“There, there!” said Mother Marshall, patting the big fellow’s dark head.  “You never knew what you were doing, laddie!  My Steve always wanted a chance to prove that he was brave.  When he was just a little fellow and read about the martyrs, he used to say:  ’Would I have that much nerve, mother?  A fellow never can tell till he’s been tested!’ And so I’m not sorry he had his chance to stand up before you all for what he thought was right.  Did you see my boy’s face, too, when he died?”

“Yes,” said Pat, lifting his head earnestly.  “I’d just picked up a little kid he sent up to the fire-escape, and saw his face all lit up by the fire.  It looked like the face of an angel!  Then I saw him lift up his hands and look up like he saw somebody above, and he called out something with a sort of smile, as if he was saying he’d be up there pretty soon!  And then—­he fell!”

The tears were raining down Mother Marshall’s cheeks by now, but there was a smile of triumph in her eyes.

“He wanted to be a missionary, my Stephen did, only he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to preach.  He always was shy before folks.  But I guess he preached his sermon!” She sighed contentedly.

“He sure did!” said Pat.  “I never forgot that look on his face, nor the way he took our roughneck insults.  None of the fellows did.  It made a big impression on us all.  And when Court began to change, came out straight and said he believed in Christ, and all that, it knocked the tar out of us all.  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: