“Master,” said the smith, “I am not so guilty as you suppose; the sack stayed in my house because it had been blessed, and for that reason I thought I might well keep it. But take pity on me, for I knew not what I was doing. I pray you also to deign to consider that I come from a far country, that I am greatly tired, and would gladly rest in this good Paradise.”
“Be off, smith,” said the saint, who was holding the door a crack open.
Meanwhile Smetse had slipped through the opening, and taking off his leathern apron sat down, saying:
“Master, I am here rightfully, you cannot turn me out.”
But St. Peter bade a troop of halberdier angels who were near at hand drive him away: and this the halberdier angels did with great dispatch.
Thereafter, Smetse did not cease to beat on the door with his fists, and lamented, wept, and cried out: “Master, have pity on me, let me in, my master; I repent of all the sins I have committed, and even the others as well. Master, grant me permission to enter the blessed Paradise. Master....” But Master St. Peter, hearing this, put his head over the wall:
“Smith,” said he, “if thou wilt persist in this uproar, I shall have thee sent to Purgatory.”
And poor Smetse held his peace, and sat down on his seat, and so passed sad days, watching others enter.
In this wise a week went by, during which he lived on a few scraps of bread which were thrown to him over the wall, and on grapes gathered from a sour vine which grew on the outer face of the wall of Paradise in this part.
And Smetse was most unhappy, leading this idle existence. And he sought in his head for some work or other which would gladden him somewhat. Having found it, he shouted as loud as he could, and St. Peter put his head over the wall.