g," said Gud.

The soul stared up at him in most incredulous manner and replied; "I
thought they were all dead."

With much patient questioning, Gud wrested from this soul, alone in a
vast heaven--save for the little souls that played most idiotically upon
the grass--a tale of a paradise gone wrong because of a theological
blunder.

It was a tedious tale and she who sat knitting there upon the purple
rock told it to Gud in broken fragments of narration. First she related
how the place had been peopled by all the host of souls passed over from
a certain muddy sphere, and who came to this heaven as the result of
faith in a most liberal theology that promised universal salvation to
saint alike with sinner.

And so they all in one triumphal procession came to claim the rewards
and demand the fulfillment of the promises. And yet they had not
tarried--none but she who told the tale and the bevy of little tumbling
spirits, who were none other than the souls of idiotic babes born into
their material world of long ago, deaf and blind as they were imbecile.

Gud suspected, even as the tale unfolded, that there had been some
fearful blunder in the promises; and right enough he was, for the ninth
promise of their creed had been, "Then ye shall know the truth."

So all the myriads of saved souls, who had cherished the promises, had
come to know the truth as it had been promised them. When they arose in
glittering gowns and halos bright upon that Resurrection Morn and
started singing, one by one and then by twos and tens and soon by scores
and thousands they remembered all that they had wished to know of all
their pasts and ponderings. And to their minds, reborn to omniscience of
the truth of what had been as it had really been, came also the memories
of what they thought had been.

The books of hymns had fallen from their hands, and voices lost the key
and shrieked in agony. Insane ravings, babblings and cursing smote the
air of heaven. Chaos reigned supreme and all the hosts of heaven went
raving mad and babbled as they raved.

Chapter XLI

I buy my clothes in high-priced shops;
My collars match my shirts;
I swing a dapper cane with ease
And ogle all the skirts.

I follow the ads in the Satevepost;
I have picked the car to buy;
I read the "Book of Etiquette,"
And "Sappho" on the sly.

A bit of my handkerchief always shows
In a pocket of my coat....
I ca