"When I go off to some other planet," he said, "I don't want any new kind o' a world. I want it to be like this with big rivers and middle-sized rivers and little rivers, all kinds o' streams an' lakes, and the woods, green in the spring an' red an' yellow in the fall, an' winter, too, which hez its beauties with snow an' ice, an' red roarin' fires to keep you warm, an' the deer an' the buff'ler to hunt. I want them things 'cause I'm used to 'em. A strange, new kind o' world wouldn't please me. I hold with the Injuns that want to go to the Happy Huntin' Grounds, an' I 'xpect it's the kind o' Heaven that the Book means fur fellers like me." "Do you think you're good enough to go to Heaven, Sol?" asked Long Jim. The shiftless one deliberated a moment and then replied thoughtfully: "I ain't so good, Jim, but I reckon I'm good enough to go to Heaven. People bein' what people be, an' me bein' what I am, all with a pow'ful lot to fight ag'inst an' born with somethin' o' the old Nick in us, an' not bein' able to change our naturs much, no matter how hard we try, I reckon I hev a mighty fine chance o' Heaven, which, ez I said, I want to be a world, right smart like this, only a heap bigger an' finer. But I don't mean to go thar for seventy or eighty years yet, 'cause I want to give this earth a real fa'r trial." In which the shiftless one had his wish, as he lived to be a hundred, and his eyes were clear and his voice strong to the last. "That's a mighty fine picture you draw, Sol," said Long Jim, appreciatively, "an' if you're up thar settin' on the bank uv a river that looks plum' like runnin' silver with green trees a thousand feet high risin' behind you, you ketchin' fish thirty or forty feet long, an' ef you should happen to turn an' look 'roun' an' see comin' toward you a long-legged ornery feller that you used ter cahoot with in the wilderness on both sides uv the Ohio, would you rise up, drop them big fish an' your fishin' pole, come straight between the trunks uv them green trees a thousand feet high toward that ornery lookin' long-legged feller what wuz new to the place, stretch out your right hand to him, an' say: 'Welcome to Heaven Long Jim Hart. Come right in an' make yourself to home, 'cause you're goin' to live with us a million an' a billion years, an' all the rest uv the time thar is. Your fishin' pole is down thar by the bank. I've been savin' it fur you. Henry is 'bout a mile farther up the stream pullin' in a whale two hundred feet long that he's had his eye on fur some time. Paul is down thar, settin' under a bush readin' a book uv gold letters on silver paper with diamonds set in the cover, an' Tom Ross is on that hill, 'way acrost yonder, lookin' at a herd uv buff'ler fifty miles wide which hez been travelin' past fur a month.' Now, Sol, would you give your old pardner that kind uv a welcome?"