Dr. Sedrick McGrath motored down a poorly lit road near Duncannon Township.

His vintage Renault was low on petrol and he needed coffee; his bleary eyes in agreement.

Irish rain began to mist as he wheeled into a local pub. A neon sign displayed the name, "O'Shaughnessy's Tavern."

Hopefully, the owner could spare him some leftovers along with a cup of coffee. The traveling physician had missed his midday meal; sensing this stop was divine providence.

He could almost taste the savory pork as he made his way through the stained-glass door. Hanging his overcoat on a brass hook, he took a seat at the bar.

He reached for a bowl of boiled peanuts, pleased they were fresh.

Proprietor, Patrick O' Shaughnessy, greeted him with a wave and assured him he'd be right back.

Upon returning, the harried owner said, "How ya? Will a pint do?"

"No thanks. I'm a traveling doctor, you see. McGrath is my name. I'll take a bowl of your coddled pork, potatoes, and a coffee."

"How'd you know I had the pork? It's not on the menu."

"This is Ireland ... doesn't every mum have coddled pork on the stove?"

"Good point. I thought maybe you were a psychic or something."

"Naw, just observant. By the way, how is your son? I hope he's feeling better."

"Okay, how'd you know I had a son, or that he's sick?"

"Your face is telling. Is he nearby that I may take a look at him? After dinner, of course."

"I live upstairs. My wife looks after our boy."

"Straight away--after I sup--I will fetch my bag. I use natural cures, the way God intended. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes, we are desperate. The cancer has spread and those bloody specialists have taken all our money, too."

"Excuse me while I use your washroom, Patrick. I'll be right back."

Pat warmed the pork, wondering how the doctor knew his first name.

He placed the food on the bar, looking to see if the inquisitive doctor had returned.

Thirty minutes passed. Pat looked around for Dr. McGrath, noticing his coat missing from the hook. His heart sank when he realized he was gone.

Finishing up for the night, he counted his receipts. "How in the world did the tavern do so well today? Huh. I probably miscounted," he thought.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment with heavy feet.

Normally, his wife would greet him, but not tonight. His son came bounding down the steps.

"Papa, the doctor came and laid his hands upon me. Oh, papa, I feel so much better ... I can't explain it. The doctor said to tell you 'thank you' for the authentic coddled pork and coffee."