When she was first taken sick I sent her and the boy over to
Ireland to visit her parents, thinking the change would do her good. She
was better for a little while, but on the 14th of March, 1902, she died.
My boy and I were at her bedside and promised to meet her on the other
side, and with the help of God we are going to keep our word.
You know there are always "knockers," and I knew quite a few. In every
church and society there they are with their little hatchets ready to
trim and knock any one that goes ahead of them. Some of these people
said of me, "Oh, Ranney is under Christian influences. He is sexton. He
is afraid. Wait until he runs up against a lot of trouble, then he will
go back to the Bowery again and drink worse than ever." I do think some
of those people would have liked to see it happen. I've seen one of them
in a sanitarium to be treated for drink who was my worst knocker, and I
told him I would pray for him. I'm not talking of the good Christian
people. They don't know how to "knock," and I thank God for all such. I
had a thousand friends for every "knocker," and they were ready to help
me with kind words, money, or in any other way when I was in trouble.
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