When it was time for the children to go to bed, Mrs. Watson spread my best blankets down on the floor and all the old clothes she could find to make beds for her family. The children were so full that if they had been punctured, they would have burst. As soon as the children laid down, they sank into a coma, which to my mind was merely a lull before the storm. There would be sickness and probably death before morning and there would be hell to pay.
    Finally all was still in the house, save for the snores of Bill and his wife. How I despised this couple but I would have my revenge, I would get my pound of flesh. My mind was working on the problem. This family had showed me no mercy, why should I show them any? No, I was determined to have my revenge upon them.
    A dish, partially filled with grease, holding a lighted rag was the only source of light in the room. The flame cast a sickening light upon the faces of the sleepers on the floor. Little did they suspect of what was going on, and what was in store for them. I took a sheet of foolcap paper out of a tin box, in which I kept such things. Then, I wrote my will in the dim light cast by that greasy saucer.
    “I, Anthony Doyle, being in sound mind,—’right there I paused for a moment. Was I really sound of mind? I felt the goose pimples coming out on my body. An owl hooted dismally from a distant tree. It seemed to be singing bass to the mournful tenor of a whippoorwill and the stuffed family on the floor moved uneasily in sleep. Again, I proceeded and wrote rapidly, mentioning my possessions, the six acres of land, more or less, the house and other buildings and last but not least, one orange colored ox, aged eleven years, three months and five days. I explained in detail, the weaknesses of the ox, named Balaam. Then to give a sprinkling of irony to it I added this :

“A gold colored ox in a six acre pen

Hasn’t done any work since God knows when,

He has one eye out and his back’s caved in

But he’s a damned fine ox for the shape he’s in.”