A little boy came downstairs crying
late
one night. ‚ What’s wrong ?‘ asked his mother. Do people really
come from dust, like they said in church ? he sobbed. ‚In a way they
do,‘ said his mother. ‚ And when they die do the turn back to dust
?‘.
‚Yes, they do.‘ The little boy began to cry again. ‚ Well,
under my
bed there’s someone either coming or going !‘
