Twenty years ago a discouraged young doctor in one of our large cities was visited once by his old father, who came up from a rural district to look after his boy.
"Well, son, " he said, "how are you getting along?"
"I’m not getting along at all, was the disheartened answer. "I'm not doing a thing."
The old man's countenance fell, but he spoke to his son of courage and patience and perseverance. Later in the day he went with his son to the "Free Dispensary." where the young doctor had an unpaid position, and where he spent an hour or more, every day.
The father sat by, a silent but intensely interested spectator, while twenty-five poor unfortunates received help. The doctor forgot his visiting father while he bent his skilled energies to this task; but hardly had the door closed on the last patient, when the old man burst forth; "I thought you told me that you were not doing anything! Why, if I had helped twenty-five people in a month as much as you have in one morning, I would thank God that my life counted for something."
"There isn't any money in it though," explained the son somewhat abashed. "Money!" the old man shouted, still scornfully, "Money! What is money in comparison with being of use to your fellow-man? Never mind about money; you go right along at this work every day. I'll go back to the farm, and gladly earn money enough to support you as long as I live- yes, and sleep sound every night with the thought that I have helped you to help your fellow-men." Chicago Advance.