THE LETTER
"LAD DEAR, I was saying to myself the other day, 'Patrick Mungovan, when
you go home to God, what will you be leaving--you that haven't a red
cent to your name--to that mite of a boy, John?' 'Well,' Patrick
Mungovan answered back, 'to be truthful, I've nothing to leave but the
memory of a sweet friendship and, maybe, a letter.'
"So down I sat, and started this. Just at the beginning of it, where it
can help to ease any pain in your heart, let me say a word about my
going, for I want you to be happy always when you're thinking of me. So
believe what I say: though we can't sit and talk together, as we have,
still we'll never be parted. No! For the reason that I'll live on, not
only in the spirit, but also in that fine brain of yours! And whenever
you'll be wanting me, you'll think me with you, and there I'll be, never
a day older, never a bit less red-headed, or dear to your loving eyes.
So! We're friends, you and I, as long as memory lasts!
"Lad dear, I called you rich once. You didn't understand all I meant by
it, and I'm going to explain myself here. And I'll start the list of
your riches with this: though you've been shut in, and worked hard, and
fed none too well, and dressed badly, and cheated by Tom Barber out of
the smiles, and the decent words of praise, and the consideration and
politeness that's every child's honest due--in spite of all this, I say,
you've gone right on, ignoring what you couldn't help, learning what
you could, improving yourself, preserving your sense of humor (which is
the power to see what's funny in everything), and never letting your
young heart forget to sing.
"'But,' you'll ask, 'how is it that not caring too much about food and
clothes may be counted as a valuable possession?' And I'll answer, 'That
man is strong, John, whose appetite is his servant, not his master. And
that man is stronger yet if, wearing ragged, old clothes, all the same
he can keep his pride high. For "Is not the life more than meat, and the
body than raiment?" Well, that's how it's been with you!
"Some of your riches consist of things which you haven't got--now that
sounds strange, does it not? And I don't mean the scarlet fever which
you haven't, or a hair lip, or such like. No. You're rich in not being
morbid, for instance,--in not dwelling on what's unpleasant, and ugly.
Also because you don't harbor malice and ill-will. Because you don't
fret, and sulk, and brood, all these goings-on being a sad waste of
time.
"And now let's count over the riches that you've got in your character.
In the back of your Handbook, Mr. Roosevelt, writing about boy scouts,
named four qualities for a fine lad: unselfish, gentle, strong, brave.
They're your qualities, lad dear. And you proved the last one when you
took that whipping with the ropes--ah, is a boy poor when he's got the
spunk in him? He is not! Well, along with those four qualities I can
honestly add these others: you're grateful, you're clean (in heart and
in mouth, liking and speaking what's good), you're merciful, you're
truthful, you're ambitious, you've got decent instincts--inherited, but
a part of your riches, just the same.
"As for the way you like what helps you (and queer as it may seem, too
many boys _don't_ like what helps them), that has astonished and
pleased me many a day. I remember your telling me once that you got
tired of prunes and potatoes. And I said to you, 'Prunes are good for
you, and nothing could be better than baked potatoes,'--I knowing how
you relished them mashed! Well, after that, never another mashed potato
dared to show its eyes! And, oh, how you did make away with the prunes!
"It's the good things you've got in your character, and the bad things
that you haven't got, which explain how it comes that you're loved the
way you are--by Narcissa, and Grandpa (ah, it's handsome, is that old
soldier's love for you! it's grand!), and Mrs. Kukor, and the Western
gentleman, and Mr. Perkins, and me! With so much love as all that, could
you ever think of yourself as poor? Now you just couldn't!
"And then consider the way you love each of us in return! And no lad can
say he's poor when he's got the power to love in him! and the sweet
sacrifice! And you know the kind of love that all sound young hearts
give to the crippled and the helpless and the dumb. Grandpa would say
Yes to that if he could. And so would the sparrows on the window sill!
"But, of course, we'll not be forgetting that you've got your youth, and
most precious it is, and two rows of teeth which don't need bridging!
Also, you're as good-looking as any boy ought to be, you're improving in
strength, and you're healthy. Why, there's many a millionaire who'd give
his fortune if he had that grand little tummy of yours, which can digest
the knobs off the doors!
"Already--at twelve!--you've got the habit of work, and, oh, what a
blessing that habit is, and what an insurance against Satan! And you've
got the book habit, a glorious one, since it gives you information,
entertains you, and teaches you to think, to argue things out for
yourself. Yes, it's reading which makes a lad strong in himself. You
don't need racket, and the company of other lads, in order to have a
good time. And, John, you know how to listen, and that's uncommon, too.
"But thinking is your greatest blessing. You get your joy, not out of
what you _have_, for God in His wisdom knows how little that is, but out
of what you _think_. If there's something you haven't, you go ahead and
supply it with your thoughts, creating beauty where there isn't any,
building a world of your own. Never before have I met a lad who could
dream as you can dream. Ah, and what it's done for you--in that dark,
dirty, little flat!
