"Master, aren't you going to reward this man? He is poor but yet has
treated us most hospitably."

Lord Jesus answered Peter:

"The reward of this world is an empty reward. I was thinking to prepare
him a place in heaven. However, I will grant him something now."

Then he turned to the blacksmith and said:

"Ask what you will. Make three wishes and they will be fulfilled."

The blacksmith was overjoyed. For his first wish he said:

"I should like to live for a hundred years and always be as strong and
healthy as I am this moment."

Lord Jesus said:

"Very well, that will be granted you. What is your second wish?"

The blacksmith thought for a moment. Then he said:

"I wish that I may prosper in this world and always have as much as I
need. May work in my shop always be as plentiful as it is today."

"This, too, will be granted you," Lord Jesus said. "Now for your third
wish."

Our blacksmith thought and thought, unable at first to decide on a third
wish. At last he said:

"Grant that whoever sits on the stool where you sat last night at supper
may be unable to get up until I release him."

St. Peter laughed at this, but Lord Jesus nodded and said:

"This wish, too, will be fulfilled."

So they parted, Lord Jesus and blessed St. Peter going on their way, and
the blacksmith returning home to his forge.

Things came to pass as Lord Jesus had promised they should. Work in
plenty flowed into the blacksmith's shop. The years went by but they
made no impression on the blacksmith. He was as young as ever and as
vigorous. His friends grew old and one by one died. His children grew
up, married, and had children of their own. These in turn grew up. The
years brought youth and maturity and old age to them all. The blacksmith
alone remained unchanged.

A hundred years is a long time but at last even it runs out.

One night as the blacksmith was putting away his tools, there came a
knock at the door. The blacksmith stopped his singing to call out:

"Who's there?"

"It is I, Death," a voice answered. "Open the door, blacksmith. Your
time has come."

The blacksmith threw open the door.

"Welcome," he said to the woman standing there. "I'll be ready in a
moment when I put away my tools." He smiled a little to himself. "Won't
you sit down on this stool, dear lady, and rest you for a moment? You
must be weary going to and fro over the earth."

Death, suspecting nothing, seated herself on the stool.

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