think it so mighty good dat when he done eat it he gib you anything you ax him fur, ef you tell him whar de tree is.  Ebe, she took one bite, an’ den she frew dat apple away.  ’Wot you mean, you triflin’ sarpint,’ says she, ‘a fotchin’ me dat apple wot ain’t good fur nuffin but ter make cider wid.’  Den de sarpint he go fotch her a yaller apple, an’ she took one bite an’ den says she:  ’Go ’long wid ye, you fool sarpint, wot you fotch me dat June apple wot ain’t got no taste to it?’ Den de sarpint he think she like sumpin’ sharp, an’ he fotch her a green apple.  She takes one bite ob it, an’ den she frows it at his head, an’ sings out:  ’Is you ‘spectin’ me to gib dat apple to yer Uncle Adam an’ gib him de colic?’ Den de debbil he fotch her a lady-apple, but she say she won’t take no sich triflin’ nubbins as dat to her husban’, an’ she took one bite ob it, an’ frew it away.  Den he go fotch her two udder kin’ ob apples, one yaller wid red stripes, an’ de udder one red on one side an’ green on de udder,—­mighty good lookin’ apples, too—­de kin’ you git two dollars a bar’l fur at the store.  But Ebe, she wouldn’t hab neider ob ’em, an’ when she done took one bite out ob each one, she frew it away.  Den de ole debbil-sarpint, he scratch he head, an’ he say to hese’f:  ’Dis yer Ebe, she pow’ful ’ticklar ’bout her apples.  Reckin I’ll have ter wait till after fros’, an’ fotch her a real good one.’  An’ he done wait till after fros’, and then he fotch her a’ Albemarle pippin, an’ when she took one bite ob dat, she jus’ go ‘long an’ eat it all up, core, seeds, an’ all.  ‘Look h’yar, sarpint,’ says she, ’hab you got anudder ob dem apples in your pocket?’ An’ den he tuk one out, an’ gib it to her. ‘’Cuse me,’ says she, ‘I’s gwine ter look up Adam, an’ ef he don’ want ter know war de tree is wot dese apples grow on, you can hab him fur a corn-field han’.’

“An’ now, my dear brev’ren,” said Brother Peter, “while I was a-turnin’ dis subjec’ ober in my min’, an’ wonderin’ how de women come ter hab jus’ seben debbils apiece, I done reckerleck dat bit ob Scripter wot I heerd at Kyarter’s Mills, an’ I reckin dat ’splains how de debbils got inter woman.  De sarpint he done fotch mudder Ebe seben apples, an’ ebery one she take a bite out of gib her a debbil.”

As might have been expected, this sermon produced a great sensation, and made a deep impression on the congregation.  As a rule the men were tolerably well satisfied with it; and when the services were over many of them made it the occasion of shy but very plainly pointed remarks to their female friends and relatives.

But the women did not like it at all.  Some of them became angry, and talked very forcibly, and feelings of indignation soon spread among all the sisters of the church.  If their minister had seen fit to stay at home and preach a sermon like this to his own wife (who, it may be remarked, was not present on this occasion), it would have been well enough, provided he had made no allusions to outsiders; but to come there and preach such things to them was entirely too much for their endurance.  Each one of the women knew she had not seven devils, and only a few of them would admit of the possibility of any of the others being possessed by quite so many.