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“Dat’s so,” said ‘Bijah, reflectively. “Dat’s too much to spec’ ob any man. But how’s you gwine ter sell de apples if you ain’t got ’em?”

“I’s got ter git em,” said Grandison. “Dar’s apples ‘nuf growin’ roun’ an’ not so fur away dat I can’t tote ’em ter my house in a bahsket. It’s pow’ful hard on a man wot’s worked all day ter have ter tote apples ahfter night, but dar ain’ no other way ob gittin’ dat dar money.”

“I spec’ de orchard whar you’s thinkin’ o’ gwine is Mahs’r Morrises,” said the minister.

“You don’ ‘spose Ise gwine ter any ob dose low down orchards on de udder side de creek, does ye? Mahs’r Morris has got the bes’ apples in dis county. Dat’s de kin’ wot fetch two dollars a bar’l.”

“Brudder Gran’son,” said ‘Bijah, solemnly, “is you min’ runnin on takin’ Mahs’r Morrises apples inter town an’ sellin’ em?”

“Well, he gits de money, don’t he?” answered the other, “and if I don’t sell his apples ‘taint no use sellin’ none. Dem udder little nubbins roun’ heah won’t fetch no two dollars a bar’l.”

“Dem ain’t justifyin’ deeds wot’s runnin’ in your mind,” said ‘Bijah. “Dey ain’t justifyin’.”

“Ob course,” said Grandison, “dey wouldn’t be justifyin’ if I had de six dollars. But I ain’t got ’em, an’ Ise promised to pay ’em. Now, is I ter stick to de truf, or isn’t I?”

“Truf is mighty,” said the preacher, “an’ ought not to be hendered from prevailin’.”

“Dat’s so! dat’s so!” exclaimed Grandison. “You can’t go agin de Scripters. Truf is mighty, an’ ’tain’t fur pore human critters like us to try to upsot her. Wot we’re got ter do is ter stick to her through thick an’ thin.”

“Ob course, dat’s wot we oughter do,” said ‘Bijah, “but I can’t see my way clar to you sellin’ dem apples.”

“But dar ain’t nuffin else ter do!” exclaimed Grandison, “an’ ef I don’t do dat, away goes de truf, clar out o’ sight. An’ wot sort o’ ‘ligion you call dat, Brudder ‘Bijah?”

“‘Tain’t no kind at all,” said ‘Bijah, “fur we’s bound ter stick to de truf, which is de bottom corner-stone ob piousness. But dem apples don’t seem ter git demselves straightened out in my mind, Brudder Gran’son.”

“It ‘pears ter me, Brudder ‘Bijah, dat you doan’ look at dem apples in de right light. If I was gwine ter sell ’em to git money ter buy a lot o’ spotted calliker ter make frocks for de chillen, or eben to buy two pars o’ shoes fur me an’ Judy ter go to church in, dat would be a sin, sartin shuh. But you done furgit dat I’s gwine ter take de money ter Mahs’r Morris. If apples is riz an’ I gits two dollars an’ a quarter a bar’l, ob course I keeps de extry quarter, which don’ pay anyhow fur de trouble ob pickin’ ’em. But de six dollars I gibs, cash down, ter Mahs’r Morris. Don’ you call dat puffectly fa’r an’ squar, Brudder ‘Bijah?”

‘Bijah shook his head. “Dis is a mighty dubersome question, Brudder Gran’son, a mighty dubersome question.”

Grandison stood with a disappointed expression on his countenance. He greatly desired to gain from his minister sanction for the financial operation he had proposed. But this the solemn ‘Bijah did not appear prepared to give. As the two men stood together by the roadside they saw, riding toward them, Mr. Morris himself.

“Now, den,” exclaimed Grandison, “heah comes Mahs’r Morris, and I’s gwine ter put dis question to hisse’f. He oughter know how ter ‘cide bout it, if anybody does.”

“You ain’t truly gwine ter put dat question to him, is ye?” asked ‘Bijah, quickly.

“No, sah,” replied the other. “I’s gwine to put the case on a dif’rent show-pint. But ’twill be the same thing as de udder.”

Mr. Morris was a genial-natured man, who took a good deal of interest in his negro neighbors, and was fond of listening to their peculiar humor. Therefore, when he saw that Grandison wished to speak to him he readily pulled up his horse.