Have you ever wondered what happens when a good, hardworking farmer finally gets to rest? Well, let me tell you about one such farmer. He had tilled his fields and cared for his animals his whole life, always with a cheerful heart, even though he wasn't very rich.

One sunny morning, after a long and good life, the farmer closed his eyes on his little farm and opened them again in a place so bright and beautiful, it made him gasp! Fluffy clouds floated by like giant cotton balls, and sweet music filled the air.

A friendly man with a kind smile and a big, shiny key greeted him. "Welcome, dear farmer!" he said. "I am Saint Peter, and this is Heaven."

The farmer was amazed. He saw groups of people everywhere. Some were sitting at long, shiny tables, eating the most delicious-looking cakes and drinking sparkly juice. But then he saw other people, who looked a bit like him, eating plain, simple bread and drinking clear water.

"Excuse me, Saint Peter," the farmer said, scratching his head. "This is a wonderful place, but why do those folks get all the yummy cakes, while we get plain bread? It doesn't seem quite fair."

Saint Peter chuckled. "Ah, my friend," he explained, "those people who are feasting were very rich on Earth, and they are used to fancy things. You good, simple folk were always happy with less, and so you are content with simple things here too. Everyone here has what makes them happy."

The farmer nodded, understanding a little better. Then, he heard the most wonderful music. He peeked around a cloud and saw angels playing harps and singing joyful songs. Their music was so happy it made his toes tingle!

"Oh, that looks like so much fun!" cried the farmer. "Can I join them? I love a good song!"

"Of course, you can!" said Saint Peter with a warm smile. "Go and enjoy yourself. But there's just one tiny rule. Do you see that little golden stool over there, tucked in the corner?" The farmer nodded. "Well," Saint Peter continued, "you can play and sing with the angels, but please, *please*, do not sit on that golden stool."

"Alright," said the farmer, though he was a little curious about the stool. He went off and joined the angels. He clapped his hands, tapped his feet, and even tried to sing along, though he didn't know all the heavenly words. He was having a grand time!

But that little golden stool in the corner kept catching his eye. "Why shouldn't I sit on it?" he wondered. "What could happen? Maybe just for a tiny moment."

The curiosity was too much! When he thought no one was looking, the farmer tiptoed over to the golden stool and plunked himself down.

Whoosh! Suddenly, the clouds beneath him parted like curtains, and he could see all the way down to Earth! He saw his old village, his old fields, and... wait a minute! He saw his old neighbor, a grumpy fellow, sneaking onto what used to be his land. And that neighbor was chopping down the farmer's best wood from his little forest patch, wood the farmer had saved for winter!

"Hey! Stop that, you sneaky rascal!" the farmer shouted, forgetting where he was. Of course, the neighbor couldn't hear him all the way up in Heaven. The farmer got so angry! He looked around, grabbed the first thing he could find – which happened to be his own simple wooden footstool that had appeared beside him – and with all his might, he threw it down towards Earth, aiming right for the thieving neighbor.

The stool went tumbling down, down, down... but it missed the neighbor completely and landed with a thud in an empty field.

Just then, Saint Peter appeared, looking rather sad. "Oh, dear farmer," he said, shaking his head. "I did ask you not to sit on the golden stool. And we certainly can't have people in Heaven losing their temper and throwing furniture, can we?"

The farmer's face turned red. He knew he'd made a mistake.

"I'm afraid," Saint Peter said gently, "that Heaven is not the place for you if you still get so angry. You'll have to leave."

And just like that, the farmer found himself standing outside the bright, pearly gates of Heaven. He looked around. He wasn't on Earth anymore, but he wasn't in Heaven either. He still had his little wooden footstool with him, the one he had thrown.

And some say that poor farmer is still out there, somewhere between Heaven and Earth, carrying his stool and wondering if he'll ever learn to control his temper enough to get back in.

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