A Childhood Memory
I remember when I was a boy, eight years old, I had a whooping cough very bad indeed for a long while. My mother was going to meeting one Sunday, and I wished a note to be written for her to take to the minister about my cough, which being done, I wished my father at the same time to go to prayer to the Saviour, for I used to read about the nobleman’s son, and was very fond of it. He therefore kneeled down, and I with him, in the afternoon, and he prayed for me, but my cough remained all that day very bad. At night I went to bed, sleeping in the same room with my mother and father. In the night my mother awoke and woke my father, being quite frightened. Not hearing me cough, she supposed I was dead. She struck a light and found me in a sound comfortable sleep, and I never coughed afterwards.
– John Rusk