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 heard him and came running to see what was the matter.

“Help! Help!” the devil cried. “Make the shoemaker stop beating me!”

But all the people thought the shoemaker was doing just right to punish the black fellow for shaking down all his pears and they urged the shoemaker to beat him harder.

“My poor head! My poor shoulders!” the devil moaned. “If ever I get loose from this cursed pear-tree I’ll never come back here! I swear I won’t!”

The shoemaker, when he heard this, laughed in his sleeve and let the devil go.

The devil was true to his word. He never again returned. So the shoemaker lived, untroubled, to a ripe old age.

Just before he died he asked that his cobbler’s apron be buried with him and his sons carried out his wish.

As soon as he died the little shoemaker trudged up to heaven and knocked timidly at the golden gate. St. Peter opened the gate a little crack and peeped out. When he saw the shoemaker he shook his head and said:

“Little shoemaker, heaven is no place for you.