I pity the man who has never slept out doors in the Rocky Mountains.
Swingin’ around with the earth, away up there in the starlight, he
fills himself full o’ new life with every breath; and no matter how
tough the day has been, he is bound to wake up the next mornin’ plumb
rested, and with strength and energy fair dancin’ through his veins.
For it to be perfect, a feller has to have a pipe, a fire, and some
one close and chummy to chat with. This night me an’ the Friar both
went down to the crick and washed our feet. We sat on a log side by
side and made noises like a flock of bewildered geese when we first
stuck our feet into the icy water; but by the time we had raced back
and crawled into his bed, we were glowin’ all over.
We didn’t cover up right away, because the Friar just simply couldn’t
seem to get sleepy that night; and after a minute he put some more
wood on the fire, filled his pipe again, and said: “So you want me to
tell you about my story, huh? Well, I believe I will tell you about my
boyhood.”
So I filled my pipe, and we lay half under the tarp with our heads on
our hands and our elbows on our boots, which were waitin’ to be
pillows, and he told me about the early days, talkin’ more to himself
than to me.
“My mother died when I was six years old, my father divided his time
between cleanin’ out saloons, beatin’ me, an’ livin’ in the
work-house,” began the Friar, and it give me kind of a shock. I’d had
a notion that such-like kids wasn’t likely to grow up into preachers;
and I’d allus supposed ’at the Friar had had a soft, gentle youth. “I
was a tough, sturdy urchin,” he went on, “but I allus had a soft heart
for animals. I used to fight several times a day; but mostly because
the other kids used to stone cats and tie tin cans on dogs’ tails. I
used to shine shoes, pass papers, run errands, and do any other odd
job for a few pennies, and at night I slept wherever I could. I had a
big dry-goods-box all to myself for several months, once, and I still
look back to it as being a fine, comfortable bedroom.
“One morning I was down at the Union Depot when a farmer drove up a
big Norman hoss hitched to a surrey. Some o’ the other kids joshed
him, called the hoss an elephant and asked where the rest o’ the show
was. The man was big, well fed, and comfortable lookin’, same as the
hoss, and he didn’t pay any heed to the kids except to call one of ’em
up to hold the hoss while he went into the depot. The kid wanted to
know first what he was goin’ to be paid, and he haggled so long ’at
the farmer beckoned to me to come up. ‘Will you hold my hoss for me a
few minutes?’ he asked.
“That big gray hoss with the dark, gentle eyes seemed to me one of the
most beautiful things I had ever seen, and I was mighty anxious to
have charge of him, even for a few minutes; so I sez, ‘You bet I
will.’
“The other kids roasted me and made all manner o’ sport; but they knew
I would fight ’em if they got too superfluous, so after a bit they
went on about their business. The’s somethin’ about man’s love for a
hoss that’s a little hard to understand. I had never had no intimate
dealin’s with one before, yet somethin’ inside me reached out and
entwined itself all about this big, gray, velvet-nosed beauty left in
my charge. I reckon it must be in a man’s blood; that’s the only
explanation I can find. All the way back along the trail o’ history we
find the bones of men and hosses bleachin’ together in the same heap;
and about every worthwhile spot on the face o’ nature has been fought
over on hossback, so it’s small wonder if the feel of a hoss has got
to be part of man’s nature.
“The farmer had had a woman and a little girl in his care, to see off
on the train, and he was gone some time. I had a few pennies in my
pocket, and I bought an apple an’ fed it to the hoss, gettin’ more
enjoyment out of it than out of airy other apple I’d ever owned. I can
feel right now the strange movin’s inside my breast as his moist nose
sniffed at my fingers and his delicate lips picked up the bits of
apple, as careful an’ gentle as though my rough, dirty little hand had
been made o’ crystal.
“I was so interested in the hoss that I gave a start of surprise when
the farmer’s voice behind me sez: ‘You seem to like hosses, son.’
“‘I hadn’t no idee ’at a great big one like this could be so smooth
an’ gentle,’ I said, with my hand rubbin’ along the hoss’s throat. ‘I
think he’s a wonder.’
“‘Do you like other animals?’ asked the farmer.
“‘I reckon I must be an animal myself,’ sez I, ‘because I allus get
along well with them, while I have to fight a lot with humans.’
“‘What do you want for tendin’ to this hoss?’ he asked me.
