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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6105.txt b/6105.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ab16bd --- /dev/null +++ b/6105.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7011 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Their Yesterdays, by Harold Bell Wright + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Their Yesterdays + +Author: Harold Bell Wright + +Posting Date: August 7, 2012 [EBook #6105] +Release Date: July, 2004 +First Posted: November 6, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEIR YESTERDAYS *** + + + + +Produced by Julie Barkley, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: In the glowing heart of the fire she saw her home warm +with holy love.] + +THEIR YESTERDAYS + + +By: HAROLD BELL WRIGHT + + +Author of "The Winning Of Barbara Worth" etc., etc. + + + + + +With illustrations by F. GRAHAM COOTES + + + + + +To Mrs. Elsbery W. Reynolds + +In admiration of the splendid motherhood that, in her sons, has +contributed such wealth of manhood to the race. And, in her daughter, +has given to human-kind such riches of womanhood. With kindest +regards, I inscribe this book. + +H. B. W. + +"Relay Heights" June 8, 1912 + + + + + + +_Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, +tickled with a straw; Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, +A little louder, but as empty quite; Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his +riper stage, And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age; Pleased +with this bauble still, as that before; Till tired he sleeps, and +life's poor play is o'er._ + +"AN ESSAY ON MAN"--_Pope._ + + + + + +PROEM + +There was a man. + +And it happened--as such things often so happen--that this man went +back into his days that were gone. Again and again and again he went +back. Even as every man, even as you and I, so this man went back into +his Yesterdays. + +Then--why then there was a woman. + +And it happened--as such things sometimes so happen--that this woman +also went back into her days that were gone. Again and again and again +she went back. Even as every woman, even as you and I, so this woman +went back into her Yesterdays. + +So it happened--as such things do happen--that the Yesterdays of this +man and the Yesterdays of this woman became Their Yesterdays, and that +they went back, then, no more alone but always together. + +Even as one, they, forever after, went back. + + + + + +What They Found in Their Yesterdays + +And the man and the woman who went back into Their Yesterdays found +there the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. Just as they found +these things in their grown up days, even unto the end, so they found +them in Their Yesterdays. + +Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life there are. No life can have less. +No life can have more. All of life is in them. No life is without them +all. + +Dreams, Occupation, Knowledge, Ignorance, Religion, Tradition, +Temptation, Life, Death, Failure, Success, Love, Memories: these are +the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life--found by the man and the +woman in their grown up days--found by them in Their Yesterdays--and +they found no others. + +It does not matter where this man and this woman lived, nor who they +were, nor what they did. It does not matter when or how many times +they went back into Their Yesterdays. These things are all that they +found. And they found these things even as every man and woman finds +them, even as you and I find them, in our days that are and in our +days that were--in our grown up days and in our Yesterdays. + +And it is so that in all of these Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life +there is a man and there is a woman. + + + + + +THE THIRTEEN TRULY GREAT THINGS OF LIFE + +DREAMS + +OCCUPATION + +KNOWLEDGE + +IGNORANCE + +RELIGION + +TRADITION + +TEMPTATION + +LIFE + +DEATH + +FAILURE + +SUCCESS + +LOVE + +MEMORIES + + + + + +THEIR YESTERDAYS + + + + +DREAMS + +The man, for the first time, stood face to face with Life and, for the +first time, knew that he was a man. + +For a long time he had known that some day he would be a man. But he +had always thought of his manhood as a matter of years. He had said to +himself: "when I am twenty-one, I will be a man." He did not know, +then, that twenty-one years--that indeed three times twenty-one +years--cannot make a man. He did not know, then, that men are made of +other things than years. + +I cannot tell you the man's name, nor the names of his parents, nor +his exact age, nor just where he lived, nor any of those things. For +my story, such things are of no importance whatever. But this is of +the greatest importance: as the man, for the first time, stood face to +face with Life and, for the first time, realized his manhood, his +manhood life began in Dreams. + +It is the dreams of life that, at the beginning of life, matter. Of +the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life, Dreams are first. + +It was green fruit time. From the cherry tree that grew in the upper +corner of the garden next door, close by the hedge that separated the +two places, the blossoms were gone and the tiny cherries were already +well formed. The nest, that a pair of little brown birds had made that +spring in the hedge, was just empty, and, from the green laden +branches of the tree, the little brown mother was calling anxious +advice and sweet worried counsel to her sons and daughters who were +trying their new wings. + +In the cemetery on the hill, beside a grave over which the sod had +formed thick and firm, there was now another grave--another grave so +new that on it no blade of grass had started--so new that the yellow +earth in the long rounded mound was still moist and the flowers that +tried with such loving, tender, courage, to hide its nakedness were +not yet wilted. Cut in the block of white marble that marked the +grass-grown grave were the dearest words in any tongue--Wife and +Mother; while, for the new-made mound that lay so close beside, the +workmen were carving on a companion stone the companion words. + +There were two other smaller graves nearby--one of them quite +small--but they did not seem to matter so much to the tall young +fellow who had said to himself so many times: "when I am twenty-one, I +will be a man." It was the two graves marked by the companion words +that mattered. And certainly he did not, at that time, feel himself a +man. As he left the cemetery to go home with an old neighbor and +friend of the family, he felt himself rather a very small and lonely +boy in a very big and empty world. + +But there had been many things to do in those next few days, with no +one but himself to do them. There had been, in the voices of his +friends, a note that was new. In the manner of the men who had come to +talk with him on matters of business, he had felt a something that he +had never felt before. And he had seen the auctioneer--a lifelong +friend of his father--standing on the front porch of his boyhood home +and had heard him cry the low spoken bids and answer the nodding heads +of the buyers in a voice that was hoarse with something more than long +speaking in the open air. And then--and then--at last had come the +sharp blow of the hammer on the porch railing and from the trembling +lips of the old auctioneer the word: "Sold." + +It was as though that hammer had fallen on the naked heart of the boy. +It was as though the auctioneer had shouted: "Dead." + +And so the time had come, a week later, when he must go for a last +look at the home that was his no longer. Very slowly he had walked +about the yard; pausing a little before each tree and bush and plant; +putting forth his hand, at times, to touch them softly as though he +would make sure that they were there for he saw them dimly through a +mist. The place was strangely hushed and still. The birds and bees and +even the butterflies seemed to have gone somewhere far away. Very +slowly he had gone up the steps to open the front door. Very slowly he +had passed from room to room in the empty, silent, house. On the +kitchen porch he had paused again, for a little, because he could not +see the steps; then had gone on to the well, the garden, the +woodhouse, the shop, the barn, and so out into the orchard that shaded +the gently rising slope of the hill beyond the house. At the farther +side of the orchard, on the brow of the hill, he had climbed the rail +fence and had seated himself on the ground where he could look out and +away over the familiar meadows and fields and pastures. + +A bobo-link, swinging on a nearby bush, poured forth a tumbling +torrent of silvery melody. Behind him, on the fence, a meadow lark +answered with liquid music. About him on every side, in the soft +sunlight, the bluebirds were flitting here and there, twittering +cheerily the while over their bluebird tasks. And a woodpecker, hard +at work in the orchard shade, made himself known by the din of his +industry. + +But the man, who did not yet quite realize that he was a man, gave no +heed to these busy companions of his boyhood. To him, it was as though +those men with their shovels had heaped that mound of naked, yellow, +earth upon his heart. The world, for him, was as empty as the old +house down there under the orchard hill. For a long time he sat very +still--seeing nothing, hearing nothing, heeding nothing--conscious +only of that dull, aching, loneliness--conscious only of that heavy +weight of pain. + +A mile or more away, beyond the fields, a moving column of smoke from +a locomotive lifted itself into the sky above the tree tops and +streamed back a long, dark, banner. As the column of smoke moved +steadily on toward the distant horizon, the young man on the hilltop +watched it listlessly. Then, as his mind outran the train to the +cities that lay beyond the line of the sky, his eyes cleared, his +countenance brightened, his thoughts went outward toward the great +world where great men toil mightily; and the long, dark, banner of +smoke that hung above the moving train became to him as a flag of +battle leading swiftly toward the front. Eagerly now he +watched--watched until, far away, the streaming column of smoke passed +from sight around a wooded hill and faint and clear through the still +air--a bugle call to his ears--came the long challenging whistle. + +Then it was that he realized his manhood--knew that he was a man--and +understood that manhood is not a matter of only twenty-one years. And +then it was--as he sat there alone on the brow of the little hill with +his boyhood years dead behind him and the years of his manhood +before--that his manhood life began, even as the manhood life of every +man really begins, with his Dreams. + +Indeed it is true that all life really begins in dreams. Surely the +lover dreams of