In a very friendly tone Simeon answered, “I cannot consent to do that; for evening is coming on, and you have very little time to lose. It is a bad job any time, but it will be still worse in the dark.” “Light or dark, I don’t ask _your_ help,” replied Reuben, emphatically. “I would’nt help you out of the bog, the other day, when you asked _me_.” “The trouble I had in relieving my poor oxen teaches me to sympathize with others in the same situation,” answered Simeon. “Don’t let us waste words about it, neighbour. It is impossible for me to go home and leave you here in the bog, and night coming on.” The team was soon drawn out, and Simeon and his men went away, without waiting for thanks. When Reuben went home that night, he was unusually silent and thoughtful. After smoking a while, in deep contemplation, he gently knocked the ashes from his pipe, and said, with a sigh, “Peg, Simeon Green _has_ killed me!” “What do you mean?” said his wife, dropping her knitting with a look of surprise. “You know when he first came into this neighbourhood, he _said_ he’d kill me,” replied Reuben; “and he has done it. The other day, he asked me to help draw his team out of the bog, and I told him I had enough to do to attend to my own business. To-day, my team stuck fast in the same bog, and he came with two yoke of oxen to draw it out. I felt sort of ashamed to have _him_ lend me a hand, so I told him I didn’t want any of his help; but he answered, just as pleasant as if nothing contrary had ever happened, that night was coming on, and he was not willing to leave me there in the mud.” “It was very good of him,” replied Peggy. “He is a pleasant-spoken man, and always has a pretty word to say to the boys. His wife seems to be a nice neighbourly body, too.” Reuben made no answer; but after meditating a while, he remarked, “Peg, you know that big ripe melon down at the bottom of the garden? you may as well carry it over there, in the morning.” His wife said she would, without asking him to explain where “over there” was. But when the morning came, Reuben walked back and forth, and round and round, with that sort of aimless activity, often manifested by hens, and by fashionable idlers, who feel restless, and don’t know what to run after. At length, the cause of his uncertain movements was explained, by his saying, in the form of a question, “I guess I may as well carry the melon myself, and thank him for his oxen? In my flurry down there in the marsh, I did’nt think to say I was obliged to him.”