to treat him cruelly. He told my brother that if he didn't get up, he would
give him a good whipping. He started to get the whip. In the meanwhile, my
soul was stirred to its limit; God seemed to move my very being to protect
the child. I knew that he was really sick and that the enemy was using
Father for his own purpose.

I went into the room where my brother was lying and stood near him. When
father returned, he could see me standing by the head of the old-fashioned
bedstead near one of its high posts. He knew by my looks that I was there
to shield the sick boy. He ordered me out, but I made no reply. He tried to
remove me by force from where I was standing; but I held on to the bedpost
until finally by a strong jerk he succeeded in loosing my hold and gave me
a push that threw me across the floor a number of feet away, where I fell
and went to praying. God answered prayer, and gave us the victory, and
Father left the room without another word. Before beginning to resist
Father, I had made up my mind to take the whipping myself, rather than see
my sick brother imposed upon; but God intervened, and I did not have to
suffer. Every time I interfered, Father seemed to realize that it was not
I, but God who was reproving him.

I was now about twenty-four or twenty-five years of age and I felt that the
Lord wanted me to make a few suggestions to Father about his treatment of
me. I told him that he should be careful lest he lay himself liable to the
law. He answered me harshly, but it seemed that God put his fear on him,
for that was the last time Father became violent toward me.

Shortly before my healing, which will be described in the next chapter, I
had a very peculiar dream in which I saw the whole family sitting at the
table eating. Father held in his hand an iron mallet which he began to
motion in a threatening way toward Mother. I thought that he intended to