“I wanted you, Barry.”
The boy's hands were writhing under his knees, but his face and eyes were quite steady.
“I was terribly lonely. I thought of that strange, dear bond that held us together, and then like a flash out of the sky came those great words: 'Like as a father pitieth his children,' and oh, boy, boy! It came to me then that as I feel toward my boy God feels toward me. Barry, listen—” His voice fell to a whisper. “I am God's son, as you are mine. There was no more fear, and I was not nearly so lonely. Tell the boys—tell the boys the truth about God.”
He lay a long time silent, with his eyes closed, and as Barry watched he saw two tears fall down the white cheeks. It was to him a terrible sight. Never, not even at his mother's grave, had he seen his father's tears. It was more than he could endure. He put his face down beside his father's on the pillow.
“Dad, I understand,” he whispered. “I know now what God is like. He is like you, dad. He gave himself for us, as you, dad, have given yourself all these years for me.”
He was sobbing, but very quietly.
“Forgive me, dad; I'm not crying. I'm just thinking about God and you. Oh, dad, you are both wonderful! Wonderful!”
“Barry, my boy, tell them. Don't worry yourself about them. Just tell them about God. He is responsible for them, not you.”
“Oh, I will, dad; I promise you I will. I've been all wrong, but I'll tell them. I'll tell them.”
“Thank God, my boy,” said his father, with a deep sigh. “Now I'm tired. Say 'Our Father.'”