An author who has been considered by very many people to be a most
successful writer, one whose words have set before very many eyes vivid
pictures of individual characteristics and national events as well,
whose Indians are known all over the world, and whose historical novels
will be eagerly perused as long as there are American eyes to read the
pages of any book at all, used to make a sort of summary of the
principal events in the lives of his very interesting characters: it
always seemed to me that there was something very wholesome and
satisfying in the way he finished up his books, and, so, I'd like to
relate just a little more about the people I have tried to picture in
this little book of mine.
Ruth Wakefield found her earthly mate when she found him whose life she
helped to save upon the battle-field at night, and spent full many happy
years in his society; they built a modern home upon the site of the
mansion on the hill and did much good among the peasants living near to
them; the man became the author of very many books, and Ruth assisted
him in very many ways.
Old Mage and little Tid-i-wats lived out the span of earthly life
allotted to each one of them, beneath the tender eye and ready hand of
her who loved them both, and, when the time that had been set for them
to leave this world behind them, came, Ruth Wakefield staid beside them
to the very last, and ministered to them as no one else would ever do.
The man she'd found had named her well when he said "Tender Heart!" to
her, that night upon the battle-field.
Her heart was very tender, always, except with reference to herself; she
often did upbraid herself and never gave herself much credit; she often
mourned, in secret, over her few brief memories of the wild, impulsive,
almost insane, so-called love of him she'd married in her untried youth;
she often said:
"Poor Boy! Poor, lost and misled Boy! I ought to have treated him far
differently than I did; his earthly path crossed mine for some good
reason, I presume; and I did not do all the things I might have done,
when I was near enough to help him, for him ... yet ..." she always
ended, "I did the very best I could do for him, it seemed to me, at the
time I had the opportunity, and I always meant and prayed to do just
right. I went wrong, somehow ... or he had gone too far along a certain
road before I ever met him for me to turn him back ... anyway, I pity
him with all my heart and hope that he is happy where he's gone.... I
hope he's found the very place he belongs in.... I know I always think
of him with tender pity and no resentment, although, according to the
standards of the world, he did me grievous wrong. Poor lost and misled
Boy! He often looked so sad and desperate ... I wish I had done better
by him while I had the chance."
Her tender heart was uppermost in almost all she did except when she was
doing for herself, and, then, she'd say:
"My tastes are very simple ... I do not need very much of this world's
goods ... it takes so very little happiness to make me almost wild with
joy.... I've had to look on sorrow often, and, when I come to Joy, I
bask in it as if it were God's holy sunshine."
But, if it should be that old Mage or Tid-i-wats or anyone of all of
those who were dependent on her, from time to time, for she, somehow
always seemed to accumulate those who needed her help round her, why,
then it was quite different to Tender Heart ... then, she'd say and say
with vigor:
"Of _course_ I can arrange to have it that way! Why, certainly, if that
would bring happiness, I'll fix it right away."
And sure enough she would arrange it, no matter what it meant for her of
loneliness or labor ... no matter if she had to go along a lonely road
that had been full of peace and happiness for her before the one who
left her lonely had come into her daily life and made it hard for her,
in that way, while the days were going by, yet made a grievous change
again, in going; she set her teeth and did the things she had to do to
make the other person happy, or to do the things he said would make him
happy, then she turned her face toward her own life, cheerfully,
although her hours were often very sad and lonely.
But this was all before she met the man whose life she'd helped to save
upon that battle-field ... all before she'd lost her cherished home and
built another one. From that time on unto the end of earthly life for
her, she found sweet satisfaction and content, for she had found a
steadfast love to lean upon, a strong and true and virile human being,
whose tastes were similar to hers, who loved his native land, America,
with all his heart, as she did, too.
It heartens all humanity to meet a happy pair who are congenial.
It gives all other human beings courage to go on upon the path that has
been set for them to go upon, to know that there is happiness if only
they could find the way to reach it.
