The following Sunday I told my father we were going to church.
"Not me!" he said.
"Oh, yes," I coaxed; "just this once with me."
"What th' divil's the use whin I haave a praycher t' m'silf."
"I am to be the preacher at the church."
"Och, but that's a horse ov another colour, bedad. Shure thin I'll go."
When my father saw me in a Geneva gown, his eyes were filled with tears.
The old white-haired lady who found the place in the book for him was the young lady's mother. Her uncle had ushered him into her pew, but they had never met each other nor did the old lady know until after church that he was my father.
He never heard a word of the sermon, but as we emerged from the church into the street he put his arms around my neck and kissing me said, "Och, boy, if God wud only take me now I'd be happy!"
He had been listening with his eyes and what he saw so filled him with joy that he was more willing to leave life than to have the emotion leave him.