quarrels, disturbed more and
more the patriarchal peace of Sweetwater Farm. "I dunno what's come
over the boys," their father grumbled; "al'ays showing off an'
jim-jeerin'. Regilar cocks on a dunghill. A few years agone I'd 've
cured it wi' the strap; but now there's no remedy."

William had challenged his eldest brother Jonathan to "put" a large
round-shot that lay in the verandah. Their father had brought it home
from the capture of Louisbourg as a souvenir. Jonathan and George had
served at Louisbourg too, in the Massachusetts Volunteers; but William,
though of age to fight, had been left at home to look after the farm and
his mother. It had been a sore disappointment at the time; now that
Jonathan and George had taken on a sudden to boast, it rankled.
Hence the challenge. The three younger lads joined in. If they could
not defeat their seniors, they could at least dispute the mastery among
themselves. Thereupon in all seriousness (ingenuous youths!) they voted
that Miss Josselin should be asked to umpire.

The contest took place next morning after breakfast, in a paddock beyond
the elms, with Ruth for umpire and sole spectator. Nothing had been
said to the farmer, who was fast losing his temper with "these derned
wagerings," and might have come down with a veto that none dared
disobey. He had ridden off, however, at sun-up to the mountain, to look
after the half-wild hogs he kept at pasture among the woods at its base.

Ruth measured out the casts conscientiously. In no event would the
young men have disputed her arbitrament; but, as it happened, this
nicety was thrown away. Jonathan's "put" of forty feet--the shot
weighed close upon sixteen pounds--easily excelled the others', who were
sportsmen and could take a whipping without bad blood or dispute.
The winner crowed a little, to be sure; it was the New England way.
But