“Along about the middle of July came the most terrific hot spell that ever occurred in this country. The thermometer went to 118 in the shade and stayed right there day and night for three weeks. At the end of the third week, on the hottest day of all, the sun set fire to the roof of that corncrib and it burned to the ground. Naturally, the heat popped all the corn and it fell three inches deep, all over that ten-acre lot. The mule thought it was snow and laid down in its tracks and froze to death.” § 288 A Way Out of the Difficulty Whether we expect to go there or not, stories about Heaven almost always have an appeal for us. Here is one which has done service for a good many years: An exceedingly rich man who had been noted all his life for taking a good and a loving care of his money, passed away. In due time he knocked at the Golden Gate and craved admission to the Celestial City. St. Peter received his application. The Angel Gabriel was called in, also, to pass on the petition. “Your name,” said the Saint, “is not entirely unfamiliar to us. We have heard of you while you were on the earth. I ask you now to search your mind and see whether you can recall any deed ever done by you in the flesh which, in your opinion, entitles you to enter Paradise and dwell among the blessed. Under a new ruling the record of a single noble act will secure admittance.” The millionaire gave himself over to intensive thought. “Well, there was one thing,” he finally said, “of which I was always very proud. One cold winter’s night on the street I met a little crippled newsboy. He was crying. I stopped and spoke to him. He said he cried because he couldn’t sell his papers; so I bought a paper from him. The price, of it was only a penny, but I gave him three pennies for it.” “Excuse me for one moment,” said St. Peter. “I must ask my confrère to consult the files and see whether your statement is correct.” The Angel Gabriel looked through the Doomsday book and, finding there a certain entry, nodded his head. St. Peter and Gabriel consulted together in low tones. It appeared that they could not go behind the returns. At length Gabriel slammed the covers of the great volume together and exclaimed: “Oh, just give him back his three cents and tell him to go to hell!” § 289 Stylish Language, Indeed! For years, a certain worthy and highly intelligent old colored woman did our family washing. One Saturday night after she had fetched the week’s laundry she sat in the kitchen of our home before she started on her return trip to her own house a mile and a half away. My mother came to the kitchen door to chat with her a little while. From remarks which the old woman let fall, my mother gathered that Aunt Milly, although very devout, did not seem to care deeply for the present pastor of her church.