And generosity is a winning virtue in the very needy--as winning as it is common. The very poor are often great of heart. But this is not a safe fact upon which to found axioms. All God's poor are not educated up to the point of even small, 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 itself. Without more ado, Mr. Cary grasped his arm firmly and fairly lifted him into the room. "Now, set those baskets down." He spoke sharply. The boy obeyed. "Here! empty the larger one on this tray. That's it. All fine, ripe figs. You've picked well for us. Now turn the other one out."