his mistress--the maiden of her mate. Surely mothers +dream of the little ones that sleep under their hearts and fathers +plan for their children before they hold them in their arms. Every +work of man is first conceived in the worker's soul and wrought out +first in his dreams. And the wondrous world itself, with its myriad +forms of life, with its grandeur, its beauty and its loveliness; the +stars and the heavenly bodies of light that crown the universe; the +marching of the days from the Infinite to the Infinite; the procession +of the years from Eternity to Eternity; all this, indeed, is but God's +good dream. And the hope of immortality--of that better life that lies +beyond the horizon of our years--what a vision is that--what a +wondrous dream--given us by God to inspire, to guide, to comfort, to +hold us true! + +With wide eyes the man looked out upon a wide world somewhat as a +conquering emperor, confident in his armed strength, might from a +hilltop look out over the scene of a coming battle. He did not see the +grinding hardships, the desperate struggles, the disastrous losses, +the pitiful suffering. The dreadful dangers did not grip his heart. +The horrid fear of defeat did not strike his soul. He did not know the +dragging weight of responsibility nor the dead weariness of a losing +fight. He saw only the deeds of mighty valor, the glorious exhibitions +of courage, of heroism, of strength. He felt only the thrill of +victories, the pride of honors and renown. He knew only the +inspiration of a high purpose. He heard only the call to greatness. +And it was well that in his Dreams there were only these. + +The splendid strength of young manhood stirred mightily in his limbs. +The rich, red, blood of youth moved swiftly in his veins. His eager +spirit shouted aloud in exultation of the deeds that he would do. And, +surely, it was no shame to him that at this moment, when for the first +time he realized his manhood, this man, in his secret heart, felt +himself to be a leader of men, a conqueror of men, a savior of men. It +was no shame to him that he felt the salvation of the world depending +upon him. + +And he was right. Upon him and upon such as he the salvation of the +world _does_ depend. But it is well, indeed, that these +unrecognized, dreaming, saviors of the world do not know, as they +dream, that their crosses, even then, are being prepared for them. It +is their salvation that they do not know. It is the salvation of the +world that they do not know. + +And then, as one from the deck of a ship bound for a foreign land +looks back upon his native shore when the vessel puts out from the +harbor, this man turned from his years that were to come to his years +that were past and from dreaming of his future slipped back into the +dreams of his Yesterdays. Perhaps it was the song of the bobo-link +that did it; or it may have been the music of the meadow lark; or +perhaps it was the bluebird's cheerful notes, or the woodpecker's loud +tattoo--whatever it was that brought it about, the man dreamed again +the dreams of his boyhood--dreamed them even as he dreamed the dreams +of his manhood. + +And there was no one to tell him that, in dreaming, his boyhood and +his manhood were the same. + +Once again a boy, on a drowsy summer afternoon, he lay in the shade of +the orchard trees or, in the big barn, sought the mow of new mown hay, +and, with half closed eyes, slipped away from the world that droned +and hummed and buzzed so lazily about him into another and better +world of stirring adventure and brave deeds. Once again, when the sun +was hidden under heavy skies and a steady pouring rain shut him in, +through the dusk of the attic he escaped from the narrow restrictions +of the house, and, from his gloomy prison, went out into a fairyland +of romance, of knighthood, and of chivalry. Again it was winter time +and the world was buried deep under white drifts, with all its +brightness and beauty of meadow and forest hidden by the cold mantle, +and all its music of running brooks and singing birds hushed by an icy +hand, when, snug and warm under blankets and comforters, after an +evening of stories, he slipped away into the wonderland of dreams--not +the irresponsible, sleeping, dreams--those do not count--but the +dreams that come between waking and sleeping, wherein a boy dare do +all the great deeds he ever read about and can be all the things that +ever were put in books for boys to wish they were. + +Oh, but those were brave dreams--those dreams of his Yesterdays! No +cruel necessity of life hedged them in. No wall of the practical or +possible set a limit upon them. No right or wrong decreed the way they +should go. In his Yesterdays, there were fairy Godmothers to endow him +with unlimited power and to grant all his wishes, even unto mountains +of golden wealth and vast caverns filled with all manner of precious +gems. In his Yesterdays, there were wicked giants and horrid dragons +and evil beasts to kill, with always a good Genii to see that they did +not harm him the while he bravely took their baleful lives. In his +Yesterdays, he was a prince in gorgeous raiment; an emperor with +jeweled scepter and golden crown; a knight in armor, with a sword and +proudly stepping horse of war; he was a soldier leading a forlorn +hope; or a general, with his plumed staff officers about him, +directing the battle from a mountain top; he was a sailor cast away on +a desert island; or a captain commanding his ship in a storm or, +clinging to the shrouds in a smother of battle flame and smoke, +shouting his orders through a trumpet to his gallant crew; he was a +pirate; a robber chief; a red Indian; a hunter; a scout of the +plains--he could be anything, in those dreams of his Yesterdays, +anything. + +So, even as the man, the boy had dreamed. But the man did not think of +it in that way--the dreams of his _manhood_ were too real. + +Then in his Yesterdays would come, also, the putting of his dreams +into action, for the play of children, even as the works of men, are +only dreams in action after all. The quiet orchard became a vast and +pathless forest wherein lurked wild beasts and savage men ready to +pounce upon the daring hunter; or, perhaps, it was an enchanted wood +with lords and ladies imprisoned in the trees while in the carriage +house--which was not a carriage house at all but a great castle--a +cruel giant held captive their beautiful princess. The haymow was a +robbers' cave wherein great wealth of booty was stored; the garden, a +desert island on which lived the poor castaway. And many a long summer +hour the bold captain clung to the rigging of his favorite apple tree +ship and gazed out over the waving meadow sea, or the general of the +army, on his rail fence war horse, directed the battle from the +hilltop or led the desperate charge. + +But rarely, in his Yesterdays, could the boy put his dreams into +successful action alone. Alone he could dream but to realize his +dreams, he needs must have the help of another. And so _she_ came +to take her place in his life, to help him play out his dreams--the +little girl who lived next door. + +Who was she? Why, she was the beautiful princess held captive by the +giant in his carriage house castle until rescued by the brave prince +who came to her through the enchanted wood. She was the crew of the +apple tree ship; the robber band; the army following her general in +his victorious charge; and the relief expedition that found the +castaway on his desert island. Sometimes she was even a cannibal +chief, or a monster dragon, or a cruel wild beast. And always--though +the boy did not know--she was a good fairy weaving many spells for his +happiness. + +The man remembered well enough the first time that he met her. A new +family was moving into the house that stood just below the garden and, +from his seat on the gate post, the boy was watching the big wagons, +loaded with household goods, as they turned into the neighboring yard. +On the high seat of one of the wagons was the little girl. A big man +lifted her down and the boy, watching, saw her run gaily into the +house. For some time he held his place, swinging his bare legs +impatiently, but he did not see the little girl come out into the yard +again. Then, dropping to the ground, the boy slipped along the garden +fence under the currant bushes to a small opening in the hedge that +separated the two places. Very cautiously, at first, he peered through +the branches. Then, upon finding all quiet, he grew bolder, and on +hands and knees crept part way through the little green tunnel to find +himself, all suddenly, face to face with her. + +That was the beginning. The end had come several years later when the +family had moved again. + +The parting, too, he remembered well enough. A boy and girl parting it +was. And the promises--boy and girl promises they were. At first many +poorly written, awkwardly expressed, laboriously compiled, but warmly +interesting letters were exchanged. Then the letters became shorter +and shorter; the intervals between grew longer and longer; until, even +as childhood itself goes, she had slipped out of his life. Even as the +brave dreams of his boyhood she had gone--even as his Yesterdays. + +The bobo-link had long ago left his swinging bush. The meadow lark had +gone to find his mate in a distant field. The twittering bluebirds had +finished their tasks. The woodpecker had ceased from his labor. The +sunshine was failing fast. Faint and far away, through the still +twilight air, came the long, clear, whistle of another train that was +following swiftly the iron ways to the world of men. + +The man on the hill came back from his Yesterdays--came back to +wonder: "where is the little girl now? Has she changed much? Her eyes +would be the same and her hair--only a little darker perhaps. And does +she ever go back into the Yesterdays? It is not likely," he thought, +"no doubt she is far too busy caring for her children and attending to +her household duties to think of her childhood days and her childhood +playmate. And what would her husband be like?" he wondered. + +There was no woman in the dreams of the man who that afternoon, for +the first time, realized his manhood and began his manhood life. He +dreamed only of the deeds that he would do; of the work he would +accomplish; of the place he would win; and of the honors he would +receive. The little girl lived for him only in his Yesterdays. She did +not belong to his manhood years. She had no place in his manhood +dreams. + +Slowly he climbed the rail fence again and, through the orchard, went +down the hill toward the house. But he did not again enter the house. +He went on past the kitchen porch to the garden gate where he stood, +for some minutes, looking toward the hedge that separated the two +places and toward the cherry tree that grew in the corner of the +garden next door. + +At the