singular hatred against Quakers; therefore, when he was informed
that Lawson, a regular disciple of that class of people had
purchased the next farm to his, he declared he would make him glad
to move away again. Accordingly, a system of petty annoyances was
commenced by him, and every time one of Lawson's hogs chanced to
stray upon Dood's place, he was beset by men and dogs, and most
savagely abused. Things progressed thus for nearly a year, and the
Quaker, a man of decidedly peace principles, appeared in no way to
resent the injuries received at the hands of his spiteful neighbour.
But matters were drawing to a crisis; for Dood, more enraged than
ever at the quiet of Obadiah, made oath that he would do something
before long to wake up the spunk of Lawson. Chance favoured his
design. The Quaker had a high-blooded filly, which he had been very
careful in raising, and which was just four years old. Lawson took
great pride in this animal, and had refused a large sum of money for
her.

One evening, a little after sunset, as Watt Dood was passing around
his cornfield, he discovered the filly feeding in the little strip
of prairie land that separated the two farms, and he conceived the
hellish design of throwing 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