ll, fine
honesties, and the so-called "generous" are not always "just" or honest.

And--

Poor little Solomon Crow! It is a pity to have to write it, but his weak
point was exactly that he was not quite honest. He wanted to be, just
because his angel-twin might be watching him, and he was afraid of
thunder. But Crow was so anxious to be "smart" that he had long ago
begun doing "tricky" things. Even the men working the roads had
discovered this. In eating Crow's "fresh-boiled crawfish" or "shrimps,"
they would often come across one of the left-overs of yesterday's
supply, mixed in with the others; and a yesterday's shrimp is full of
stomach-ache and indigestion. So that business suffered.

In the fig business the ripe ones sold well; but when one of Crow's
customers offered to buy all he would bring of green ones for
preserving, Crow began filling his basket with them and distributing a
top layer of ripe ones carefully over them. His lawful share of the very
ripe he also carried away--in his little bread-basket.

This was all very dishonest, and Crow knew it. Still he did it many
times.

And then--and this shows how one sin leads to another--and then, one
day--oh, Solomon Crow, I'm ashamed to tell it on you!--one day he
noticed that there were fresh eggs in the hen-house nests, quite near
the fig-trees. Now, if there was anything Crow liked, it was a fried
egg--two fried eggs. He always said he wanted two on his plate at once,
looking at him like a pair of round eyes, "an' when dey reco'nizes me,"
he would say, "den I eats 'em up."

Why not slip a few of these tempting eggs into the bottom of the basket
and cover them up with ripe figs?

And so--,

One day, he did it.

He had stopped at the dining-room door that day and was handing in the
larger basket, as usual, when old Mr. Cary, who stood there, said,
smiling:

"No, give us the smaller basket to-day, my boy. It's our turn to be
generous."

He extended his hand as he spoke.

Crow tried to answer, but he could not. His mouth felt as dry and stiff
and hard as a chip, and he suddenly began to open it wide and shut it
slowly, like a chicken with the gapes.

Mr. Cary kept his hand out waiting, but still Crow stood as if
paralyzed, gaping and swallowing.

Finally, he began to blink. And then he stammered:

"I ain't p-p-p-ertic'lar b-b-bout de big basket. D-d-d-de best figs is
in y'all's pickin'--in dis, de big basket."

Crow's appearance was conviction