big front gate he paused again and turned lingeringly as one +reluctant to go. The old home in the twilight seemed so lonely, so +deserted by all to whom it had been most kind. + +At last, with a movement suggestive of a determination that could not +have belonged to his boyhood, he set his face toward the world. Down +the little hill in the dusk of the evening he went, walking quickly; +past the house where the little girl had lived; across the creek at +the foot of the hill; and on up the easy rise beyond. And, as he went, +there was on his face the look of a man. There was in his eyes a new +light--the light of a man's dream. Nor did he once look back. + +To-morrow he would leave the friends of his boyhood; he would leave +the scenes of his Yesterdays; he would go to work out his dreams--even +as in his Yesterdays, he would play them out--for the works of men are +as the plays of children but dreams in action, after all. + +Would he, _could_ he, play out his manhood dreams alone? + +And the woman also, for the first time, was face to face with Life +and, for the first time, knew that she was a woman. + +For a long while she had seen her womanhood approaching. Little by +little, as her skirts had been lengthened, as her dolls had been put +away, as her hair had been put up, she had seen her womanhood drawing +near. But she had always said to herself: "when I do not play with +dolls, when I can dress like mother, and fix my hair like mother, I +will be a woman." She did not know, then, that womanhood is a matter +of things very different from these. Until that night she did not +know. But that night she knew. + +I cannot tell you the woman's name, nor where she lived, nor any of +those things that are commonly told about women in stories. But, as my +story is not that kind of a story, it will not matter that I cannot +tell. What really matters to my story is this: the woman, that night, +when, for the first time, she knew herself to be a woman, began her +woman life in dreams. Because the dreams of life are of the greatest +importance--because Dreams are of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of +Life--this is my story: that the woman life of this woman, when first +she knew herself to be a woman, began in dreams. + +It was the time of the first roses. For a week or more she had been +very busy with a loving, tender, joyous, occupation that left her no +time to think of herself. Her dearest friend--her girlhood's most +intimate companion, and, save for herself, the last of their little +circle--was to be married and she was to be bridesmaid. + +They had been glad days--those days of preparation--for she rejoiced +greatly in the happiness of her friend and had shared, as fully as it +was possible for another to share, the sweet sacredness, the holy +mysteriousness, and the proud triumph of it all. But with the gladness +of those days, there had come into her heart a strange quietness like +the quietness of an empty room that is furnished and ready but without +a tenant. + +At the wedding that evening she had been all that a bridesmaid should +be, even to the last white ribbon and the last handful of rice, for +she would that no shadow of a cloud should come over the happiness of +her friend. But when the new-made husband and wife had been put safely +aboard the Pullman, and, with the group on the depot platform +frantically waving hats and handkerchiefs and shouting good lucks and +farewells, the train had pulled away, the loneliness in her heart had +become too great to hide. Her escort had made smart jokes about her +tears, alleging disappointment and envy. He was a poor, shallow, +witless, fool who could not understand; and that he could not +understand mattered, to her, not at all. She had commanded him to take +her home and at her front door had thanked him and sent him away. + +And then it was--in the blessed privacy of her own room, with the door +locked and the shades drawn close, with her wedding finery thrown +aside and the need of self-repression no longer imperative--that, as +she sat in a low chair before the fire, she looked, for the first +time, boldly at Life and, for the first time, knew that she was a +woman--knew that womanhood was not a matter of long skirts, of hair +dressing, and the putting away of dolls. + +She was tired, very tired, from the responsibilities and excitement of +the day but she did not feel that she could sleep. From the fire, she +looked up to the clock that ticked away so industriously on the +mantle. It was a little clock with a fat, golden, cupid grasping the +dial in his chubby arms as though striving to do away with time when +he might better have been busy with his bow and arrows. The hands of +the clock pointed nearly midnight. The young woman looked into the +fire again. + +Already her girl friend had been a wife several hours--a wife. Already +the train was miles away bearing the newly wedded ones to their future +home--their home. The hours would go swiftly into days, the days into +weeks and months and years, and there would be boys and girls--their +children. And the years would go swiftly as the days and there would +be the weddings of their sons and daughters and then--the children of +their children. + +And the woman who that night knew that she was a woman--the woman +whose heart, as she sat alone before the fire, was even as an empty +room--a room that is furnished and ready but without a tenant--what, +this woman asked herself, would the years bring her? The years of her +childhood and girlhood were past. What of her womanhood years that +were to come? + +There are many doors in the life of these modern days at which a woman +may knock with hope of being admitted; and this woman, as she sat +alone before her fire that night, paused before them all--all save +two. Two doors she saw but did not pause before; and _one_ of +them was idleness and pleasure. And one other door there is that +stands open wide so that there is no need to knock for admittance. +Before this wide open door the woman paused a long time. It is older +than the other doors. It is very, very, old. Since the beginning it +has never been closed. But though it stood open so wide and there was +no need to knock for admittance, still the woman could not enter for +she was alone. No woman may enter that old, old, open door, alone. + +Three times before she had stood before that ancient door and had been +urged to cross the threshold; but always she had hesitated, had held +back, and turned away. She wondered if always she would hesitate, if +always she would turn away; or would some one come with whom she could +gladly, joyously, confidently, cross the threshold. She could not say. +She could only wait. And while she waited she would knock at one of +the other doors. She would knock because she must. The custom of the +age, necessity, circumstances, forced her to knock at one of those +doors that, in the life of these modern days, opens to women who seek +admittance alone. + +I cannot tell just what the circumstances of the woman's life were nor +why it was necessary. Nor does it in the least matter that I cannot +tell. The necessity, the circumstances, have nothing to do with my +story save this: that, whatever they were, I am quite sure they ought +not to have been. I am quite sure that _any_ circumstance, or +necessity, or custom, that forces a woman who knows herself to be a +woman to seek admittance at any one of those doors through which she +must enter alone is not right. This it is that belongs to my story: +the woman did not wish to enter the life that lies on the other side +of those doors through which she must go alone. + +Alone in her room that night, with the shades drawn close and the only +light the light of the dancing fire, this woman who, for the first +time, knew herself to be a woman, did not dream of a life on the other +side of those doors at which she must ask admittance. She dreamed of a +future beyond the old, old, door that has stood open wide since the +beginning. + +And it was no shame to her that she so dreamed. It was no shame that +she called before her, one by one, those who had asked her to cross +with them the threshold and those who might still ask her. It was no +shame that, while her heart said always, "no," she still +waited--waited for one whom she knew not but only knew that she would +know him when he came. And it was no shame to her that, even while +this was so, she saw herself in the years to come a wife and mother. +In the glowing heart of the fire she saw her home warm with holy love, +bright with sacred companionship. In the dancing flames she saw her +children--happy, beautiful, children. Nor did she in her dreams fear +the flickering shadows that came and went for in the dusk of the room +she felt the dear presence of that one who was to be her other self; +who was to be to her strength in her weakness, hope in her sadness, +and comfort in her mourning. + +It is well indeed that the shadows of life bring no fears into our +dreams else we would not dare to dream and life itself would lose its +purpose and its meaning. + +So the woman saw her future, not in the shadows that came and went +upon the wall, but in the glowing heart of the fire. And, as she +dreamed her dreams of womanhood, her face grew beautiful with a +tender, thoughtful, beauty that is given only to those women who dream +such dreams. With the realization of her womanhood and the beginning +of her woman life, her lips curved in a smile that was different from +the smile of girlhood and there came into her eyes a light that was +never there before. And then, as one setting out on a long journey +might turn back for a last farewell view of loved familiar scenes, she +turned to go back for a little into her Yesterdays. + +There was a home in those Yesterdays and there was a mother--a mother +who lived now in a better home than any of earth's building. A father +she had never known but there was a big, jolly, uncle who had done and +was doing yet all that an uncle of limited means could do to take her +father's place in the life of his sister's only child. And there was +sunshine in her Yesterdays--bright sunshine--unclouded by city smoke; +and flowers unstained by city grime; and blue skies unmarred by city +buildings; and there were beautiful trees and singing birds and broad +fields in her Yesterdays. Also there were dreams--such dreams as only +those who are very young or very wise dare to dream. + +It may have been the firelight that did it; it may have been the +vision of her children who lived only in the life that she saw beyond +the old, old, open door: or perhaps it was the wedding finery that lay +over a nearby chair: or the familiar tick, tick, tick, of the clock in +the arms of the fat cupid who neglected his bow and arrows in a vain +attempt to do away with time--whatever it was that brought it about, +the woman dreamed again the