Old Henry was seventy-five years old yet his mind was as keen and sharp as it’s ever been; even though his body slowed him down a little with the usual aches and pains that surprise old folks every morning when they occur in ever new and unexpected places.
He didn’t leave his small cottage very often and spent his time pottering about in the garden or sitting indoors by his radio. He was glad of company every now and then, especially since he lived alone, and he particularly looked forwards to Father Ignatius’ visits every week. The priest would pray a while with him and give him Holy Communion, and then they would spend sometime discussing world affairs and putting things to right.
This week however old Henry was unusually quiet. Father Ignatius wondered if perhaps he was unwell and would not say in case the doctor took him to hospital for a check-up.