wrenched it from his hands.

He reversed the weapon in a flash, clubbed it, and raised it over his
head with a threatening swing that made Pete yell from the top of the
bank:

"Look out, Dad! He's a-goin' ter swat yer!"

Sam tried to scramble out of the way. But down came the gun butt with
all the force of Hiram's good muscle, and--the stock was splintered and
the lock shattered upon the big stone that here cropped out of the bank.

"There's your gun--what's left of it," panted the young farmer, tossing
the broken weapon from him. "Now, don't you ever threaten me with a gun
again, for if you do I'll have you arrested.

"We've got to be neighbors, and we've got to get along in a neighborly
manner. But I'm not going to allow you to take advantage of Mrs.
Atterson, because she is a woman.

"Now, Mr. Dickerson," he added, as the man scrambled up, glaring at him
evidently with more surprise than anger, "if you'll make Pete mend this
fence, you can have your horses. Otherwise I'm going to 'pound' them
according to the stock law of the county."

"Pete," said his father, briefly, "go get your hammer and staples and
mend this fence up as good as you found it."

"And now," said Hiram, "I'm going home to gear the horse to the wagon,
and I'll drive over to your house, Mr. Dickerson. From time to time you
have borrowed while Uncle Jeptha was alive quite a number of tools. I
want them. I have made inquiries and I know what tools they are. Just be
prepared to put them into my wagon, will you?"

He turned on his heel without further words and left the Dickersons
to catch their horses, and to repair the fence--both of which they did
promptly.

Not only that, but when Hiram drove into the Dickerson dooryard an hour
later he had no trouble about recovering the tools which the neighbor
had borrowed and failed to return.

Pete scowled at him and muttered uncomplimentary remarks; but Sam
phlegmatically smoked his pipe and sat watching the young farmer without
any comment.

"And so, that much is accomplished," ruminated Hiram, as he drove home.
"But I'm not sure whether hostilities are finished, or have just begun."

CHAPTER XV. ONE SATURDAY AFTERNOON

"The old Atterson place" as it was called in the neighborhood, began to
take on a brisk appearance these days. Sister, with the help of Old Lem
Camp, had long since raked the dooryard clean and burned the rubbish
which is bound to gather during the winter.

Years before t