Later in the evening my father became brighter than he had been for weeks, and, child-like, I soon exchanged my fears for hopes. And then it was, just as I was turning in, that, speaking in quite a cheery tone, my father said: 'I haven't taken half thought enough for you, Nick boy; and yet you've set me the best possible kind of example. It's easy to laugh at the simple folks' way of talking about "if anything happens" to one. But the idea's all right, and ought not to be lost sight of. Well then, Nick, if "anything" should "happen" to me, at any time, I want you to harness up Jerry and drive straight away into Werrina, with the two letters that I left on the cuddy table. One is for the doctor there--deliver that first--and the other is for a Roman Catholic priest, Father O'Malley; deliver that next. It is important, and must not be lost, for there's money in it. I wish it were more--I wish it were. Bring them here now, Nick.' I brought the letters, and they were placed under a weight on the little shelf over my father's head. 'Don't forget what I said, Nick; and do it--exactly, old fellow. And now, let us forget all about it. That gruel, or whatever it was you gave me just now, has made me feel so comfortable that I'm going to have a beautiful sleep, and wake up as fit as a fiddle to-morrow. Give me your hand, boy. There--good-night! God bless you!' He turned on his shoulder, perhaps to avoid seeing my tears, and again, perhaps, I have thought, to avoid my seeing the coming of tears in his own eyes. He had kissed my forehead, and I could not remember ever being kissed by him before. For, as long as my memory carried me, our habit had been to shake hands, like two men.... I find an unexpected difficulty in setting down the details of an experience which, upon the whole, produced a deeper impression on me, I think, than any other event in my life. When all is said, can any useful purpose be served by observing at this stage of my task a particularity which would be exceedingly depressing to me? I think not. There is assuredly no need for me, of all people, to court melancholy. I think that, without great fullness at this point in my record, I can gauge pretty accurately the value as a factor in my growth of this particular experience, and so I will be very brief. On the fifth evening after that of the attack which left him unconscious on the saloon deck, my father died, very peacefully, and, I believe, quite painlessly. He spoke to me, and with a smile, only a few minutes before he drew his last breath. 'I'm going, Nick--going--to rest, boy. Don't cry, Nick. Best son.... God bless....'