Estrella soon forgot the handsome lover over whom she mourned so
bitterly; the memory of him soon became a wild, sweet dream, and had she
met him as he was in San Domingo, after she had found her proper place
in life, it is probable that she would have turned away from him; life's
contrasts have so much to do with early love that it is often difficult
to know what love is really like; Estrella, when she was an unknown
waif, was differently placed than she was later on. Victorio Colenzo
would not have seemed the same to her that he did when she was but an
unknown, simple girl; education made a change in her ... her sister
looked to that. She grew to be a splendid woman, in very many ways, and
married one who was her peer.
Poor little Tessa seems the most forlorn of all the characters in this
book. She tried so hard and failed so utterly in almost all she ever
did. But Father Felix watched her tenderly, and helped her on, and,
finally, one day, he married her to one who loved her truly in his own
rude way, to one who was a sturdy peasant like herself, who had no
romance in him, but who was true to her, and kind, as kindness goes
among his sort of people; he provided for her and their children; she
had many more necessities and even luxuries than most of those who were
associated with her. She, sometimes, dreamed of Manuello; she never knew
how his life ended.
Ruth Wakefield looked her up, from time to time, but did not tell her
very much about the Spanish-American war or those who entered into it;
she knew she could not really understand much more than would the
helpless baby at her ample breast, for Tessa did not stay the slim,
small person that she was at first; she grew to be as wide, almost, as
she was tall, and seemed to be quite happy as she was. She always limped
a little from the blow that Manuello gave to her; the deep, sad scar he
left upon her gentle heart could not be seen, and it, somehow, grew over
as her flesh and family increased.
Estrella always remembered her and sent her many costly and curious
things which were her constant delight. She loved to display these
mementoes of her girlhood's friend; her children, and her heavy husband,
too, were, always proud of them.
It seems to me that, when such souls as animated little Tessa's form
leave this world behind them for all time, it must be that they find
some soft, warm places, where they can sit at ease and watch dear little
children play, and, maybe, join them in their play, and dream of happy
hours, and forget all the trials of their lives upon the earth.
The course of human life will, sometimes, like a placid river, flow
along for many years without a single change that is any more disturbing
than a little, gentle ripple or an easy turn; then, all at once, like
the water, that has been so clear and still, when it has reached the
rapids and becomes a raging, turbid torrent, so human life may,
suddenly, be stirred to its very depths; something may transpire that
will call for the most sublime courage and the most strenuous endeavor,
combined with the most harrowing self-sacrifice.
Like a stroke of lightning out of a calm summer sky, more than one great
event in our national history has thrust itself upon our startled
consciousness. At these times, leaders have appeared who have taken
their places at the head of affairs as naturally and as calmly as if
they had been, always, guiding those who followed after them, although,
perhaps, before the time that they were needed, they were,
comparatively, unknown. And so, it seems to me, it will be always. There
is a Plan, an infinite, a just, a universal Plan, to which all things,
mundane or otherwise, must, in the end, conform. To keep ourselves
informed as to the part that we were meant to take in this great Plan,
it seems to me, should be our constant study and our constant strong
desire.
The light of truth and understanding, that is God's Smile, looks up into
our faces from the heart of every flower, whether bathed in moonlight,
or shining underneath the sun; the simplest soul or the grandest
intellect, alike, may bask beneath this light and feel its healing
power.
I love, above all else, the God of truth and right and justice, Who
rules all worlds and watches over everything that lives and moves and
has its being in His whole universe.
It seems to me that there is implanted, although it may be completely
covered up, at times, in the nature of every human being, a reverence
and a most affectionate regard, that rests upon implicit faith, for Him
Who gave to us, at the very beginning of of our human lives, an
infallible guide ... conscience, or inner consciousness of right and
wrong ... which, if always heeded, will show us where to go and what to
do, no matter what vicissitudes, disappointments or sorrows we may meet.
And, next to God, it seems to me, it is both natural and right to love
the land of one's nativity.
I know I hold in my regard, above all personal advantages, above all
temporal happiness or praise, America ... the great United States ...
_that one fair land whose single boast has always been that it was
free_.