Old Bob chuckled at the remembrance. His gaze sought the firelight flashing through the bars of the grate of the big cookstove.
"Wal!" he said. "That was a bad time. We needin' the money so, and the berry crop likely to be short of what we figgered. Them little old barries at that last end of the patch began to ripen up fast; but I see they wouldn't bring me no price at all—not if the shipper seed 'em.
"'Course, he was buyin' from a score o' farmers ev'ry day. My boxes didn't have my name on 'em. They had his'n. He furnished the boxes and crates himself.
"The devil tempted me," said Bob Buckham, solemnly, "and I fell for him. 'Course we had always to 'deacon' the boxes—we was expected to. The top layer of berries had to be packed in careful, hulls down, so's to make a pretty showin'.
"But I put a lot of them meachin' little berries at the bottom of each box and covered 'em with big, harnsome fruit. They looked like the best o' the crop. I knew my man would never question 'em. And it made a difference of ten dollars to me on that one load.
"I done it," said the farmer, blowing a big sigh. "I done it with as little compunction as I ever done anything in my whole endurin' life."
"Oh, Mr. Buckham! Didn't you think it was wicked?"
"If I did," he said, with a grin, "it didn't spile my appetite. Not then. Not that day. I seen the carload shipped and never said a word. I went home. I eat my dinner just as hearty as ever and made preparations to work the next day's load the same way. Ye see, marm, she didn't know a thing about it.
"Wal!" continued the old man, "it come bed-time and we went to bed. I was allus a sound sleeper. Minute my head touched the husk piller, that minute I begun ter snore. I worked hard and I slept hard.
"But—funny thing—I didn't git to sleep. No reason—'parently. Wasn't worried. I was kinder tickled at what I'd done, and the slick way I'd done it. I never had cheated before to my knowledge; but I was happy at the thought of that extry ten dollars, and the other extry money that was ter foller."