“There are a few formalities,” the Saint began. “With Jerry in this state? Nonsense! How like a man! My boy never gave me a moment’s anxiety in----” “Don’t, dear--don’t!” The Major looked almost as uncomfortable as St. Peter. “Well, nothing compared with what he _would_ give me if he weren’t passed.” “Didn’t I hear you singing just now?” Death asked, seeing that his companion needed a breathing-space. “Of course you did,” the mother intervened. “He sings beautifully. And that’s _another_ reason! You’re bass, aren’t you now, darling?” St. Peter glanced at the agonised Major and hastily initialled him a pass. Without a word of thanks the Mother hauled him away. “Now, under what conceivable Ruling do you justify that?” said Death. “I.W.--the Importunate Widow. It’s scandalous!” St. Peter groaned. Then his face darkened as he looked across the great plain beyond The Gate. “I don’t like this,” he said. “The Lower Establishment is out in full force to-night. I hope our pickets are strong enough----” The crowd here had thinned to a disorderly queue flanked on both sides by a multitude of busy, discreet emissaries from the Lower Establishment who continually edged in to do business with them, only to be edged off again by a line of watchful pickets. Thanks to the khaki everywhere, the scene was not unlike that which one might have seen on earth any evening of the old days outside the refreshment-room by the Arch at Victoria Station, when the Army trains started. St. Peter’s appearance was greeted by the usual outburst of cock-crowing from the Lower Establishment. “Dirty work at the cross-roads,” said Death dryly. “I deserve it!” St. Peter grunted, “but think what it must mean for Judas.” He shouldered into the thick of the confusion where the pickets coaxed, threatened, implored, and in extreme cases bodily shoved the wearied men and women past the voluble and insinuating spirits who strove to draw them aside. A Shropshire Yeoman had just accepted, together with a forged pass, the assurance of a genial runner of the Lower Establishment that Heaven lay round the corner, and was being stealthily steered thither, when a large hand jerked him back, another took the runner in the chest, and some one thundered: “Get out, you crimp!” The situation was then vividly explained to the soldier in the language of the barrack-room. “Don’t blame _me_, Guv’nor,” the man expostulated. “I ’aven’t seen a woman, let alone angels, for umpteen months. I’m from Joppa. Where ’you from?” “Northampton,” was the answer. “Rein back and keep by me.” “What? You ain’t ever Charley B. that my dad used to tell about? I thought you always said----” “I shall say a deal more soon. Your Sergeant’s talking to that woman in red. Fetch him in--quick!”