ed himself into a side-ache at Mrs.
Ducklow's ludicrous mistake. "But did you--did you stop at my house?
Have you seen our Thaddeus?"

"Here I be, Ma Ducklow!" piped a small voice; and Taddy, who had till
then remained hidden, fearing punishment, peeped out of the chaise from
behind the broad back of the minister.

"Taddy! Taddy! how came the carpet--"

"I pulled it up, huntin' for a marble," said Taddy, as she paused,
overmastered by her emotions.

"And the--the thing tied up in a brown wrapper?"

"Pa Ducklow took it."

"Ye sure?"

"Yes; I seen him."

"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Ducklow, "I never was so beat! Mr. Grantly, I
hope--excuse me--I didn't know what I was about! Taddy, you notty boy,
what did you leave the house for? Be ye quite sure yer Pa Ducklow--"

Taddy replied that he was quite sure, as he climbed from the chaise into
Atkins's wagon. The minister smilingly remarked that he hoped she would
find no robbery had been committed, and went his way. Atkins, driving
back, and setting her and Taddy down at the Ducklow gate, answered her
embarrassed "Much obleeged to ye," with a sincere "Not at all,"
considering the fun he had had a sufficient compensation for his
trouble. And thus ended the morning adventures, with the exception of an
unimportant episode, in which Taddy, Mrs. Ducklow, and Mrs. Ducklow's
rattan were the principal actors.

THE SHOOTING-MATCH

BY A.B. LONGSTREET

Shooting-matches are probably nearly coeval with the colonization of
Georgia. They are still common throughout the Southern States, though
they are not as common as they were twenty-five or thirty years ago.
Chance led me to one about a year ago. I was traveling in one of the
northeastern counties, when I overtook a swarthy, bright-eyed, smirky
little fellow, riding a small pony, and bearing on his shoulder a long,
heavy rifle, which, judging from its looks, I should say had done
service in Morgan's corps.

"Good morning, sir!" said I, reining up my horse as I came beside him.

"How goes it, stranger?" said he, with a tone of independence and
self-confidence that awakened my curiosity to know a little of his
character.

"Going driving?" inquired I.

"Not exactly," replied he, surveying my horse with a quizzical smile; "I
haven't been a driving _by myself_ for a year or two; and my nose has
got so bad lately, I can't carry a cold trail _without hounds to help
me_."

Alone, and without hounds as he was, the question