Now, Sandy knew that his wheat was fresh--all of it. So he went down and
brought up still another load.

Uncle Sammy ate that more slowly, for by this time he had had a good
meal.

"How do you like it?" Sandy asked him.

"It's fair," Uncle Sammy replied. "But I believe it's _next year's_
wheat. And of course I wouldn't think of buying that kind.... I guess I
can't trade with you, after all." And he started to hobble away.

When Sandy heard that, and saw the old fellow leaving, he began to scold.

"Aren't you going to pay me for what you've eaten?" he asked.

"What! Pay you for the samples?" Uncle Sammy asked. "I guess, young man,
you don't know much about keeping a store. Nobody ever pays for samples."
And he went away muttering to himself.

Sandy Chipmunk felt very sad. Uncle Sammy had eaten half his winter's
supply of wheat.

Sandy was angry, too. And for several days he was busier than ever,
trying to think of some way in which he could make Uncle Sammy Coon pay
him.