swings and roundabouts

Shadows lengthening through the venerable vault of Kilcullen church.
The mighty Heelers is communing with the eternal.
Third on the left. Fourth pew from the front.
There he is.
How holy he looks!
A collection plate is being passed through the congregation.
Heelers has his head buried in his hands.
Sometimes if I'm deep in prayer the collection box will just sail by.
Now it's very close.
Right beside me.
I hear a vague commingled discordancy as of much coinage being dropped within the plate.
Then it is gone.
I smile into my hands.
Presently there's a whisper in my ear.
It is my sainted mother.
"Did you hear that sound?" sez she. "That was me. Ever since the priest said he didn't want coins in the collection, I make it my business to put in a big pile ever week."
Saint Heelers of Hindustan raises his head.
"Where do you get them from?" he enquires mildly.
"From your room," replies the aged parent.
Heelers nods grimly and returns to his prayers.
He is thinking to himself that a blissful paradise must surely await him in the next life to make up for the vale of tears he presently inhabits...