“Dat’s all clar ’nuf,” said the minister, “but whar you gwine ter git three bar’ls o’ apples?  You don’ mean ter tell me dat you’s got ’nuf apple-trees in your little gyardin fur ter shake down three bar’ls o’ apples.”

“Now look a-heah, Brudder ’Bijah,” said Grandison, his eyes sparkling with righteous indignation, “dat’s too much ’to ‘spec’ ob a man who’s got ter work all day to s’port his wife an’ chillun.  I digs, an’ I plows, an’ I plants, an’ I hoes.  But all dem things ain’t ’nuf ter make apple-trees grow in my gyardin like as dey was corn-field peas.”

“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.”