Young Peter had just come back from an agricultural college. He was showing off to the neighboring farmer. "Your farming methods are too old-fashioned," he said. "Why, I bet you don't get ten pounds of apples from that tree."
"I daresay you're right," said Farmer Jones. "That there's a pear tree."
Visitor: "Is this a healthy place?"
Native: "It sure is. When I came here, I couldn't utter a word. I had scarcely a hair on my head. I hadn't the strength to walk across the room. Why, I had to be lifted from my bed."
Visitor: "That is wonderful! How long have you been here?"
Native: "I was born here."
A man knocked at the heavenly gate
His face was scarred and old,
He stood before the man of fate
For admission to the fold.
"What have you done?" St. Peter asked,
"To gain admission here?"
"I've been a loyal Christian
For many, many a year."
The pearly gates swung open wide
St. Peter touched the bell . . .
"Come in and choose your harp," he said,
"You've had your share of hell."