dreams of childhood--dreamed them even as +she dreamed those first dreams of her womanhood. + +And no one was there to tell her that the dreams of her girlhood and +of her womanhood were the same. + +Again, on a long summer afternoon, as she kept house in a snug corner +of the vine shaded porch, she was really the mistress of a grand +mansion that was furnished with beautiful carpets and furniture, china +and silver, books and pictures. And in that mansion she received her +distinguished guests and entertained her friends with charming grace +and dignity, even as she set her tiny play table with dishes of +thimble size and served tea and cakes to her play lady friends. Again, +as she rocked her dollies to sleep beside the evening fire and tucked +them into their beds with a little mother kiss for each, there were +dreams of merry boys and girls who should some day call her mother. +And there were dreams of fine dresses and jewels the while she +stitched tiny garments for her newest child who had come to her with +no clothing at all, or fashioned a marvelous hat for another whose +features were but a smudge of paint and whose hair had been glued on +so many times that it was far past combing and a hat was a necessity +to hide the tangled mat. And sometimes she was a princess shut up in a +castle tower and a noble prince, who wore golden armor and rode a +great war horse, would come to woo her and she would ride away with +him through the deep forest followed by a long procession of lords and +ladies, of knights and squires and pages. Or, perhaps, she would be a +homeless girl in pitiful rags who, because of her great beauty, would +be stolen by gypsies and sold to a cruel king to be kept in a dungeon +until rescued by a brave soldier lover. + +And, in her Yesterdays, the master of the dream home over which she +was mistress--the father of her dream children--the prince with whom +she rode away through the forest--the soldier lover who rescued her +from the dungeon--and the hero of many other adventures of which she +was the heroine--was always the same. Outside her dreams he was a +sturdy, brown cheeked, bare legged, little boy who lived next door. +But what a man is outside a woman's dreams counts for little after +all--even though that woman be a very small and dainty little woman +with a very large family of dolls. + +The woman remembered so well their first meeting. It was at the upper +end of the garden near the strawberry beds and he was creeping toward +her on hands and knees through a hole in the hedge that separated the +two places. How she had jumped when she first caught sight of him! How +he had started and turned as if to escape when he saw her watching +him! How shyly they had approached each other with the first timid +offerings of friendship! + +Many, many, times after that did he come to her through the opening in +the hedge. Many, many, times did she go to him. And he came in many +disguises. In many disguises she helped him put his dreams into +action. But always, to her, he was a hero to be worshiped, a leader to +be followed, a master to be obeyed. Always she was very proud of +him--of his strength and courage--of the grand deeds he wrought--and +of the great things that he would some day do. And sometimes--the most +delightful times of all--at her wish, he would help her, in his +masterful way, to play out her dreams. And then, though he liked being +an Indian or a robber or a soldier best, he would be a model husband +and help her with the children; although he did, at times, insist upon +punishing them rather more than she thought necessary. But when the +little family was ill with the measles or scarlet fever or whooping +cough no dream husband could have been more gentle, more thoughtful, +or more wise, in his attention. + +And once they had played a wedding. + +The woman whose heart was as an empty room stirred in her chair +uneasily as one who feels the gaze of a hidden observer. But the door +was locked, the shades drawn close, and the only light was the +flickering light of the fire. The night without was very dark and +still. There was no sound in the sleeping house--no sound save the +steady tick, tick, tick, of the time piece in the chubby arms of the +fat cupid on the mantle. + +And once they had played a wedding. + +It was when her big, jolly, uncle was married. The boy and the girl +were present at the ceremony and she wore a wonderful new dress while +the boy, scrubbed and combed and brushed, was arrayed in his best +clothes with shoes and stockings. There were flowers and music and +good things to eat and no end of laughter and gay excitement; and the +jolly uncle looked so big and fine and solemn; and the bride, in her +white veil, was so like a princess in one of the dreams; that the +little girl was half frightened and felt a queer lump in her throat as +she clung to her mother's hand. And there was a strange ceremony in +which the minister, in his gown, read out of a book and said a prayer +and asked questions; and the uncle and the princess answered the +questions; and the uncle put a ring on the finger of the princess; and +the minister said that they were husband and wife. And then there were +kisses while everybody laughed and cried and shook hands; and some one +told the little girl that the princess was her new auntie; and her +uncle caught her up in his big arms and was his own jolly self again. +It was all very fine and strange and impressive to their childish +eyes; and so, of course, the very next day, the boy and the girl +played a wedding. + +It was up in that quiet corner of the garden, near the hedge, and the +cherry tree was in bloom and showered its delicate blossoms down upon +them with every puff of air that stirred the branches; while, in the +hedge nearby, a little brown bird was putting the finishing touch to a +new nest. The boy's shepherd dog, who sat up when you told him, was +the minister; and all the dollies were there, dressed in their finest +gowns. The little girl was very serious and again, half frightened, +felt that queer lump in her throat as she promised to be his wife. And +the boy looked very serious, too, as he placed a little brass ring +upon her finger and, speaking for the brown eyed, shaggy coated, +minister, said: "I pronounce you husband and wife and anything that +God has done must never be done any different by anybody forever and +ever, Amen." And then--because there was no one else present and they +both felt that the play would not be complete without--then, he had +kissed her, and they were both very, very, happy. + +So it was that, in the quiet secrecy of her dimly lighted room, the +woman who that night knew herself to be a woman, felt her cheeks hot +with blushes and upon her hot cheeks felt her tears. + +So it was that she came back from her Yesterdays to wonder: where was +the boy now? What kind of a man had he grown to be? Was he making his +way to fame and wealth or laboring in some humble position? Had he a +home with wife and children? Did he ever go back into the Yesterdays? +Had he forgotten that wedding under the cherry tree? When the one with +whom she would go through the old, old, door into the life of her +womanhood dreams should come, would it matter if the hero of her +childhood dreams went in with them? He could be no rival to that one +who was to come for he lived only in the Yesterdays and the Yesterdays +could not come back. The fat little cupid on the mantle neglected his +bow and arrows in vain; he could not do away with time. + +Very slowly the woman prepared for her rest and, when she was ready, +knelt in the soft dusk of her room, a virgin in white to pray. And +God, I know, understood why her prayer was confused and uncertain with +longings she could not express even to him who said: "Except ye become +as little children." God, I know, understood why this woman, who that +night, for the first time, knowing herself to be a woman had dreamed a +true woman's dream--God, I know, understood why, as she lay down to +sleep in the quiet darkness, she stretched forth her empty arms and +almost cried aloud. + +In to-morrow's light it would all be gone, but that night--that +night--her womanhood dreams of the future were real--real even as the +girlhood dreams of her Yesterdays. + + + + + +OCCUPATION + +In a small, bare, room in a cheap city boarding house, the man cowered +like a wild thing, wounded, neglected, afraid; while over him, gaunt +and menacing, cruel, pitiless, insistent, stood a dreadful need--the +need of Occupation--the need of something to do. + +In all the world there is no danger so menacing as the danger of +idleness: there is no privation so cruel, no suffering so pitiful, as +the need of Occupation: there is no demand so imperative, no necessity +so dreadful, as the want of something to do. + +Occupation is the very life of Life. As nature abhors a vacuum so life +abhors idleness. To _be_ is to be occupied. Even though one spend +his days in seeking selfish pleasures still must he occupy himself to +live, for the need of something to do is most imperative upon those +who strive hardest to do nothing. As life and the deeds of men are +born in dreams so life itself is Occupation. A man _is_ the thing +he does. What the body is to the spirit; what the word is to the +thought; what the sunshine is to the sun; Occupation is to Dreams. One +of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life is Occupation. + +From the cherry tree in the upper corner of the garden near the hedge, +the cherries had long ago been gathered. The pair of brown birds had +reared their children and were beginning to talk with their neighbors +and kinfolk about their winter home in the south. In the orchard on +the hill back of the house, the late fruit was hanging, full ripe, +upon the bending boughs. From the brow of the hill, where the man had +sat that afternoon when, for the first time, he faced Life and knew +that he was a man, the fields from which the ripened grain had been +cut lay in the distance, great bars and blocks and patches of golden +yellow, among the still green pastures and meadows and the soft brown +strips of the fall plowing. In the woods, the squirrels were beginning +to take stock of the year's nut crop and to make their estimates for +the winter's need, preparing, the while, their storehouses to receive +the precious hoard. And over that new mound in the cemetery, the grass +fairies had woven a coverlid thick and firm and fine as though, in +sweet pity of its yellow nakedness, they would shield it from the +winds that already had in them a hint that summer's reign was past. + +But all this was far, very far, from where, in his small bare room, +the man crouched frightened and dismayed. The rush and roar of the +crowded trains on the elevated road outside his window shook the +casement with impatient fury. The rumbling thunder of the heavily +loaded subway