He was stricken by a disease which affected his speech, and prevented him from articulating anything except in a whisper. He beckoned John to the bedside, and signed for him to place his ear close to his mouth. John did so. His father made a great effort to speak, but all that John could make out was, "My will."
"Your will, father?" he repeated.
The sick man nodded, and tried to speak further. John thought he could distinguish the word "drawer," but was not certain. He was about to inquire further, when his stepmother entered the room, and looked at him suspiciously.
"Why have you come here to disturb your sick father?" she asked, coldly.
"I did not come here to disturb him," said John. "I came because he wished to speak to me."
"Has he spoken to you?" she asked, hastily.
"He tried to, but did not succeed."
"You should not allow him to make the effort. It can only do him harm. The doctor says he must be kept very quiet. You had better leave the room. He is safest in my care."
John did leave the room, and though he saw his father afterwards, it was always in his stepmother's presence, and he had no farther opportunity of communicating with him.
He could not help thinking of this as he rode along, and wondering what it was that his father wished to say. He knew that it must be something of importance, from the evident anxiety which the dying man manifested to speak to him. But whatever it was must remain unknown. His father's lips were hushed in death, and with such a stepmother John felt himself worse than alone in the world. But he had a religious nature, and had been well trained in the Sunday school, and the thought came to him that whatever trials might be in store for him he had at least one Friend, higher than any earthly friend, to whom he might look for help and protection. Plunged in thought, he had suffered Prince to subside into a walk, when, all at once, he heard his name called.