CHAPTER XIII.
PIE AND ETHICS One morning Battersleigh was at work at his little table, engaged, as he later explained, upon the composition of a letter to the London Times, descriptive of the Agrarian Situation in the United States of America, when he was interrupted by a knock at his door.
"Come in, come in, Ned, me boy," he exclaimed, as he threw open the door and recognised his visitor.

"What's the news this mornin' ?" "News ?" said Franklin gaily, holding his hands behind his back.

"I've news that you can't guess--good news." "You don't mean to tell me they've moved the land office into Ellisville, do you, Ned ?" "Oh, no, better than that." "You've not discovered gold on your quarter section, perchance ?" "Guess again--it's better than that." "I'll give it up.

But leave me a look at your hands." "Yes," said Franklin, "I'll give you a look, and one more guess." He held up a small bag before Battersleigh's face.
"It's not potatoes, Ned ?" said Battersleigh in an awed tone of voice.
Franklin laughed.
"No; better than that," he said.
"Ned," said Battersleigh, "do ye mind if I have a bit smell of that bag ?" "Certainly," said Franklin, "you may have a smell, if you'll promise to keep your hands off." Battersleigh approached his face to the bag and snuffed at it once, twice, thrice, as though his senses needed confirmation.

He straightened up and looked Franklin in the face.
"Ned," said he, his voice sinking almost to a whisper, "it's--it's apples!" "Right," said Franklin.