I never speak to parents but I think of two fathers, one of whom lived on the banks of the Mississippi, the other in New York. The first one devoted all his time to amassing wealth. He had a son to whom he was much attached, and one day the boy was brought home badly injured. The father was informed that the boy could live but a short time, and he broke the news to his son as gently as possible.
“You say I cannot live, father? O! then pray for my soul,” said the boy.
In all those years that father had never said a prayer for that boy, and he told him he couldn’t. Shortly after, the boy died. That father has said since that he would give all that he possessed if he could call that boy back only to offer one short prayer for him.
The other father had a boy who had been sick some time, and he came home one day and found his wife weeping. She said:
“I cannot help but believe that this is going to prove fatal.”
The man started, and said: “If you think so, I wish you would tell him.”
But the mother could not tell her boy. The father went to the sick room, and he saw that death was feeling for the cords of life, and he said:
“My son, do you know you are not going to live?”
The little fellow looked up and said: “No; is this death that I feel stealing over me? Will I die to-day?”
“Yes, my son, you cannot live the day out.”