"Recently an incident was told by a man whose form is now bent and whose hair is white with years.

When he was in his youth, he was returning one evening from the hay fields on his father's farm. He had been working since daybreak, when his father met him with a request that he go to town to do an errand.

The elderly man said: "I was tired, dirty, and hungry. It was two miles to town. I wanted to get my supper. My first impulse was to refuse, and to do it harshly, for I was angry that my father should ask me to go after my long day's work. But I knew that if I did refuse, he would go himself.

"Of course, Father, I'll go," I said heartily, giving my scythe to one of the men. "Thank you Jim," my father replied, "I was going myself, but somehow I don't feel very strong today." "He walked with me to the road that turned off to the town, and as he left me he put his hand on my arm and said again, "Thank you, my son; you've always been a good boy to me, Jim."

I hurried into town and back again. When I came near the house, I saw that something unusual had happened. All the farmhands were gathered around the door instead of doing the chores. When I came nearer, one of the men turned to me with tears rolling down his face.

Your father, he said, is dead. He fell just as he reached the house. His last words he spoke of you.

I am in old man now, but I thanked God over and over again in the years that have passed since that hour for these last words of my father- "You've always been a good boy to me."