“‘I don’t want nothin’,’ sez I. ‘We’ve got to be friends, an’ I don’t
charge nothin’ for doin’ favors for a friend. Besides, he’s got so
much sense, I doubt if he needs much watchin’.’
“The farmer grinned, looked into my eyes a long time, and gave me a
dollar. ‘Now tell me how you’ll spend your dollar,’ sez he.
“Well, I was purty well floored. I had never owned a dollar before in
my whole life, my father havin’ taken away every cent he had ever
found on me; and I stood lookin’ at the coin, and hardly knowin’ what
to do. The farmer stood lookin’ down at me with his eyes twinklin’,
and after a minute, I handed the dollar back to him. ‘This is too
much,’ I sez. ‘A dime would be plenty for the job, even if I didn’t
like the hoss; but if my old man would find a dollar on me, he’d give
me a beatin’ for hidin’ it from him, take it away, get drunk, and then
give me another beatin’ for not havin’ another dollar.’
“So he asked me all about my father; and I told about him and about my
mother bein’ dead, and the twinkle left his eyes and they grew moist,
so ’at he had to wink mighty fast.
“He told me that his own boy was dead and his girl married, and that
the’ wasn’t any children out at the big farm, and asked me if I
wouldn’t like to come and live with him. He told me about all the
hosses an’ the cows an’ the pigs, an’ that I could have a clean little
room to sleep in, an’ plenty o’ food and clothes, and could go to
school. It sounded like a fairy tale to me, and I sez, ‘Aw go on,
you’re just joshin’ me’; but he meant it; so I got on the seat beside
him, and as soon as we got out o’ town he let me drive the big gray
hoss—and I entered into a real world more wonderful than any fairy
tale ever was.
“When we drove up the shady lane and into the big barn lot, a little
old lady with sad eyes came to the door, and sez: ‘Now, John, who is
that with you?’ and my heart sank, for I thought she wasn’t goin’ to
stand for me; but he took me by the hand and led me up to the door,
put his arm about the little woman’s shoulder, and sez with a tremble
in his voice: ‘This here is a little feller I’ve brought out to be
company for ya, mother. He hasn’t any folks, and he is fond of
animals, and, and—his name is John, too.’
“At first she shook her head and shut her lips tight; but all of a
sudden the tears came to her eyes, and she put her arms about me—and
I had found a real home.
“Those were wonderful years, Happy, wonderful; and I have the
satisfaction o’ knowin’ that I did them about as much good as they did
me. Their hearts had been wrapped up in the boy, and he must have been
a fine feller; but just when he had been promoted out o’ the grammar
grade at the head of his class, he had took the scarlet fever an’
died. I wasn’t used to kindness when I went there; so I never noticed
’at they kept me out o’ the inner circle o’ their hearts at first. I
called the little woman Mrs. Carmichael for some time; but one day
after I’d brought home a good report from school, I called her this,
and she spoke to me sharp—I never knew any soft-hearted person in the
world who got so much solid satisfaction out of actin’ cross as she
did. Well, she spoke to me sharp, and sez: ‘John Carmichael, why don’t
you call me Mother?’
“I looked into her face, and it didn’t look old any longer, and the
sad look had left her eyes, and they were black and snappy an’ full o’
life; so I tried it; and we both broke into tears, but they were tears
o’ joy; and then he insisted that I call him Dad, and we became a
family; and about the happiest one in the world, I reckon.
“I rode the hosses bareback, shot hawks with my rifle, picked berries,
did a lot o’ chores, and worked hard with my books. It was a full,
round life with lots of love and happiness in it, and I grew, body and
mind and spirit, as free and natural as the big oak trees in the woods
pasture.
“Mr. Carmichael had looked up my blood father and had done what he
could for him; but it was no use, and one winter’s morning he was
found frozen in an alley. I didn’t learn of it until the next June
when he took me down to the city cemetery where my father and mother
lay side by side. I did feel downcast as we all do in the presence of
death; but it wasn’t my real father and mother who were lyin’ there
beneath the quiet mounds. Fatherhood and motherhood are somethin’ more
than mere physical processes. The real fathers and mothers are those
who put the best part o’ their lives into makin’ the big, gloomy world
into a tender home for _all_ the little ones; and after my visit
to the graveyard I felt drawn even closer to Dad and Mother than I had
before.
