An American Part 15

"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 G.o.d'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 acc.u.mulate 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 st.u.r.dy 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 a.s.sociated 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d, 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_.