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.