Charlie Is A Saint

Every little town has it’s rascals. The one I read about was no exception. When the population is under 500, everyone knows everyone. The richest man in town had two boys that were absolutely the worst in the city. If it was mischief, or bad or dirty or immoral, these boys were there. No one could really tell who was the worst of the two. They were both bad. The daddy had struck it rich in the oil business, but the boys had dirty the family name through every kind of evil trick.
When the older brother died in a car accident, the father began the search for someone who would give a say something nice at the funeral and call his son a saint. Money was no problem and offers were made to various preachers in town. The reward was high and all one had to do was to say the magic words, “Charlie was a saint”.
There were no takers. No one was willing to stoop so low as to say the words. Finally, an old county preacher said he was willing to say that “Charlie was a saint”.
The deal was struck, the money paid and the funeral was held. Everyone in town wanted to be at the funeral. They wanted to know what preacher would call Charlie a saint for the money offered. Before a full house, the organ was grinding out some hymns as the old preacher rose to stand behind the rostrum. The silence was deafening.
The minister began. “We all know the dark history of these two boys. Charlie was a rascal, and full of the devil’s works. There was anyone in this audience that would associate with Charlie much less be a part of his life of sin. But in contrast to his brother Sammie, CHARLIE WAS A SAINT!!”


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