The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour.  He hastened back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, and demanded, somewhat roughly, where he had been.

“I’ve been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson’s filly,” was the instant retort.

Watt 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.”