trains jarred the walls of the building. The rattle and +whirr of the overflowing surface cars rose sharply above the hum and +din of the city streets. To the man who asked only a chance, only a +place, only room to stand and something--anything--to do, it was +maddening. A blind, impotent, fury took possession of him. He clenched +his fists and cursed aloud. + +But the great, crowded, world heeded his curses as little as it +noticed him and he fell again into the silence of his hopelessness. + +Out from the sheltered place of his dreams the man had come into the +busy world of deeds--into the world where those who, like himself, had +dreamed, were putting their dreams into action. Out from the years of +his boyhood he had come into the years of his manhood--out from the +scenes of his Yesterdays into the scenes of his to-days. + +For weeks, with his young strength stirring mightily within him and +his rich, red, blood hot in his veins, he had been crying out to the +world: "Make way for me. Give me a place that I may work out my +dreams. Give me something to do." For weeks, he had been trying to +convince the world that it needed him. But the busy, happy, world--the +idle, dreaming, world--the discontented, sullen, world--was not so +easily convinced. His young strength and his red blood did not seem to +count for as much as they should. His confidence and his courage did +not seem to impress. His high rank in the boyhood world did not +entitle him to a like position among men. His graduating address had +made no stir in the world of thought. His athletic record had caused +no comment in the world of industry. His coming did not disturb the +world of commerce. + +A few he found who wrought with all the vigor and enthusiasm of their +dreaming. These said: "What have you done that we should make room for +you? Prove yourself first then come to us." Many he saw who had +wearied of the game and were dreaming new dreams. These said: "We +ourselves are without Occupation. There are not places enough for all. +Stand aside and give us room." Many others there were who, with dreams +forgotten, labored as dull cattle, goaded by brute necessity, with no +vision, no purpose, no hope, to make of their toil a blessing. And +these laughed at him with vicious laughter, saying: "Why should anyone +want anything to do?" + +So the man in those days saw his dreams going from him--saw his bright +visions growing dim. So he came to feel that his young strength was of +no value; that his red blood was worthless; that his courage was vain. +So his confidence was shaken; his faith was weakened; his hope grew +faint. He came to feel that the things that he had dreamed were +already all wrought out--that there were no more great works to be +done--that all that could be done was being accomplished--that in all +the world there was nothing more for a man to do. Disappointed, +discouraged, disheartened, weary and alone, he told himself that he +had come too late--that in all the world there was nothing more for a +man to do. + +He did not look out upon the world, now, as a conquering emperor, +confident in his armed strength, might look over the field of a coming +battle. He did not dream, now, of victories, of honors, and renown. He +did not, now, see himself a savior of the world. The world had +stretched this man also upon the cross that it has always ready for +such as he. + +It was not the man's pressing need that hurt him so--gladly he would +have suffered for his dreams. It was not for privation and hardships +that he cared--proudly he would have endured those for his dreams. Nor +was it loneliness and neglect that made him afraid--he was willing to +work out his dreams alone. That which sent him cowering like a +wounded, wild thing to his room was this: he felt that his strength, +his courage, his willingness, his purpose, were as nothing in the +world. That which frightened him with dreadful fear was this: he felt +that his dreams were going from him. That for which he cared was this: +he felt that he was too late. This was the cross upon which the world +stretched him--the cross of enforced idleness--the cross of _nothing +to do_. + +It is not strange that in his lonely suffering the man sought to +escape by the only way open to him--the way that led to his +Yesterdays. There was a welcome for him there. There was a place for +him. He was wanted there. There his life was held of value. It is not +at all strange that he went back. As one flees from a desolate, +burning, desert waste, to a land of shady groves and fruitful gardens, +of cool waters and companionable friends, so this man fled from his +days that were into his days that were gone--so he went back into his +Yesterdays. + +It may have been the soft dusk of the twilight hour that did it: or it +may have been the loneliness of his heart: or, perhaps, it was the +picture he found in his trunk as he searched among his few things +trying to decide what next he should take to the pawn shop. Whatever +it was that brought it about, the man was a boy again in the boyhood +world of his Yesterdays. + +And it happened that the day in his Yesterdays to which the man went +back was one of those days when the boy could find nothing to do. +Every game that he had ever played was played out. Every source of +amusement he had exhausted. There was in all his boyhood world +nothing, nothing, for him to do. + +The orchard was not a trackless forest inhabited by fierce, wild +beasts; nor an enchanted wood with lords and ladies imprisoned in the +trees; it was only an orchard--a commonplace old orchard--nothing +more. Indians and robbers were stupid creatures of no importance +whatever. There were no fairies, no giants, no soldiers left in the +boyhood world. The rail fence war horse refused to charge. The apple +tree ship was a wreck on the rocks of discontent. The hay had all been +cut and stored away in the barn. The excitement and fun of the grain +harvesting was over and the big stacks were waiting the threshers. It +was not time for fall apple picking and the cider mill, nor to gather +the corn, nor to go nutting. There was nothing, nothing, to do. + +The boy's father was busy with some sort of work in the shop and told +his little son not to bother. The hired man was doing something to the +barnyard fence and told the boy to get out of the way. A carpenter was +repairing the roof of the house and the long ladder looked inviting +enough, but, the instant the boy's head appeared above the eaves, the +man shouted for him to get down and to run and play. Even the new red +calf refused to notice him but continued its selfish, absorbing, +occupation with wobbly legs braced wide and tail wagging supreme +indifference. His very dog had deserted him and had gone away +somewhere on business of his own, apparently forgetting the needs of +his master. And mother--mother too was busy, as busy as could be with +sweeping and dusting and baking and mending and no end of things that +must be done. + +But somehow mother's work could always wait. At least it could wait +long enough for her to look lovingly down into the troubled, +discontented, little face while she listened to the plaintive whine: +"There's nothin' at all to do. Mamma, tell me--tell me something to +do." + +Poor little boy in the Yesterdays! Quickly mother's arm went around +him. Lovingly she drew him close. And mother's work waited still as +she considered the serious problem. There was no feeling of not being +wanted in the boy's heart then. As he looked up at her he felt already +renewed hope and quickening interest. + +Then mother's face brightened, in a way that mother faces do, and the +boy's eyes began to shine in eager anticipation. What should he do? +Why mother knew the very thing of course. It was the best--the very +best--the most interesting thing in all the world for a boy to do. He +should build a house for the little girl who lived next door. + +Out under the lilac bushes he should build it, in a pretty corner of +the yard, where mother, from her window, every now and then, could +look out to see how well he was doing and help, perhaps, with careful +suggestions. Mother herself would ask the carpenter man for some +clean, new boards, some shingles and some nails. And it would all be a +secret, between just mother and the boy, until the house was finished +and ready and then he should go and bring the little girl and they +would see how surprised and glad she would be. + +It was wondrous magic those mothers worked in the Yesterdays. In a +twinkle, for the boy who could find nothing to do, the world was +changed. In a twinkle, there was nothing in all the world worth doing +save this one thing--to build a house for the little girl next door. + +With might and main he planned and toiled and toiled and planned; +building and rebuilding and rebuilding yet again. He cut his fingers +and pounded his thumb and stuck his hands full of slivers and minded +it not at all so absorbed was he in this best of all Occupations. + +But keep it secret! First there was father's smiling face close beside +mother's at the window. Then the hired man chanced to pass and paused +a moment to make admiring comment. And, later, the carpenter man came +around the corner of the house and, when he saw, offered a bit of +professional advice and voluntarily contributed another board. Even +the boy's dog, as though he had heard the news that the very birds +were discussing so freely in the tree tops, came hurrying home to +manifest his interest. Keep it secret! How _could_ the boy keep +it secret! But the little girl did not know. Until he was almost ready +to tell her, the little girl did not know. Almost he was ready to tell +her, when--But that belongs to the other part of my story. + +About the man in his bare, lonely, room in the great city, the world +in its madness raged--struggling, pushing, crowding, jostling, +scrambling--a swirling, writhing, mass of life--but the man did not +heed. On every side, this life went rushing, roaring, rumbling, +thundering, whirring, shrieking, clattering by. But the man noticed +the world now no more than it noticed him. In his Yesterdays he had +found something to do. He had found the only thing that a man, who +knows himself to be a man, can do in truth to his manhood. Again, in +his Yesterdays, he was building a house for the little girl who lived +next door--the little girl who did not know. + +Someday this childish old world will grow weary of its games of war +and wealth. Someday it will lose interest in its playthings--banks, +and stocks, and markets. Someday it will lose faith in its fairies of +fame, its giants of position and power. Then will the disconsolate, +forlorn, old world turn to Mother Nature to learn from her that the +only Occupation that is of real and lasting worth is the one +Occupation in which all of Mother Nature's children have +fellowship--the Occupation of