ed so, that was enough.

"Then you are a traitor, too. That's all I've got to say," replied Tom,
boldly.

"You scoundrel! How dare you use such a word to me!" roared the squire, as
he moved towards the blunt-spoken little patriot.

For strategic reasons, Tom deemed it prudent to fall back; but as he did
so, he picked up a couple of good-sized stones.

"I said you were a traitor, and I say so again," said Tom.

"Two can play at that game," added Fred, as he picked up a stone and threw
it at Tom.

The Union force returned the fire with the most determined energy, until
one of the missiles struck the horse attached to the chaise. The animal,
evidently having no sympathy with either party in this miniature contest,
and without considering how much damage he might do the rebel cause,
started off at a furious pace when the stone struck him. He dashed down
the hill at a fearful rate, and bounded away over the plain that led to
the Harbor.

Squire Pemberton and his son had more interest in the fate of the runaway
horse than they had in the issue of the contest, and both started at the
top of their speed in pursuit. But they might as well have chased a flash
of lightning, or a locomotive going at the rate of fifty miles an hour.

Tom Somers came down from the bank which he had ascended to secure a good
position. He had done rather more than he intended to do; but on the whole
he did not much regret it. He watched the course of the spirited animal,
as he dashed madly on to destruction. The career of the horse was short;
for in the act of turning a corner, half a mile from the spot where Tom
stood, he upset the chaise, and was himself thrown down, and, being
entangled in the harness, was unable to rise before a stout man had him by
the head.

"I wish that chaise had been the southern confederacy," said Tom to
himself, philosophically, when he saw the catastrophe in the distance.
"Well, it served you right, old Secesh; and I'll bet there ain't many
folks in Pinchbrook Harbor that will be willing to comfort the mourners."

With this consoling assurance, Tom continued on his way home. At dinner,
he gave the family a faithful account of the transaction.

"You didn't do right, Thomas," said his mother.

"He hit me first."

"You called him a traitor."

"He is a traitor, and so is his father."

"I declare, the boys are as full of fight as an egg is of meat," added
gran'ther Greene.

"You haven't seen the last of it ye