“I HAVE a little story to tell you, boys,” the old doctor said to the children the other evening.
“One day, when I was a boy, I met my father, on the road to town.
"‘Jim,’ he said, in a hesitating way, wish you would take this package into the village for me.’
“I was then about twelve years old, and not very fond of work. I had just come from the hayfield, where I had been hard at work since daybreak. I was tired, and dusty, and hungry. It was two miles’ drive into town. I wanted to go home and get my suer, and then wash and dress myself, and go to the sing at the school that evening.
“My first impulse was to refuse to go, for I was vexed to be asked to do this after my long day’s work. If I had refused, he would have gone himself. He was a gentle, loving, kind old man. Something stopped me from doing what I was just on the point of doing. I have no doubt God ordered it so.
"‘Of course, Father, I’ll take it,’ I said heartily, giving my tools to one of the men. He gave me the package, saying as he did so, ‘Thank you, Jim; I was going myself, but somehow I don’t feel very strong today.’ He walked with me to the road that turned off toward the town, and as I left him, he laid his hand on my shoulder, saying again, ‘Thank you my son. You have always been a good boy to me, Jim.’
“I hurried to town, and back home again. As I came near the house, I saw a great crowd of farm hands about the door. One of them came to me, and with the tears rolling down his face, said: ‘Your father fell down dead just as he reached the door of his home. The last words he spoke were those he said to you in parting.’
“I am an old man now,” said the doctor, who told this story, “but I have thanked God, over and over again, for the help He gave me in honoring and obeying my father on that occasion. His last words to me have been a deep satisfaction to my heart: ‘Jim, you have always been a good boy to me.’ "
ML-12/13/1970