Crow had great reverence for his little lost mate. Indeed, he feared the displeasure of this other self, who, he believed, watched him from the skies, quite as much as the anger of God. Sad to say, the good Lord, whom most children love as a kind, heavenly Father, was to poor little Solomon Crow only a terrible, terrible punisher of wrong, and the little boy trembled at His very name. He seemed to hear God's anger in the thunder or the wind; but in the blue sky, the faithful stars, the opening flowers and singing birds--in all loving-kindness and friendship--he never saw a heavenly Father's love. He knew that some things were right and others wrong. He knew that it was right to go out and earn dimes to buy the things needed in the cabin, but he equally knew it was wrong to get this money dishonestly. Crow was a very shrewd little boy, and he made money honestly in a number of ways that only a wide-awake boy would think about. When fig season came, in hot summer-time, he happened to notice that beautiful ripe figs were drying up on the tip-tops of some great trees in a neighboring yard, where a stout old gentleman and his old wife lived alone, and he began to reflect. "If I could des git a-holt o' some o' dem fine sugar figs dat's a-swivelin' up every day on top o' dem trees, I'd meck a heap o' money peddlin' 'em on de street." And even while he thought this thought he licked his lips. There were, no doubt, other attractions about the figs for a very small boy with a very sweet tooth. On the next morning after this, Crow rang the front gate-bell of the yard where the figs were growing. "Want a boy to pick figs on sheers?" That was all he said to the fat old gentleman who had stepped around the house in answer to his ring. Crow's offer was timely. Old Mr. Cary was red in the face and panting even yet from reaching up into the mouldy, damp lower limbs of his fig-trees, trying to gather a dishful for breakfast. "Come in," he said, mopping his forehead as he spoke. "Pick on shares, will you?" "Yassir." "Even?" "Yassir." "Promise never to pick any but the very ripe figs?" "Yassir." "Honest boy?" "Yassir." "Turn in, then; but wait a minute." He stepped aside into the house, returning presently with two baskets. "Here," he said, presenting them both. "These are pretty nearly of a size. Go ahead, now, and let's see what you can do." Needless to say, Crow proved a great success as fig-picker. The very sugary figs that old Mr. Cary had panted for and reached for in vain lay bursting with sweetness on top of both baskets. The old gentleman and his wife were delighted, and the boy was quickly engaged to come every morning. And this was how Crow went into the fig business. Crow was a likable boy--"so bright and handy and nimble"--and the old people soon became fond of him. They noticed that he always handed in the larger of the two baskets, keeping the smaller for himself. This seemed not only honest, but generous.