The herald and mail. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 1873-188?, 1875-11-19
THE TWO NEIGHBORS.

| HE 1H " NEAUIDUEkSs
One evening as the twilight was dusf-
ing into deeper shades, Farmer Welton
stood in his dooryard, with gun in his
hands, and saw a dog coming out from
his shed. 1t was not his dog, for his was
of light color, while this was surely
black
The shed alluded to was open in front,
with double doors for the passage of
carts, ana wicket for pedestrians at the
back; and this shed was part of a CON
tinuOus structure connecting the barn
with the house. Around back of this
house was the sheep-fold.
There had been trouble upon farmer
WeltOn's place. Dogs had been killing
his Sheppard some of the very best at
that. He had declared, in his wrath,
that he would shoot the first stray dog
he found prowling around his premises
On this evening, by chance, he had been
carrying his gun from the house to the
barn, when the canine intruder appeared.
Aye, and in the barn he had been taking
the skin from a valuable sheep which had
been killed and mangled with tigerish
ferocity.
So, when he saw the strange dog COM
ing through his shed, he brought the gun
to his shoulder, and, with quick sure
aim, fired. The dog gave a leap and
howl, and having whisked around in a
circle, two or three times, he bounded off
in a tangent, yelping painfully, and was
soon lost to sight.
Halo what's to pay now, WeltOn?"
"Ah-is that you, Frost?"
Yes. Been shOotin' somethin,' aint
ye?"
"Pve shot dog, I think"
Ye e-s. [ seed him scootin off 1t
was Brackets, / reckon"
Before the farmer could make any fur
ther remark, his wife called to him from
the porch, and he went in.
Very shortly afterward a boys and a girl
came out through the shed, as the dog
had came. Down back of WeltOn's farm,
distant half mile, or so, was a saw and
grist mill, with quite a little settlement
around it; and people having occasion
to 90 on foot from that section to the
farms on the hill could cut off long dis
tance by crossing Welton's lot. The
boy and girl were children of Mr..
Bracket. When they reached home
they were met by a scene of dire confu
sion. Old Carlo, the grand old New
f0undland dog-the loving and the loved
the true and the faithful-had come
home shot through the head, and was
dying, The children threw themselves
upon their shaggy mate, and wept and
moaned in agony.
Mr. Bracket arrived just as the dog
breathed his last. One of the older boys
stood by with lighted lantern-for it
had grown quite dark nOw-and the
farmer saw what had happened.
'Who did this ?'' he asked, groan-
ingly.
Frost, coming upat that moment Hes
been losin' sheep, an a guess he's got
kind o wrathy."
"But my dog never killed a sheep
never He's been reared to care for
sheep. How came he down there ?"
He went over to the mill with Sis
and me-" said the younger boy, sobbing
as he spoke; "and he was running on
ahead of us toward home. ] heard a gun
Just before we got to Mr. WeltOn's, but
oh l didn't think he could have shot
poor Carlo !"
Mr.. Bracket was fairly beside him
self To say he was angry would not
express it. He loved that dog-it had
been the chief pet of his household for
years. He was not a man in the habit
of using profane language, but on the
present occasion a fierce oath escaped
him; and in that frame of mind-liter-
ally boiling with hot wrath and indigna-
tion-he started for WeltOn's.
John Welton and Peter Bracket had
been neighbOrs from their earliest days,
and they had be an friends, too. Between
the two families there had been a bond
of love and good will, and a spirit of
fraternal kindness and regard had
marked their intercourse. Both the
farmers were Woodworking men, with
strong feelings and positive characterize
les. They belonged to the same religious
society, and sympathized in politics.
They had had warm discussions, but
never yet direct falling out. OF the
two, Welton was the more intellectual,
and, perhaps, a little more tinged with
pride than was his neighb0r But the.
were both hearty men, enjoying life for
the good it gave them.
Mr.. WeltOn entered his kitchen, and
stood the empty gun up behind the door.
whats the matter, John? his wife
asked, as she saw his troubled face.
"Pm afraid I've done a bad thing"'
he replied regretfully. " I fear L have
shot Brackets dog"
"Oh, Johnp'
" But [ didn't know whose dog it was
/ saw him coming out from the shed-it
was too dark to see more than that it was
a dog. l only thought of the sheep had
lost, and | fired"
q am sorry, John. Q, how Mrs.
Brackett and the children will feel. They
set everything by old Carlo. But you
can explain it.
'Yes-I can explain it."
Half an hour later Mr.. Welton was
going to his barn with a lighted lantern
in his hand. He was thinking of the re
cent unfortunate occurrence, and was
sorely worried and perplexed What
would his neighbor say? He hoped
there might be no trouble. He was
rejecting thus when Mr. Braekett ap-
peared before him, coming up quickly,
and stopping with an angry stamp of the
foot.
Now there may be a volume of electric
influence even. in the stamp of foot, and
there was such an influence IN the stamp
which Brackett gave; and Welton felt
it, and braced himself against it. There
was, moreover. an atmosphere exhaling
from the presence of the irate man at
once repellant md aggravating.
John Welton! you have shot my
dog :" The words were hissed forth
hotly.
"Yes," said Welton, icily.
How dared you do it ?"
81 dare shoot any dog that comes
prowling around my buildings, especially
when l have had my sheep killed by
them"
But my dog never troubled your
sheep, and you know it."
How should / know it ?''
You know that he never did harm to
a sheep. 1t wasn't in his nature. It was
a mean, cowardly act, and Gan OATH you
shall suffer for it!'
g Brackett, you don't know to whom
you are talking"