He was a cripple.

From young manhood he had lived in a wheel-chair, and he was nearly seventy-five when he died.

As a baby that wheel-chair, and my rides in it with him about the great house in which we lived, were my delights.

He was my father and mother, everything that was good and sweet in life.

I remember thinking, as a child, that if God was as good as Uncle Peter, He was a wonderful God.