In a tone of command, which I find will often elicit a direct answer from patients whose minds are wandering, I said to him: "Ally, answer me directly, sir; what did you see?"
With his eyes still staring at the ceiling he answered in a wondering manner, "God!"
I was sorely perplexed what further question to ask, but, thinking to lead him on gradually to some more reasonable answer, as I thought, I asked, "Where?"
"The kneeling people and the priest," he replied dreamily. "And Jesus said, Neither do I condemn thee." And here he burst into tears. Then the remembrance of the last Sunday morning came back to my mind, and I knew what had taken Ally across the fields, and what he had seen. He was so faint and weak, his pulse fluttered so unsteadily, that I feared the worst, and the anxious, searching look of the mother read my tell-tale countenance. She began to weep violently.
"Mother!" cried Ally.
"Yes, my child," she responded quickly, and bent over and kissed him.
"Don't cry, mother. God will not let me die till I know what is true, first."
"That is a strange remark," thought I, "for a boy like him to make. What can he mean?"
"My darling Ally," said the widow, "you do know what is true. You always say what is true."
"Why should they say it isn't true, then?" asked Ally.