Deacon Broadbent, an honest and pious man, was conducting a Christmas
revival with great success. In a word, his powerful exhortations had
brought Calhoun White, the town's worst sinner, weeping to the mourner's
bench.
The deacon, gratified by this proof of his evangelical prowess, hastened
to Calhoun's side.
"Deacon," sobbed Calhoun, "'tain't no use in mah comin' up. I'se sinned
away de day o' grace."
"No, you hain't, brudder Cal," said the deacon. "All yo' got to do is to
gib up sin an' all will be forgibben."
"I'se done gib it up, deacon, but dar hain't no salvation fo' me."
"Yes, dey is, honey. Dey hain't no sin so black but it kin be washed
whiter'n de snow."
"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."