it was for the best. Priscilla has gone where she will always be
happy. She has at last found that bliss which she searched for in
vain on earth."

"Yes William," added Miles Standish. "Priscilla has now found
eternal joy."

VIII

Heaven.

Smug saints with ill-fitting halos and imitation wings, singing
meaningless hymns which Priscilla had heard countless times
before.

Sleek prosaic angels flying aimlessly around playing stale songs
on sickly yellow harps.

Three of the harps badly out of tune; two strings missing on
another.

Moses, a Jew.

Methuselah, another Jew. Old and unshaven.

Priscilla threw herself on a cloud, sobbing.

"Well, sister, what seems to be the matter here?"

She looked up; she saw a sympathetic stranger looking down at