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 struck her a blow.”
“Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and when done eating I will attend to the heifer.”
Shortly after he had finished his repast, Lawson mounted a horse, and rode over to Dood's, who was sitting under the porch in front of his house, and who, as he beheld the Quaker dismount, supposed he was coming to demand pay for his filly, and secretly swore he would have to law for it if he did.
“Good morning, neighbour Dood; how is thy family?” exclaimed Obadiah, as he mounted the steps and seated himself in a chair.
“All well, I believe,” was the crusty reply.
“I have a small affair to settle with you this morning, and I came rather early.”
“So I suppose,” growled Watt.
“This morning, my son found thy Durham heifer in my garden, where she has destroyed a good deal.”
“And what did he do with her?” demanded Dood, his brow darkening.
“What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thy garden?” asked Obadiah.
“I'd a shot her!” retorted Watt, madly, “as I suppose you have done; but we are only even now. Heifer for filly is only 'tit for tat.'”
“Neighbour Dood, thou knowest me not, if thou thinkest I would harm a hair of thy heifer's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even a blow has been struck her, where thee can get her at any time. I know thee shot my filly; but the evil one prompted thee to do it, and I lay no evil in my heart against my neighbours. I came to tell thee where thy heifer is, and now I'll go home.”
Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to descend the steps, when he was stopped by Watt, who hastily asked,
“What was your filly worth?”
“A hundred dollars is what I asked for her,” replied Obediah.
“Wait a moment!” and Dood rushed into the house, from whence he soon returned, holding some gold in his hand. “Here's the price of your filly; and hereafter let there be a pleasantness between us.”
“Willingly, heartily,” answered Lawson, grasping the proffered hand of the other; “let there be peace between us.”
Obadiah mounted his horse, and rode home with a lighter heart, and from that day to this Dood has been as good a neighbour as one could wish to have; being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL.
PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET.
“DO you recollect Thomas, who lived with us as waiter about two years ago, Mary?” asked Mr. Clarke, as he seated himself in his comfortable arm-chair, and slipped his feet into the nicely-warmed, embroidered slippers, which stood ready for his use.
“Certainly,” was the reply of Mrs. Clarke. “He was a bright, active fellow, but rather insolent.”
“He has proved to be a regular pickpocket,” continued her husband, “and is now on his way to Blackwell's Island.”
“A very suitable place for him. I hope he will be benefited by a few months' residence there,” returned the lady.
“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Mr. Joshua Clarke, an uncle of the young couple, who was quietly reading a newspaper in another part of the room. “There are many of high standing in the world, who deserve to go to Blackwell's Island quite as much as he does.”
“You are always making such queer speeches, Uncle Joshua,” said his niece. “I suppose you do not mean that there are pickpockets among respectable people?”
“Indeed, there are, my dear niece. Your knowledge of the world must be very limited, if you are not aware of this. Putting your hand in your neighbour's pocket, is one of the most fashionable accomplishments of the day.”
Mrs. Clarke was too well acquainted with her uncle's peculiarities to think of arguing with him. She therefore merely smiled, and said to her husband:—
“Well, Henry, I am glad that neither you nor myself are acquainted with this fashionable accomplishment.”
“Not acquainted with it!” exclaimed the old gentleman. “I thought you knew yourselves better. Why, you and Henry are both regular pickpockets!”
“I wonder that you demean yourself by associating with us!” was the playful reply.
“Oh, you are no worse than the rest of the world; and, besides, I hope to do you some good, when you grow older and wiser. At present, Henry's whole soul is absorbed in the desire to obtain wealth.”
“In a fair and honourable way, uncle,” interrupted Mr. Clarke, “and for honourable purposes.”
“Certainly,” replied Uncle Joshua, “in the common acceptation of the words fair and honourable. But, do you never, in your mercantile speculations, endeavour to convey erroneous impressions to the minds of those with whom you are dealing? Do you not sometimes suppress information which would prevent your obtaining a good bargain? Do you never allow your customers to purchase goods under false ideas of their value and demand in the market? If you saw a man, less skilled in business than yourself, about to take a step injurious to him, but advantageous to you, would you warn him of his danger—thus obeying the command to love your neighbour as yourself?”
“Why,
