Presently a proud, haughty-looking merchant came in, and as
he stepped forward to shake hands with Mr. Dawson that gentleman said:
"I believe you have a son named Joseph?" and the merchant threw back his
hand and drew himself up. "If you come to speak of him--that
reprobate--I want you to go away. I have no son of that name. I disown
him. If he has been talking to you he has been only deceiving you."
"Well," replied Mr. Dawson, "he is your boy now, but he won't be long."
The father stood for a minute looking at the Christian, and then asked:
"Is Joseph sick?" "Yes," was the reply, "he is at the point of death. I
only came to ask your forgiveness for him, that he may die in peace. I
don't ask any favor; when he dies we will bury him."
The father put his hands to his face and great tears rolled down his
cheeks, as he said, "Can you take me to him?" In a very short time he
was in that narrow street where his son was dying, and as he mounted the
filthy stairs it hardly seemed possible that the boy could be in such a
place. When he entered the garret he could hardly recognize his son, and
when he bent over him the boy opened his eyes and said: "O, father, can
you--will you forgive me?" and the father answered: "O Joseph, I would
have forgiven you long ago if you had wanted me to.
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