But that is not the end of his story.  It happened that his mother mourned for him from the depths of her heart with a sorrow which defies years and death.  His mother had several other children, many cares occupied her time and thoughts, but there was always a corner in her heart where her son Reuben dwelt undisturbed.  He was ever alive to her.  When she saw a group of children playing in the market-place, he too was running there, and when she went about her house, she believed fully and firmly that the little boy was still sitting and sleeping out on those dangerous stone steps.  Certainly none of her living children were so constantly in her thoughts as her dead one.

Some years after his death little Reuben had a sister, and when she grew to be old enough to run out on the market-place and spin tops, it happened that she too sat down on the stone steps to rest.  But her mother felt instantly as if some one had pulled her skirt.  She came out and seized the little sister so roughly, when she lifted her up, that she remembered it as long as she lived.

And as little did she forget how strange her mother’s face was and how her voice trembled, when she said:  “Do you know that you once had a little brother, whose name was Reuben, and he died because he sat on these stone steps and caught cold?  You do not want to die and leave your mother, Berta?”

Brother Reuben soon became just as living to his brothers and sisters as to his mother.  She was able to make them see with her eyes and they too soon saw him sitting out on the stone steps.  And it naturally never occurred to them to sit down there.  Yes, whenever they saw any one sitting on stone steps, or on a stone railing, or on a stone by the roadside, they felt a prick in their heart and thought of Brother Reuben.

Besides, Brother Reuben was always placed highest of all the children when they spoke of him among themselves.  For they all knew that they were a troublesome and fatiguing family, who only gave their mother care and inconvenience.  They could not believe that she would grieve much at losing any of them.  But as she really mourned for Brother Reuben, it was certain that he must have been much better than they were.

They would often think:  “Oh, if we could only give mother as much joy as Brother Reuben!” And yet no one knew anything more about him than that he had played top and caught cold on the stone steps.  But he must have been something wonderful, as their mother had such a love for him.

He was wonderful too; he was more of a joy to his mother than any of the children.  Her husband died and she worked in care and want.  But the children had so strong a faith in their mother’s grief for the little three-year-old boy, that they were convinced that if he had lived she would not have mourned over her misfortunes.  And every time they saw their mother weep, they thought that it was because Brother Reuben was dead, or because they were not like Brother Reuben.  Soon enough an ever-growing desire was born in them to rival their little dead brother in their mother’s affection.  There was nothing that they would not have done for her, if she had only cared as much for them as for him.  And it was on account of that longing, I think, that Brother Reuben did more good than any of the other children.