s. But he still had a start; he could not be overtaken.

And at every success, every improvement, as they by degrees were
able to offer their mother a good home and comfort, it had to be
reward enough for them for their mother to say: "Ah, if my little
Reuben could have seen that!"

Brother Reuben followed his mother through the whole of her life,
even to her deathbed. It was he who robbed the death pangs of their
sting, since she knew that they bore her to him. In the midst of
her greatest suffering the mother could smile at the thought that
she was going to meet little Reuben.

And so died one whose faithful love had exalted and deified a poor
little three-year-old boy.

But neither was that the end of little Reuben's story. To all the
brothers and sisters he had become a symbol of their life of
endeavor, of their love for their mother, of all the touching
memories from the years of struggle and failure. There was always
something rich and warm in their voices when they spoke of him.

So he also glided into the lives of the children of his brothers
and sisters. His mother's love had raised him to greatness, and the
great influence generation after generation.

Sister Berta had a son, who had much to do with Uncle Reuben.

He was four years old the day he sat on the curbstone and stared
down into the gutter. It was full of rain water. Sticks and straws
were carried past in wild swirlings down to the sea. The little boy
sat and looked on with that pleasant calm that people feel in
following the adventurous existence of others, when they themselves
are in safety.

But his peaceful philosophizing was interrupted by his mother, who,
the moment she saw him, thought of the stone steps at home and of
her brother.

"Oh, my dear little boy," she said, "do not sit there! Do you know
that your mamma had a little brother whose name was Reuben, and he
was four years old just like you? He died because he sat on just
such a curbstone and caught cold."

The little boy did not like being disturbed in his pleasant
thoughts. He sat still and philosophized, while his yellow, curly
hair fell down into his eyes.

Berta would not have done it for any one else, but for her dear
brother's sake she shook her little boy quite roughly. And so he
learned respect for Uncle Reuben.

Another time this little yellow-haired man had fallen on the ice;
he had been thrown down out of sheer spite by a big, naughty boy,
and there he sat and