“It is great!” said Courtland, simply.  “I like it just like this.  Don’t you?  It is fine of you to put me in it.  I feel as if it was almost a desecration, because, you see, I didn’t know him very well; I wasn’t the friend to him I might have been.  I thought I ought to tell you that right at the start.  Perhaps you wouldn’t want me if you knew all about it.”

“You would have been his friend if you had had a chance to know him,” beamed the brave little mother.  “He was a real brave boy always!”

“He sure was!” said Courtland, deeply stirred.  “But I did get to know what a man he was.  I saw him die, you know!  But it was too late then!”

“It is never too late!” said Mother Marshall, brushing away a bright tear.  “There is heaven, you know!”

“Why, surely there is heaven!  I hadn’t thought of that!  Won’t that be great?” Courtland spoke the words reverently.  It came to him gladly that he might make up in heaven for many things lost down here.  He had never thought of that before.

“I wonder if you would mind,” said Mother Marshall, wistfully, “if I was to kiss you, the way I used to do Steve when he’d been away?”

“I would mind very much,” said Courtland, setting his suit-case down suddenly and taking the plump little mother reverently into his big arms.  “It would be great, Mother Marshall,” and he kissed her twice.

Mother Marshall reached her short little arms up around his neck and laid her gray head for just a minute on the tall shoulder, while a tear hurried down and fitted itself invisibly into her dimple; then she ran her fingers through his thick brown hair and patted his cheek.

“Dear boy!” she breathed, contentedly, but suddenly roused herself.  “Here I’m keeping you, and that dinner’ll spoil!  Wash your hands and come down quick!  Bonnie will have everything ready!”

Courtland first realized the deep, happy, spiritual life of the home when he came down to the dining-room and Father Marshall bowed his head to ask a blessing.  Strange as it may seem, it was the first time in his life that he had ever sat at a home table where a blessing was asked upon the food.  They had the custom in the seminary, of course, but it was observed perfunctorily, the men taking it by turns.  It had never seemed the holy recognition of the Presence of the Master, as Father Marshall made it seem.

There was Bonnie, like a daughter of the house, getting up for a second pitcher of cream, running to the kitchen for more gravy.  It was so ideal that Courtland felt like throwing his napkin up in the air and cheering.

It was all arranged by Mother Marshall that Bonnie and he should go to the woods after dinner for greens and a Christmas tree.  Bonnie looked at Courtland almost apologetically, wondering if he were too tired for a strenuous expedition like that.

No.  Courtland was not tired.  He had never been so rested in his life.  He felt like hugging Mother Marshall for getting up the plan, for he could see Bonnie never would have proposed it, she was too shy.  He donned a pair of Stephen’s old leather leggings and a sweater, shouldered the ax quite as if he had ever carried one before, and they started.