"Day after to-morrow," says I.

He winked at me, and smiled.

Says I,--

"Sandy, out with it. Come--no secrets among friends. I notice you
don't ever wear wings--and plenty others don't. I've been making
an ass of myself--is that it?"

"That is about the size of it. But it is no harm. We all do it at
first. It's perfectly natural. You see, on earth we jump to such
foolish conclusions as to things up here. In the pictures we
always saw the angels with wings on--and that was all right; but we
jumped to the conclusion that that was their way of getting around-
-and that was all wrong. The wings ain't anything but a uniform,
that's all. When they are in the field--so to speak,--they always
wear them; you never see an angel going with a message anywhere
without his wings, any more than you would see a military officer
presiding at a court-martial without his uniform, or a postman
delivering letters, or a policeman walking his beat, in plain
clothes. But they ain't to FLY with! The wings are for show, not
for use. Old experienced angels are like officers of the regular
army--they dress plain, when they are off duty. New angels are
like the militia--never shed the uniform--always fluttering and
floundering around in their wings, butting people down, flapping
here, and there, and everywhere, always imagining they are
attracting the admiring eye--well, they just think they are the
very most important people in heaven. And when you see one of them
come sailing around with one wing tipped up and t'other down, you