“But I don stole fo’ young turkeys last week,” said the penitent.
“Dat’s all forgibben, Cal.”
“An’ free de week befo’.”
“Dat’s forgibben, too.”
“An’ six fat Christmas geese——“
“—— six fat Christmas geese outer yore own yard, deacon—dem fat geese wot yo’ ’lowed to set so much store by.”
“Wot’s dat yo’ say?” the deacon hissed furiously.
“It wuz me wot stole yo’ Christmas geese, sah.”
“I reckon, Calhoun,” he said slowly, “I reckon I’se spoke too hasty. Dis case o’ yourn needs advisement. I ain’t sho’ dat we’s justified in clutterin’ up de Kingdom o’ Heben wid chicken thieves.”