When he had finished the story I said to him, “Mr. Moody, somebody must have been praying.” “Oh,” he said, “didn’t I tell you that? That is the point of the story. There was a woman in the congregation that morning who had an invalid sister. She went home and said to her, ‘Who do you think preached for us this morning?’ and her sister guessed all the preachers who were in the habit of exchanging with Mr. L., and she said, ‘No, Mr. Moody from Chicago.’ When she said that, the invalid turned pale.