off two or three rails of his fence, that the horse
might get into his corn during the night. He did so, and the next
morning, bright and early, he shouldered his rifle and left the house.
Not long after his absence, a hired man, whom he had recently employed,
heard the echo of his gun, and in a few minutes Dood, considerably
excited and out of breath, came hurrying to the house, where he stated
that he had shot at and wounded a buck; that the deer attacked him, and
he hardly escaped with his life.

This story was credited by all but the newly employed hand, who had
taken a dislike to Watt, and, from his manner, suspected that something
was wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from the house, and going
through the field in the direction of the shot, he suddenly came upon
Lawson's filly, stretched upon the earth, with a bullet hole through the
head, from which the warm blood was still oozing.

The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour. He hastened
back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and demanded,
somewhat roughly, where he had been.

"I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson's filly,"
was the instant retort.

Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercely shouted,

"Do you dare to say I killed her?"

"How do you know she is dead?" replied the man.

Dood bit his lip, hesitated a moment, and then turning, walked into the
house.

A couple of days passed by, and the morning of the third one had broken,
as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of his filly.

A few words of explanation ensued, when, with a heavy heart, the Quaker
turned his horse and rode home, where he informed the people of the fate
of his filly. No threat of recrimination escaped him; he did not even
go to law to recover damages; but calmly awaited his plan and hour of
revenge. It came at last.

Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which he had paid a heavy price, and
upon which he counted to make great gains.

One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his eldest son came in
with the information that neighbour Dood's heifer had broken down the
fence, entered the yard, and after eating most of the cabbages, had
trampled the well-made beds and the vegetables they contained, out of
all shape--a mischief impossible to repair.

"And what did thee do with her, Jacob?" quietly asked Obadiah.

"I put her in the farm-yard."

"Did thee beat her?"

"I never str