cows or hogs get into my field or garden, and destroy my property, who is to blame most?  Of course, myself.  I should have kept my fences in better repair, or my gate closed.  The animals, certainly, are not to blame, for they follow only the promptings of nature; and their owners should not be censured, for they know nothing about it.  It would then be very wrong for me to injure both the animals and their owners for my own neglect, would it not?”

“Yes,—­I suppose it would.”

“So, at least, it seems to me.  Then, of course, I ought not to injure Neighbour Barton’s cows or hogs, even if they do break into my cornfield or garden, simply because it would be wrong to do so.  This is the principle upon which we should act, and not from any selfish policy.”

After this there was no trouble about Farmer Gray’s geese or cattle.  Sometimes the geese would get among Mr. Barton’s hogs, and annoy them while eating, but it did not worry him as it did formerly.  If they became too troublesome he would drive them away, but not by throwing sticks and stones at them as he once did.

Late in the fall the shoemaker brought in his bill for work.  It was a pretty large bill, with sundry credits.

“Pay-day has come at last,” said Farmer Gray, good-humouredly, as the shoemaker presented his account.

“Well, let us see!” and he took the bill to examine it item after item.

“What is this?” he asked, reading aloud.

“‘Cr.  By one bushel of corn, fifty cents.’”

“It’s some corn I had from you.”

“I reckon you must be mistaken.  You never got any corn from me.”

“Oh, yes I did.  I remember it perfectly.  It is all right.”

“But when did you get it, Friend Barton?  I am sure that I haven’t the most distant recollection of it.”

“My hogs got it,” the shoemaker said, in rather a low and hesitating tone.

“Your hogs!”

“Yes.  Don’t you remember when my hogs broke into your field, and destroyed your corn?”

“Oh, dear! is that it?  Oh, no, no, Friend Barton!  Ii cannot allow that item in the bill.”

“Yes, but you must.  It is perfectly just, and I shall never rest until it is paid.”

“I can’t, indeed.  You couldn’t help the hogs getting into my field; and then you know, Friend Barton (lowering his tone), my geese were very troublesome!”

The shoemaker blushed and looked confused; but Farmer Gray slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and said, in a lively, cheerful way,

“Don’t think any more about it, Friend Barton!  And hereafter let us endeavour to ‘do as we would be done by,’ and then everything will go on as smooth as clock-work.”

“But you will allow that item in the bill?” the shoemaker urged perseveringly.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.  I should think it wrong to make you pay for my own or some of my men’s negligence in leaving the bars down.”