As he puzzled over the matter he faintly remembered a story his old mammy had told him about a man with scars on his hands and feet, and he recalled the lines of a song that Cap’m Archie used to make him sing: “They nailed His hands and they rivet His feet, An’ de hammers wuz heard in Jerusalem street.” Some way, Willie could not place him. But he felt much more at ease for his presence. “What you thinking about, Willie?” the kindly angel asked. “You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself so much.” Willie did not know exactly what to reply. He rummaged through his mind hastily. He had been entirely happy for ever so long, not a thing had gone wrong. Everybody had been so nice to him. The music had been beautiful and just the songs he liked to sing. His wings fitted perfectly and St. Peter had been wonderful. So had Jehu. And Cap’m Archie--he had given him everything he could think of and a heap he did not think of. Of course there was the matter of the cigar. He wanted to go to the gallows with a cigar in his mouth. But that wasn’t Cap’m Archie’s fault ... and, too, maybe Cap’m Archie had forgotten the cigar. He had so many things to think about. Willie concluded that if it were the cigar he would say nothing about it to the kind angel because he did not want to embarrass Cap’m Archie. He did not really want to go to the gallows with a cigar, anyway, he decided. “But I did want ter make dat speech,” he concluded. “What speech is that?” asked the kindly faced angel. Willie explained in great detail, and the angel and the Great Lord God listened intently. “But hit wa’n’t Cap’m Archie’s fault,” he declared. “Whose fault was it, then?” demanded the Great Lord God. “Hit mought er been--onderstan’, I ain’ s’cusin’ nobody,” Willie faltered, “but hit mought er been Ole Green Eyes. But I loves ev’ybody--him, too,” he added hastily. “I know the scoundrel,” declared the Great Lord God. “He’s been plaguing me for years and years. But this is too much.” The brow of the Great Lord God clouded in anger and he shouted with a terrible roar, like seven peals of thunder, “Cherub, bring me a bolt of forked lightning that I may strike that man from the face of the earth.” The cherub brought the lightning, and the Great Lord God was about to hurl it. But the kind angel touched his arm gently. “I wouldn’t, Father,” said the angel. “He might not have understood that the speech was to have been the biggest thing in Willie’s life.” The Great Lord God stayed his hand and turned upon the kind angel. “Of course he understood. That’s why he didn’t let him make it. He’s just low-down mean. I’ve put up with enough of it.” “But,” insisted the kind angel, “it will do no good to strike him down with lightning. It would frighten many people. And it would start new arguments over religion and that would lead to controversies and they would lead to hatreds and hatreds lead to----”