“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.

“Mahs’r Morris,” said Grandison, removing his hat, “Brudder ‘Bijah an’ me has been argyin on de subjick ob truf.  An’ jes’ as you was comin’ up I was gwine ter tell him a par’ble ‘bout sticken ter truf.  An’ if you’s got time, Mahs’r Morris, I’d be pow’ful glad ter tell you de par’ble, an’ let you ’cide ’tween us.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Morris, “go on with your parable.”

“Dis yere par’ble,” said Grandison, “has got a justifyin’ meanin’ in it, an’ it’s ‘bout a bar an’ a’ possum.  De ’possum he was a-gwine out early in de mawnin’ ter git a little corn fur his breakfus’—­”

“Very wrong in the opossum,” said Mr. Morris, “for I am sure he hadn’t planted any corn.”

“Well, den, sah,” said Grandison, “p’raps ’twas akerns; but, anyway, afore he was out ob de woods he see a big, ole bar a-comin’ straight ’long to him.  De ‘possum he ain’t got no time ter climb a tree an’ git out on de leetlest end ob a long limb, an’ so he lay hese’f flat down on de groun’ an’ make b’lieve he’s dead.  When de ole bar came up he sot down an’ look at de ‘possum.  Fus’ he turn his head on one side an’ den he turn his head on de udder, but he look at de ’possum all de time.  D’reckly he gits done lookin’ an’ he says: