Stephen hasn't got done preaching yet. You ought to
hear Court tell the story of his death. It bowled me over when I heard
it, and everywhere he tells it men believe! Wherever Paul Courtland
tells that story Stephen Marshall will be preaching."
Mother Marshall stooped over and kissed Pat's astonished forehead. "You
have made me a proud and happy mother to-day, laddie! I'm glad you
came."
Pat, suddenly conscious of himself, stumbled, blushing, to his feet.
"Thanks, Mother! It's been great! Believe me, I sha'n't ever forget it.
It's been like looking into heaven for this poor bum. If I'd had a home
like this I might have stood some chance of being like your Steve,
instead of just a roughneck athlete."
"Yes, I know," smiled Mother Marshall. "A dear, splendid roughneck,
doing a big work with the boys! Paul has told me all about it. You're
preaching a lot of sermons yourself, you know, and going to preach some
more. Now shall we go down? It's time for evening prayers."
So Pat put his strong arm around Mother Marshall's plump waist, drew one
of her hands in his, and together they walked down to the parlor, where
Bonnie was already playing "Rock of Ages." It seemed to Pat the kingdom
of heaven could be no sweeter, for this was the kingdom come on earth.
When he and Courtland were up-stairs in their room, and all the house
quiet for the night, Pat spoke:
"I've sized it up this way, Court. There ain't any dying! That's only an
imaginary line like the equator on the map.
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