“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.'”
Together they whispered those greatest of words in human speech, those words that have bound heaven to earth in yearning and in hope for these two thousand years.
“Don't move, Barry,” whispered his father. “I like you there.”
With their faces thus together they fell asleep.
Barry was awakened by his father's voice, clear and strong.
“Good boy. Good boy. You won't leave me, Barry. I mean you don't need to go?”
“Good boy,” again murmured his father softly. “Always a good boy, always, always--”
He was breathing heavily, long deep breaths.
Barry sat on the bed, put his arm around his father's shoulders, and lifted him up.
“That's better--hold me closer, Barry--You won't hurt me--Oh, it's good--to feel--your arms--strong arms--Barry.”
“You made them strong, dad,” said Barry, in a clear, steady voice.
The father nestled his head upon his son's shoulder.
“Barry,” he said in the low tone of one giving a confidence, “don't ever forget--to thank God--for these eighteen years--together--You saved me--from despair--eighteen years ago--when she went away--you know--and you have been--all the world to me--my son--”
“And you to me, dad,” said his son in the same steady tone.
“I've tried all my life--to make you know--how I love you--but somehow I couldn't--”
“But I knew, dad,” said Barry. “All my life I have known.”
“Really?” asked his father. “I--wonder--I don't think--you quite know--Ah--my boy--my boy--You don't--know--you--can't. Barry,” he said, “I think--I'm going out--I'm going--out--no, in--your word--my boy--in--eh--Barry?”
“Yes, dad,” said his son. “Going in. The inner circle, you know.”
“The--inner--circle--” echoed his father. “Warmth--light--love--Now--I think--I'll sleep--Good night--Barry--Oh--my boy,--you--don't quite--know--Kiss me--Barry--”
A deep breath he took; another--Barry waited for the next, but there was not another.
He laid his father down and looked into his quiet face, touched even now with the noble stateliness of death. He put his arms about the unresponsive form, and his face to the cheek still warm.