home building. + +In meadow and forest and field; in garden and grove and hedge and +bush; in mountain and plain and desert and sea; in hollow logs; amid +swaying branches; in rocky dens and earthy burrows; high among +towering cliffs and mighty crags; low in the marsh grass and among +reeds and rushes; in stone walls; in fence corners; in tufts of grass +and tiny shrubs; among the flowers and swinging vines; +everywhere--everywhere--in all this great, round, world, Mother's +children all are occupied in home building--occupied in this and +nothing more. This is the one thing that Mother's children, in all the +ages since the beginning, have found worth doing. One wayward child +alone is occupied just now, seemingly, with everything _but_ home +building. Man seems to be doing everything these days but the one +thing that must be the foundation work of all. But never +mind--homebuilding will be the world's work at the last. When all the +playthings of childhood and all the childish games of men have failed, +homebuilding will endure. Occupation must in the end mean home +building or it is meaningless. + +And the din, the confusion, the struggle, the turmoil of life--when it +all means to men the building of homes and nothing more; when the +efforts of men, the ambitions of men, the labor and toil of men are +all to make homes for the little girls next door; then, will Mother +Nature smile upon her boys and God, I am sure, will smile upon them, +too. + +The man came back from his Yesterdays with a new heart, with new +courage and determination, and the next day he found something to do. + +I do not know what it was that the man found to do--_that_ is not +my story. + +* * * * * + +It was nearly the time of falling leaves when the woman, who knew +herself to be a woman, knocked at one of those doors, at which she did +not wish to knock, and was admitted. + +It does not matter which of the doors it was. I cannot tell you what +work it was that the woman found to do. What mattered to her--and to +the world if only the world would understand--was this: that she was +forced by the customs of the age and by necessity to enter a life that +her woman heart did not desire. While her dreams were of the life that +lies beyond the old, old, door that has stood open since the +beginning; while she waited on the threshold and longed to go in; she +was forced to turn aside, to seek admittance at one of those other +doors. This it is that matters--matters greatly. Perhaps only God who +made the woman heart and who Himself set that door open wide--perhaps +only God knows how greatly it matters. + +Of course, if the woman had not known herself to be a woman, it would +have made little difference either to her or to the world. + +And the woman when she had joined that great company of women, who, in +these modern days labor behind the doors through which they must go +alone, found them to be good women--good and brave and true. And most +of them, she found, were in that great company of workers just as she +was there--just as every woman who knows her womanhood is +there--through circumstances, the custom of the age, necessity. The +only saving thing about it all is this: their woman hearts are +somewhere else. + +And the woman found also that, while the door opened readily enough to +her knock, she was received without a welcome. Through that other +door, the door that God himself has opened, she would have entered +into a joyous welcome--she would have been received with gladness, +with rejoicing, with holiest love, and highest honor. To her, in the +world that lies beyond the old, old, door, would have been rendered +homage and reverence second only to that given to God Himself. +_There,_ she would have been received as a _woman_ for her +_womanhood;_ she would have been given first place among all +created things. But the world into which she entered alone did not so +receive her. It received her coldly. Its manner said quite plainly: +"Why are you here? What do you want?" It said: "There is no sentiment +here, no love, no reverence, no homage; there is only business here, +only law, only figures and facts." + +This world was not unkind to her, but it did not receive her as a +woman. It could not. It did not value her _womanhood_. Womanhood +has no value there. It valued her clear brain, her physical strength, +her skillful hands, her willing feet, her ready wit: but her womanhood +it ignored. The most priceless gift of the Creator to his +creatures--the one thing without which all human effort would be in +vain, no Christian prayer would be possible; the one thing without +which mankind would perish from the earth--this world, into which the +woman went, rejected. But the things that belonged to her +womanhood--the charm of her manner; the beauty of her face and form; +the appeal of her sex; the quick intuitions of her soul--all these +this world received and upon them put a price. They became not forces +to be used by her in wifehood and motherhood but commercial assets, +valued in dollars, worth a certain price upon the woman labor market +in the business world. + +And the woman's heart, because she knew herself to be a woman, +rebelled at this buying and selling the things of her womanhood. These +things she rightly felt to be above price--far, far, above price. They +were the things of her wifehood and motherhood. They were given her to +be used by her in love, in mating, in bearing and rearing children, in +the giving of life to the world. + +The things of a woman's womanhood are as far above price as life +itself to which they belong. Even as color and perfume belong to the +flowers; even as the music of the birds belongs to the feathery +songsters; even as the blue belongs to the sky, and the light to the +stars; so these graces of a woman belong to her and to the mission of +her womanhood are sacred. They are hers to be used in her holy office +of womanhood; by her alone, without price, for the glory and honor of +life and the future of the race. So the woman's heart rebelled, but +secretly, instinctively, almost unconsciously. Open rebellion would +have made it impossible for her to remain in the world into which she +entered because of her necessity and the custom of the age. + +She found, too, that this world into which she had entered was very +courteous, that it was even considerate and kind--as considerate and +kind as it was possible to be--for it seemed to understand her +position quite as well as she herself understood it. And this world +paid her very well for the services she was asked to render. But it +asked of her no favors. It accorded her no honors. It sought her with +no offering. And, because of this, the woman, in the heart of her +womanhood, felt ashamed and humiliated. + +It is the right of womanhood to bestow favors. It is a woman's right +to be honored above all creatures of earth. Since the beginning of +life itself her sex has been so honored--has received the offerings +from life. Mankind, alone, has at times attempted to change this law +but has never quite succeeded. Mankind never can fully succeed in this +because woman holds life itself in her keeping. So the woman felt that +her womanhood was humiliated and shamed. But she hid this feeling +also, hid it carefully, buried it deeply, because she knew that if she +did not it would betray her and she would not be permitted to remain +in the world into which necessity forced her. To the woman, it seemed +that the world into which she had gone, itself, felt her shame and +humiliation. That, in secret, it desired to ask of her; to accord to +her honors; to seek her with offerings. But this world could not do +these things because it dared not recognize her womanhood. When a +woman goes into that world into which she must go alone, she leaves +her womanhood behind. Her womanhood is not received there. + +But most of all, the thing that troubled the woman was this: the risk +she ran in entering into that life behind the door at which she had +sought admittance. She saw that there was danger there--grave +danger--to her womanhood. In the busy, ceaseless, activity of that +life there would be little time for her waiting beside the old, old, +door. The exacting demands of her work, or profession, or calling, or +business, would leave little leisure for the meditation and reflection +that is so large a part of the preparation necessary for entrance into +that other world of which she had dreamed. Constant contact with the +unemotional facts and figures of that life which sets a market value +upon the sacred things of womanhood would make it ever more difficult +for her to dream of love. There was grave danger that interest and +enthusiasm in other things would supplant her longing for wifehood and +motherhood. She feared that in her Occupation she might not know, when +he came, that one who was to cross the threshold with her into the +life of her dreams--that, indeed, he might come and go again while she +was busy with other things. She feared that she would come to accept +the commercial valuation of the things that belonged to her womanhood +and thus forget their higher, holier, use and that the continued +rejection of her womanhood would, in time, lead her to think of it +lightly, as incidental rather than supreme. There was real danger that +she would lose her desire to be sought, to give, to receive offerings; +that she would cease to rebel secretly; that she would no longer feel +humiliated at her position. She feared in short this danger--the +gravest danger to her womanhood and thus to all that womankind holds +in her keeping--that she would come to feel contented, satisfied, and +happy, in being a part of the world into which she was forced to go by +the custom of the age and by necessity. Because this woman knew +herself to be a woman she feared this. If she had not come to know her +womanhood she would not have feared it. Neither would it have +mattered. + +The woman was thinking of these things that Saturday afternoon as she +walked homeward from her work. She often walked to her home on +Saturday afternoons, when there was time, for she was strong and +vigorous, with an abundance of good red woman blood in her veins, and +loved the free movement in the open air. + +Perhaps, though, it is not exact to say that she was _thinking_ +of these things. The better word would be _feeling_. She was not +thinking of them as I have set them down: but she was feeling them +all. She was conscious of them, just as she was conscious of the dead +brown leaves that drifted across her path, though she was not thinking +of the leaves. She felt them as she felt the breath of fall in the +puff of air that drifted the leaves: but she did not put what she felt +into words. So seldom do the things that women feel get themselves put +into words. + +The young woman had chosen a street that led in the direction of her +home through one of