"Dreams! Behind every big thing that's ever happened was a dream! The
Universe itself was first of all just an idea in the mind of Almighty
God. In His wisdom and love He left it to man to work out other plans
less grand. And who's ever been great that didn't dream? First you dream
a thing; then you do it. Take Samuel Morse, for instance. He had a
wonderful thought. Next, with his telegraph, he'd constructed the nerves
of the world! And there's Mr. Marconi. Not so long ago, they'd have
burned him as a gentleman witch!
"Imagination! I've no doubt you've often envied Aladdin his wonderful
lamp? (They're not making so many of those lamps these days!) But, boy
dear, every lad's got a lamp that's just as wonderful! The lamp of
knowledge. Get knowledge, John. Then--_rub it with your imagination_.
"And look at all the marvels that lie about you waiting to help! The
books, the paintings, the schools, the churches, the universities, the
music, the museums, the right kind of plays--they're all right here in
New York City. Why, lad dear, even the shops are an education, with
their rugs, and their fine weaves, and furniture, and crystal, and
china, and all the rest of it. Think of having such a city just to go
out and walk around in! And you'll not cast aside a single opportunity!
"So what of your future? Here! Take Father Pat's hand, and shut your
eyes, and we'll go on an Aladdin trip together, this to see what became
of certain other poor little boys. Here's a wonderful office, and a man
is sitting at his desk. He heads one of the biggest concerns in the
world, he's cultured, and generous, and a credit to his country. Suppose
we go back with him thirty years. Oh, look, lad! _He's selling
newspapers!_
"We're off again. We're in a room that's lofty and grand. And looking at
a man in a solemn mantle. He's high in our nation's counsels, he's
honored, and known by the whole world. He's a Justice of the Supreme
Court of the United States of America. Let's go back with _him_ thirty
years. Dear! dear! what do we see! A poor, little, tattered youngster
who's driving home the cows!
"Ah, Johnnie, lads don't get on by having things soft. Give a lad a
hundred thousand dollars, and it's likely you'll ruin him. Let him
_make_ a hundred thousand, _honestly_, and--you've got a man!
"Seldom do the sons of rich men distinguish themselves. Theodore
Roosevelt did (he that said, 'Don't go around; go over--or through').
And, yes, I recall another--that fine gentleman who was a great
electrical engineer, Peter Cooper Hewitt. But most of the big men in
this country were _poor boys_. Having to struggle, they grew strong.
"For instance, there were the Wright brothers, who turned men into
eagles! Their sister was called 'the little schoolma'am with the crazy
brothers!' Robert Burns, the Scotch poet, was the son of a laboring man.
Charles Dickens earned money by sticking labels in a shoe-blacking
factory. William Shakespeare's father made gloves. Benjamin Franklin was
the son of a candlemaker. Daniel Defoe, who wrote that _Robinson Crusoe_
you love so much, helped his father around the butcher shop. John
Bunyan was a traveling tinker. And Christopher Columbus was the son of a
wool comber, and himself worked before the mast.
"They're gone, but their thoughts live on, as busy as ever, whirling
about us like the rain out of Heaven. Each of them dreamed, and what
they dreamed is our heritage. When such men pass, we must have lads who
can take their places. And I believe that you are one of these lads. For
nobody can tell me that the power you have of seeing things with your
brain--things you've never seen with your eyes--won't carry you far and
high among your fellowmen. And some day, you'll be one of the greatest
in this dear land. And it'll be told of you how you lived in the East
Side, in a scrap of a flat, where you were like a prisoner, and took
care of a weak, old soldier, and did your duty, though it came hard, and
began the dreaming of your dreams.
"Thinking about the big ones that won out against long odds will help
you--will give you the grit to carry on. And grit makes a good, solid
foundation, whether it's for a house or a lad. And when you've
accomplished the most for yourself, then I know you'll remember that
doing for yourself is just a small part of it; the other part--the grand
part--is what you can do for your fellowmen.
"There's a true saying that 'God helps them who help themselves.' But,
suppose you lived where it wasn't possible for you to help yourself? And
there are countries just like that. But here, in the United States, you
_can_ help yourself! Ah, that's a great blessing, my yellow-head! Oh,
Johnnie, was there ever a land like this one before? Boy dear, this
United States, _this_ is the Land of Aladdin!
"Young friend, as I close I want to thank you for what you've done for a
smashed-up priest--gladdened his last days with the sight of a grand
lad, a good scout. And I've got just a single warning for you, and it's
this: Watch your play! For it's not by the work that a man does that you
can judge him. No; I'll tell you what a man is like if you'll tell me
_how he plays_.
"One thing more: do you remember the vow the knights used to take in the
old days?--'live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the king.' Father
Pat knows he can trust John Blake to keep that vow. And his last wish,
and his dying prayer is, O little, little lad, that you put your trust
in God--just that, and everything else will come right for you--put your
trust in God.
"PATRICK MUNGOVAN."
Thus it ended. There the hand of that faithful friend had stopped. But
below the name, separated from it and the body of the letter, was a
short paragraph which was a prayer:
"I entreat the Saints to watch over him, to guard him and keep him all
the days of his life, and when that life is ended, to bring him in
joyful safety to the feet of Almighty God."