A certain three-year-old was greatly im- j
pressed with his mother’s teachings con- (
cerning angels, and set to know more re-,
garding them.
Time eight p. m.; mother trying to I
make, sleep overcome curiosity on a very I
young philosopher. :
“Now Georgie, goto sleep, that’s a erood i
boy.”
“I ain’t sleepy, so there!” ,
“Good little boys that go to sleep early.
will go to Heaven.”
“What’s Heaven -3 ”
“It’s a beautiful place in the skies where
God lives.”
“Ain’t there nobody lives with ’im?”
“Oh, yes; good people; little boys and
girls who mind their mothers and angels.” j
“ ’N’ angels? W’at’s them?” |
“Oh, they’re grand beings who wear j
crowns and have wings—”
“Do they fly, or do they jes’ flop, flop,
when you shoo at them?”
“Oh nobody shoos at them in Heaven,
my dear; they are just like people, only
they are larger and have wings.”
“Can they fly ’way up?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Did you ever see an angel?”
“No.”
The boy looked at her reproachfully.
“Muver, be you fi'obiu?” he asked
sternly.
“Oh, no, indeed, Georgie —”
“Bad ’oemans w’at fibs gets ’panked.”
“Georgie, the Bible tells about angels.”
“W’ats the Bible?” He had been told
every night for a year, and therefore the
mother, knowing only too well the bewil- 1
dering string of questions that inevitably j
ensued, attempted a ruse by making
another inspiring reference to those angel !
wings.
“How do angels get their clothes on over I
their wings?”
“They wear robes.”
“Hain’t they no buttons?”
“I think not.”
“Can little angels dress themselves
wivout their muver buttoning their !
waist?”
“1 guess so.”
“Don’t little angels never have knickers
w’en they get’s big’s me’s?” Georgie is
wearing his fir.it pair.