the city's smaller parks, and, as she went, the +people she met turned often to look after her for she was good to look +at. She walked strongly but with a step as light as it was firm and +free; and, breathing deeply with the healthful exercise, her cheeks +were flushed with rosy color, her eyes shone, her countenance--her +every glance and movement--betrayed a strong and perfect womanhood--a +womanhood that, rightly understood, is wealth that the race and age +can ill afford to squander. + +Coming to the park, she walked more slowly and, after a little, seated +herself on a bench to watch the squirrels that were playing nearby. +The foliage had already lost its summer freshness though here and +there a tree or bush made brave attempt to retain its garb of green. +Not a few brown leaves whirled helplessly about--the first of +unnumbered myriads that soon would be offered by the dying summer in +tribute to winter's conquering power. The sun was still warm but the +air had in it a subtle flavor that seemed a blending of the coming +season with the season that was almost gone. + +Near the farther entrance to the little park, a carpenter was +repairing the roof of a house and, from where she sat, the woman could +see the long ladder resting against the eaves. A boy with his shepherd +dog came romping along the walk under the trees as irresponsible as +the drifting leaves. The squirrels scampered away; the boy and dog +whirled on; and the woman, from the world into which she had entered +because she must, went far away into the world of childhood. From her +day of toil in a world that denied her womanhood she went back into +her Yesterdays where womanhood--motherhood--was supreme. Perhaps it +was that subtle flavor in the air that did it; or it may have been the +boy and his dog as they whirled past--care free as the drifting brown +leaves; or perhaps it was the sight of the man repairing the roof of +the house with his long ladder resting against the eaves: the woman +herself could not have told what it was, but, whatever it was, she +slipped away to one of the brightest, happiest, days in all her +Yesterdays. + +But, for a little while, that day was not at all bright and happy. It +started out all right then, little by little, everything went wrong; +and then it changed again and became one of the best of all her +Yesterdays. The day went wrong for a little while at first because +everything in the house was being taken up, or taken down, beaten, +shaken, scrubbed or dusted; everything was being arranged or +disarranged and rearranged again. Surely there was never such +confusion, so it seemed to the little girl, in any home in all the +world. Every time that she would get herself nicely settled with her +dolls she would be forced to move again; until there was in the whole, +busy, bustling place no corner at all where she was not in somebody's +way. When she would have entered into the confusion and helped to +straighten things out, the woman told her, rather sharply, to go away, +and declared that her efforts to help only made things worse. + +Out in the garden, at the opening in the hedge, she called and called +and waited and waited for the boy. But the boy did not answer. He was +too busy, she thought, to care about her. She felt quite sure that he +did not even want her to help in whatever it was that he was doing. +Perhaps, she thought wistfully, peering through the little green +tunnel, perhaps if she could go and find him he might--when he saw how +miserable and lonely she was--he might be kind. But to go through the +hedge was forbidden, except when mother said she might. + +Sorrowfully she turned away to seek the kitchen where the cook was +busy with the week's baking. But the cook, when the little girl +offered to roll the pie crust or stir the frosting for the cake, was +hurried and cross and declared that the little girl could not help but +only hinder and that it would be better for her not to get in the way. + +Once more, in a favorite corner of the big front porch, she was just +beginning to find some comfort with her doll when the woman with the +broom forced her to move again. + +Poor little girl! What could she do under such trying +circumstances--what indeed but go to mother. All the way up the long +stairs she went to where mother was as busy as ever a mother could be +doing something with a lot of things that were piled all over the +room. But mother, when she saw the tear stained little face, +understood in a flash and put aside whatever it was that she was +doing, quickly, and held the little girl, dolly and all, close in her +mother arms until the feeling of being in the way and of not being +wanted was all gone. And, when the tears were quite dry, mother said, +so gently that it did not hurt, "No dearie, I'm afraid you can't help +mother now because mother's girl is too little to understand what it +is that mother is doing. But I'll tell you something that you +_can_ do. Mother will give you some things from the pantry and +you may go over to see the little boy. And I am as sure, as sure can +be, that, when he sees all the nice things you have, he will play +keeping house with you." + +So the little girl in the Yesterdays, with her treasures from mother's +pantry, went out across the garden and through the hedge to find the +boy. Very carefully she went through the opening in the hedge so that +she would lose none of her treasures. And oh, the joy of it! The +splendid wonder of it! She found that the boy had built a house--all +by himself he had built it--with real boards, and had furnished it +with tiny chairs and tables made from boxes. Complete it was, even to +a beautiful strip of carpet on the floor and a shelf on which to put +the dishes. Then, indeed, when the boy told her how he had made the +house for her--just for her--and how it was to have been a surprise; +and that she had come just in time because if she tad come sooner it +would have spoiled the fun--the heart of the little girl overflowed +with gladness. And to think that all the time she was feeling so not +wanted and in the way the boy was doing _this_ and all for her! +Did her mother know? She rather guessed that she did; mothers have +such a marvelous way of knowing everything, particularly the nicest +things. + +So the little girl gave the boy all the treasures that she had brought +so carefully and they had great fun eating them together; and all the +rest of that day they played "keephouse." And this is why that day was +among the best of all the woman's Yesterdays. + +Several men going home from work passed the spot where the young woman +sat. Then a group of shop girls followed; then another group and, in +turn, two women from an office that did not close early on Saturdays. +After them a young girl who looked very tired came walking alone, and +then there were more men and women in a seemingly endless procession. +And so many girls and women there were in the procession that the +woman, as she came back from her Yesterdays, wondered who was left to +make homes for the world. + +The sun was falling now in long bars and shafts of light between the +buildings and the trees, and the windows of the house where the man +had been fixing the roof were blazing as if in flames. The man had +taken down his ladder and gone away. It was time the young woman was +going home. And as she went, joining the procession of laborers, her +heart was filled with longing--with longing and with hope. The boy of +her Yesterdays lived only in those days that were gone. He had no +place in the dreams of her womanhood. He was only the playmate of the +little girl. Even as those years were gone the boy had gone out of her +life. But somewhere, perhaps, that one who was to go with her through +the old, old, open door was even then building for her a home--their +home. Perhaps, some day, an all wise Mother Nature would tell her to +leave the world that gave her no welcome--that could not recognize her +womanhood--that made her heart rebel in humiliation and shame--and go +to do her woman's work. + +Very carefully would she go when the time came, taking all the +treasures of her womanhood. She would go very carefully that none of +her treasures be lost. + + + + + +KNOWLEDGE + +The green of the pastures and the gold of the fields was buried so +deeply under banks of snow that no one could say: "Here the cattle fed +and the buttercups grew; there the grain was harvested; here the corn +stood in shocks; there the daisies and meadow grass sheltered the nest +of the bobo-link." As death calls alike the least and the greatest +back to the dust from which they came, so winter laid over the varied +and changing scenes of summer a cold, white, shroud of wearisome +sameness. The birds were hundreds of miles away in their sunny +southland haunts. The bees, the butterflies, and many of the tiny wood +folk, were all snugly tucked in their winter beds, dreaming, perhaps, +as they slept, of the sunshiny summer days. In the garden the wind had +heaped a great drift high against the hedge on the boy's side, and, on +the little girl's side, the cherry tree in the corner stood shivering +in its nakedness with bare arms uplifted as though praying for mercy +to the stinging cold wind. + +In the city the snow, as fast as it fell, was stained by soot and +grime and lay in the streets a mass of filth. The breath of the +laboring truck horses arose from their wide nostrils like clouds of +steam and, in the icy air, covered their breasts and shoulders and +sides with a coat of white frost. The newsboys and vendors of pencils +and shoestrings shivered in nooks and corners and doorways and, as the +people went with heads bent low before the freezing blast that swirled +through the narrow canyons between the tall buildings, the snowy +pavement squeaked loudly under their feet. + +And the man who had found something to do, from his Occupation, began +to acquire Knowledge. In doing things, he began to know things. + +But the man had to gain first a knowledge of Knowledge. He first had +to learn this: that a man might know all about a thing without ever +knowing the thing itself. He had to understand that Knowledge is not +knowing _about_ a thing but knowing the _thing_. When first +he had dreamed his manhood dreams, before he had found something to +do, the man, quite modestly, thought that he knew a great deal. In his +school days, he had exhausted many text books and had passed many +creditable examinations upon many subjects and so he had thought that +he knew a great deal. And he did. He knew a great deal _about_ +things. But when he had found something to do, and had tried to do it, +he found also very quickly that, although he knew so much about the +thing he had to do, he knew very, very, little of the thing itself and +that only knowledge of the thing itself could ever help him to realize +his dreams. + +From his Occupation, he learned this