cloak and his belt, and they went out, he and
Jesus--the angel was Jesus hisself, you know--and they went by the
soldier, and the soldier didn't say a word; and Peter wondered and
wondered how they would get through that big gate that was locked up
so tight; but when they came to it, open it swung--there didn't
anybody touch it at all--then they went through and went down the
street, and pretty soon Peter turned around to say something to Jesus,
and he was gone! He had gone back to heaven, I suppose.

"Down street a little ways there was a woman lived, and her name was
Mary, and she had a prayer-meeting at her house; ever so many people
came to prayer-meeting, and they prayed to Jesus to take care of Peter
and let him get out of prison. Peter knew there was a prayer-meeting,
so he thought he would go to it; and he knocked at the gate (they had
to knock at the gate when they went to see Mary), and a girl named
Rhoda went to see who was there; and instead of letting him in, she
ran back and said: 'Oh, don't you think, Peter is at the gate.' Then
the folks said: 'Why, no, he isn't; Peter is in prison, and the door
is locked, and the soldiers have the keys. You are mistaken.' But she
said: 'No, I ain't mistaken; I _know_ it is Peter.' So they 'sputes
about it and Peter kept knocking, knocking, and pretty soon some of
them said: 'Come, let's go see who is knocking, that Rhoda thinks is
Peter;' so they went to the gate and there they saw him, and they knew
him and they were so glad to see him; they opened the gate and let him
in, and they all wanted to talk to him at once, but he beckoned to
them to keep still, and then he told them how Jesus came down out of
heaven and woke him up, and got him out of prison. Isn't that a nice
story, mamma?"

"A splendid story, darling; and every word of it is true. That was
your own Jesus that you pray to, who took care of Peter and helped him
out of prison."

"I know it am, mamma; I know all about him. Now, shall I tell you
another story?"

"Oh, yes; I like your stories when they are as nice as this one."

"Well, now listen; this is my other story and it is all true:

'Neighbor Phinney had a turnip,
And it grew behind the barn;
And it grew and it grew, an'
And it ne'er did any harm.

'And it grew, and it grew,
As, until it could grow no better,
Then Farmer Phinney took it up
And put it in his cellar.

'And it lay, and it lay,
U