him he got a good start.

For long after that we turned the horses and cows into the little paddock
at night, and if ever the dog barked Dad would jump up and go out in his
shirt.

We put them back into the paddock again, and the first night they were
there two cows got out and went away, taking with them the chain that
fastened the slip-rails. We never saw or heard of them again; but Dad
treasured them in his heart. Often, when he was thoughtful, he would
ponder out plans for getting even with the Donovans--we knew it was the
Donovans. And Fate seemed to be of Dad's mind; for the Donovans got into
"trouble,", and were reported to be "doing time." That pleased Dad; but
the vengeance was a little vague. He would have liked a finger in the pie
himself.

Four years passed. It was after supper, and we were all husking corn in
the barn. Old Anderson and young Tom Anderson and Mrs. Maloney were
helping us. We were to assist them the following week. The barn was
illuminated by fat-lamps, which made the spiders in the rafters uneasy and
disturbed the slumbers of a few fowls that for months had insisted on
roosting on the cross-beam.

Mrs. Maloney was arguing with Anderson. She was claiming to have husked
two cobs to his one, when the dogs started barking savagely. Dad crawled
from beneath a heap of husks and went out. The night was dark. He bade
the dogs "Lie down." They barked louder. "Damn you--lie down!" he roared.
They shut up. Then a voice from the darkness said:

"Is that you, Mr. Rudd?"