“Children ought to have dogs and hosses and plenty of air and soil
about ’em, Happy. We don’t learn from preachin’, we learn from
example; and we can learn a heap from the animals. We talk about our
sanitary systems; but we allus mean the sanitary systems outside our
bodies. Now, the animals have sanitary systems, but they are inside
their own skins, where they rightly belong. Look at the beautiful
teeth of a dog—These come from eatin’ proper food at the proper time
and in proper quantities. If a dog isn’t hungry, the dog won’t eat. If
a child isn’t hungry, it is fed candy in a lot o’ cases, and this is
downright wicked. Of course the animals find it hard to live, crowded
up the way man allus fixes things; but as a rule animals are temperate
and clean, patient and honest, wise and strong; and I wish we’d use
’em more as instructors for the young. Most mothers think a dog’s
tongue is dirty—Why, a dog’s tongue is chemically clean, and healin’
in its action; while the human mouth is generally poisonous—ask a
dentist.
“And a cow’s breath, after she has rolled in with sweetly solemn
dignity from the clover field—Ah, that’s a pleasant memory! I’ll
venture to say ’at mighty few monarchs have been as worthy o’ bein’
kissed before breakfast, as Nebukaneezer was while he was undergoin’
punishment for his sins. I had gone to that farm with my soul all
stunted and gnarly; but it straightened out and shot its little stems
up toward the blue, the same as the stalks o’ corn did.
“All I had as a start was a love of animals; and this is why I allus
try to find the one soft spot in a man’s nature—Even if it’s a secret
vice, it is something to work on. This is what makes such a problem of
Tyrrel Jones. I can’t find out a single soft place in him; but I’m
goin’ to get into the heart of him yet, if I can find the way.
“Well, Dad and Mother passed away within a week of each other a short
time after I had been graduated. I had made up my mind to stay on the
farm with ’em as long as they stayed; although all sorts of voices
were callin’ to me from the big outer world; but their daughter lived
in the city, and had been weaned away from the farm, so she sold it,
and I started on my pilgrimage.
“They had left me an income of three hundred and fifty dollars a year;
and I determined to go to college. When I thought of how rich and full
my own life had been made, after its stunted beginning, I wanted to do
all I could to make the whole earth like that farm had been, and it
seemed to me that the best way was to become a priest of the Lord. I
tried my best; but I have been consid’able of a failure, Happy. Now, I
hardly know where I stand. I am sort of an outcast now, and just doing
what seems best on my own hook.
“A lot of my ideals have been lost, a lot of my hopes have faded, a
lot of my work has seemed like sweeping back the waves of the sea; but
for all I have lost, new things have taken their place, and I have
never lost my faith in the Lord. Now, I am weak in doctrine and a
stranger to dogma; and the things for which I fight with all my soul
and heart and strength, are kindliness and decency.
“As long as one bein’ in the world is cold or hungry or diseased,
every other bein’ is liable to become hungry and cold and diseased.
What I am fighting for is a world without poverty. Most o’ the ills of
life spring from poverty, and poverty is the result of selfishness and
greed. The earth is reeking with riches, but its bounty is not divided
fairly.
“Happy, if I could only hold up the Lord, so that all men might see
the beauty and fullness of Him, the glory and grandeur of His simple
life and His majestic self-sacrifice, the fleeting cheapness of
material things would sink to their real value, and we would all
become one great family, workin’ together in peace and contentment.
Now, go on to sleep.”
It was purty late by this time sure enough, and I fell asleep soon
after this; but I awakened durin’ the night and found myself alone. It
was cold when I stuck my nose out from under the tarp, but it was a
wonderful night, clear and still, with the stars swingin’ big and
bright just above my reach.
As I lay there, I heard Friar Tuck singin’ softly to himself out where
the trail dipped down into the valley:
“The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet: I do not ask to see
The distant scene,—one step enough for me.”
I had never heard his voice so wonderfully beautiful before; but, my
stars, the sadness of it made me choke! It wasn’t just a song, it was
a cry; and I knew that it came from a lonely, bleedin’ heart. I put my
head under the covers again, puzzlin’ over what was on his mind; but
first thing I knew I was awakened by the glad voice of the old Friar
Tuck, singin’ his favorite mornin’ hymn: “Brightest and best of the
sons of the morning”; so I cooked breakfast, and he went his way, and
I went mine.