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 !’