oved the piece of old canvas that
was thrown over the tops of the barrels; there was no need of asking any
questions. No one but himself, for many miles around, had
"Belle-flowers" and "Jeannettes" like these.

"How much do you lack, Grandison," he said, "of making up the money you
owe me to-morrow?"

"Six dollars, sah," said Grandison.

"Six dollars--three barrels--very good," said Mr. Morris. "I see you are
determined to stick to the truth, Grandison, and keep your engagement.
But I will trouble you to turn that wagon round and haul those apples to
my house. And, if you still want to buy the place, you can come on
Monday morning and work out the balance you have to make up on the first
instalment; and, after this, you can make all your payments in work. A
day's labor is fair and plain, but your ways of sticking to the truth
are very crooked."

It was not long after this that Grandison was ploughing in one of Mr.
Morris' fields, when Brother 'Bijah came along and sat upon the fence.

"Brudder Gran'son," said he, when the ploughman had reached the end of
the furrow and was preparing to turn, "jes' you let your hoss res' a
minnit till I tells you a par'ble."

"Wot par'ble?" said Grandison, in a tone of unconcern, but stopping his
horse, all the same.

"Why, dis one!" said 'Bijah. "Dar was an ole mule an' he b'longed to a
cullud man named Harris who used to carry de mail from de Coht House ter
Cary's Cross-roads. De ole mule was a pow'ful triflin' critter an' he
got lazier an' lazier, an' 'fore long he got so dreffle slow dat it tuk
him more'n one day ter go from de Coht House ter de crossroads, an' he
allus come in de day ahfter mail-day, when de people was done gone home.
So de cullud man, Harris, he says:

"'You is too ole fur ter carry de mail, you triflin' mule, an' I hain't
got no udder use fur you.'

"So he put him in a gully-field, whar dar was nuffin but bar' groun' an'
hog weed. Now, dar was nuffin in dis worl' dat triflin' mule hated so
much as hog weed, an' he says to hese'f: 'I's boun' ter do somefin'
better'n dis fur a libin. I reckin I'll go skeer dat ole Harris, an'
make him gib me a feed o' corn.' So he jump ober de fence, fur he was
spry 'nuf when he had a min' ter, an' he steals an ole bar skin dat he'd
seen hangin' up in de store po'ch, an' he pretty nigh kivered himse'f
all up wid it. Den he go down to de pos' offis, whar de mail had jes'
come in. When dis triflin' ole mule seed de cullud m