"No, indeed!" Sandy replied. "I gathered beechnuts, Mr. Crow."
"Beechnuts!" Mr. Crow repeated. "I never told you I wanted nuts. I'd starve, trying to live on nuts; for they don't agree with me at all. And I make it a rule never to eat them. Corn is what I want."
"You didn't say so," Sandy Chipmunk said. "You asked me to gather food for you. And every one knows there's no better food than beechnuts to last through the winter."
"That—" said Mr. Crow—"that is where we do not agree. I supposed you knew I wanted corn. But there's no great harm done, anyhow," he added. "Tomorrow you can gather corn for me—now that you know what I want. No doubt you can get Frisky Squirrel to help you again. But you must pay him with your share of the corn—not with mine."
"But then there wouldn't be any left for me," Sandy objected.
"But just think of all the beechnuts you have," Mr. Crow reminded him.
Sandy Chipmunk shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm too stupid to work for you any more," he told Mr. Crow.
"Oh! I didn't mean what I said," Mr. Crow hastened to explain.
"Then—" Sandy said—"then how do I know that you mean what you say when you tell me you want corn to eat?"
And Mr. Crow could find no answer to that. He was disappointed, too. For he was afraid he would have to go south to spend the winter, after all.