deed of yours,
then shall I rejoice and praise the Lord, that out of fire and brimstone
He can create a golden pathway."

The little girl now opened her eyes and with a cry of relief the mother
sought to lift her up, but had not the strength. Jim's mighty arms were
eager for service, and with that soft, limp little body against his
broad chest, her head on his shoulder, his heart was filled with
inexpressible emotion.

"Bring her in here," and the remnant of the congregation reassembled in
the church. In the very front was Jim, sitting by the mother with the
little girl between them. His head was bowed on his hands, his elbows on
his knees.

Then the exhorter began again. Full of scriptural texts charged with
holy fire, abounding in lurid thoughts of burning lakes, of endless
torment; gifted with the fluency that sometimes passes for logic and
makes for convincement, he dwelt on the horrors and the
might-have-beens. He shouted out his creeds of holiness, he rumbled in
his chest and made graphic mouthings. He played on all the emotions
until he found the most responsive, and then hammered hard on these. The
big broad shoulders before him shook, tears fell from the half-hidden
face. Then the preacher chanced to strike on the note, "your mother,"
and Jim Hartigan's breakdown was complete. He sobbed, "Oh, God, be
merciful to me, a sinner," and rising, staggered to a place on the
upraised bench--the seat of those who dared to hope for salvation--and
wept.

Carried away by his own vehemence, the exhorter wept, too. There was no
human being in the hall who could stand the overwhelming surge of
emotion. The congregation wept. Then Jim arose and in broken voice said:
"My mother's dying prayer was that I might join the Church and be a
witness for God. As sure as she is looking down on me now I promise that
I will join His people and niver rest till I have been made fit to stand
among those who bear His message. I give my word as a man."

CHAPTER IX

Jim Hartigan Goes to College

Hartigan never walked in the middle of the road. He was either in the
ditch or on the high place. Having "got religion" it was inevitable,
with his nature, that he should become a leader in the fold. That vision
of himself as a preacher, fully ordained, which had burst upon him at
the revival, filled his mind. His mother's last wish resounded in his
ears with all the imperative force of a voice from the grave and he was
emotionally ripe