also: that Knowledge is not what +some other man knows and tells you but what the thing that you have +found to do makes known to you. Knowledge is not told, _cannot_ +be told, to one by another, even though that other has it abundantly +for, to the one to whom it is told, it remains ever what someone else +knows. What the thing that a man finds to do makes known to him, +_that_ is Knowledge. So Knowledge is to be had not from books +alone but rather from Life. So idleness is a vicious ignorance and +those who do the most are wisest. + +Before he had found something to do the man had called himself a +thinker. But when he tried to do the thing that he had found to do, he +quickly realized that he had only thought that he thought. He found +that he was not at all a thinker but a listener--a receiver--a +rememberer. In his school days, the thoughts of others were offered +him and he, because he had accepted them, called them his own. He +came, now, to understand that thinking is not accepting the thoughts +of others but finding thoughts of your own in whatever it is that you +have found to do. + +Thinking the thoughts of others is a delightful pastime and profitable +but it is not really thinking. Also, if one be blessed with a good +memory, he may thus cheaply acquire a reputation for great wisdom; +just as one, if he happens to be born with a nose of uncommon length +or bigness, may attract the attention of the world. But no one should +deceive himself. A man because he is able, better than the multitude, +to repeat the thoughts of other men must not therefore think himself a +better thinker than the crowd. No more should the one with the +uncommon nose flatter himself that he is necessarily handsome or +distinguished in appearance because the people notice him. He who +attracts the attention of the world should inquire most carefully into +the reason for the gathering of the crowd; for a crowd will gather as +readily to listen to a mountebank as to hear an angel from heaven. + +To repeat what others have thought is not at all evidence that he who +remembers is thinking. Great thoughts are often repeated +thoughtlessly. A man's Occupation betrays him or establishes his claim +to Knowledge. That which a man does proclaims that which he thinks or +in his thoughtlessness finds him out. + +Of course, when the man had learned this, he said at first, quite +wrongly, that his school days were wasted. He said that what he had +called his education was all a mistake--that it was vanity only and +wholly worthless. But, as he went on gaining ever more and more +Knowledge from the thing that he was doing, and, through that thing, +of many other things, he came to understand that his school days were +not wasted but very well spent indeed. He came to see that what he had +called education was not a mistake. He came to understand that what +was wrong was this: he had considered his education complete, +finished, when he had only been prepared to begin. He had considered +his schooling as an end to be gained when it was only a means to the +end. He had considered his learning as wealth to hold when it was +capital to invest. He had mistaken the thoughts that he received from +others for Knowledge when they were given him only to inspire and to +help him in acquiring Knowledge. + +And then, of this knowledge of Knowledge gained by the man from his +Occupation, there was born in him a mighty passion, a burning desire. +It was the passion for Knowledge. It was the desire to know. To know +the thing that he had found to do was not enough. He determined to use +that knowledge to gain Knowledge of many other things. He felt within +himself a new strength stirring--the strength of thought. He saw that +knowledge of things led ever to more knowledge, even as link to link +in a golden chain. One end of the chain he held in his Occupation; the +other was somewhere, far beyond his sight, hidden in the mists that +shroud the Infinite Fact, fast to the mighty secret of Life itself. +Link by link, he determined to follow the chain. From knowing things +to knowledge of other things he would go even until he held in his +grip the last link--until he held the key to the riddle--until he knew +the answer to the sum of Life. + +And facts--cold, uncompromising, all powerful, unanswerable +facts--should give him this mastering knowledge of Life. For him there +should be no sentiment to deceive, no illusion to beguile, no fancy to +lead astray. As resistlessly as the winter, with snowflake upon +snowflake, had buried all the delightful vagaries of summer, so this +man, in his passion for Knowledge, would have buried all the charming +inconsistencies, the beautiful inaccuracies, the lovely pretenses of +Life. The illusions, the sentiment, the fancies, the poetry of Life, +he would have buried under the icy sameness of his facts, even as the +flowers and grasses were hidden under winter's shroud of snow. But he +could not. Under the snow, summer still lived. Under the cold facts of +Life, the tender sentiments, the fond fancies, the dear illusions have +strength even as the flowers and grasses. + +I do not know what it was that brought it about. It does not matter +what it was. Perhaps it was the sight of some boys coasting down a +little hill, on a side street, near where the man lived at this time: +perhaps it was a group of children who, on their way home from school, +were waging a merry snow fight: or, perhaps, it was the man's own +effort to acquire Knowledge: or, it may be, that his brain was weary, +that the way of Knowledge seemed over long, that the links in the +golden chain were many and passed all too slowly through his hand--I +do not know--but, whatever it was that did it, the man, as he sat +before his fire that winter evening with a too solid and substantial +book, slipped away from his grown up world of facts back into the no +less real world of childhood, back into his Yesterdays--to a school +day in his Yesterdays. + +Once again he made his way in the morning to the little schoolhouse +that stood half way up a long hill, in the edge of a bit of timber, +nearly two miles from his home. The yard, beaten smooth and hard by +many bare and childish feet, was separated from the timber by a rail +fence but was left open in front to any stray horses or cattle that, +wandering down the road, might be tempted to rest a while in the shade +of a great tree that stood near the center of the little clearing. The +stumps of the other forest beauties that had once, like this tree, +tossed their branches in the sunlight were still holding the places +that God had given them and made fine seats for the girls or bases for +the boys when they played ball at recess or noon. And often, when the +shouting youngsters had been called from their sports by the rapping +of the teacher's ruler at the door and only the busy hum of their +childish voices came floating through the open windows, a venturesome +squirrel or a saucy chipmunk would creep stealthily along the fence, +stopping now and then to sit bolt upright with tail in air to look and +listen. Then suddenly, at sight of a laughing face at the window or +the appearance of some boy who had gained the coveted permission to +get a bucket of water, the little visitor would whisk away again like +a flash and, with a warning chatter to his mate, would seek safety +among the leaves and branches of the forest only to reappear once more +when all was quiet until, at last, made bold by many trials, he would +leap from the fence and scamper across the yard to take possession of +the tallest stump as though he himself were a schoolboy. Sometimes a +crow, after carefully watching the place for a little while from a +safe position on the fence across the road, would fly quietly down to +look for choice bits dropped from the dinner baskets of the children. +Or again, a long, lazy, black snake would crawl across the yard to +search for the little mice that lived in the foundation of the house +and in the corners of the fence. Or, perhaps, a chicken hawk, that had +been sailing on outstretched wings in ever narrowing circles, would +drop from the blue sky to claim his share of the plunder only to be +frightened away again by the sound of the teacher's voice raised in +sharp rebuke of some mischievous urchin. + +The schoolhouse was not a large building nor was it, in the least, +imposing. It was built of wood with a foundation of rough stone and +there were heavy shutters which were always carefully closed at night +to keep out the tramps who might seek a lodging place within. And +there was a woodshed, too, where the boys romped upon rainy days and +where was fought many a schoolboy battle for youthful love and honor. +The building had once been painted white but the storm and sunshine of +many months had worn away the paint, and there remained only the dark, +weather stained, boards save beneath the cornice and the window ledge +where one might still find traces of its former glory. The chimney, +too, was old and some of the bricks had crumbled and fallen from the +top which made it look ragged against the sky. And the steps and +threshold were worn very thin--very, very, thin. + +Wearied with his passion for Knowledge; tired of his cold facts; +hungering in his heart for a bit of wholesome sentiment as one in +winter hungers for the summer flowers; the man who sat before his fire +that night, with a too heavy and substantial book, crossed once more +with childish feet the worn threshold of the old schoolhouse and stood +within the entry where hung the hats and dinner baskets of his mates. +They looked very familiar to him--those hats--and, as he saw them in +his memory, each offered mute testimony to its owner's disposition and +rank in childhood's world. There were broad brimmed straws that +belonged to the patient, plodding, boys and caps that seemed made to +set far back on the heads of the boisterous lads. There was the old +slouch felt of the poor boy who did chores for his board and the +brimless hat of the bully of the school. There were the trim sailors +of the good little boys and the head gear of his own particular chum. +And there--the man who sought Knowledge only in facts smiled at the +fire and a fond light came into his eyes while his too solid and +substantial hook slipped unheeded to the floor--there was a sunbonnet +of blue checkered gingham hanging by its long strings from a hook near +the window. + +With fast beating heart, the boy saw that the next hook was vacant and +placing his own well worn straw beside the bonnet he wondered if she +would know whose hat it was. And then once more, with reluctant hand, +the seeker of Knowledge, in his Yesterdays, pushed open the door +leading to the one room in the building and, with a sigh of regret, +passed from the bright sunlight of boyish freedom to the shadow of his +childish task. + +There were neither tinted walls nor polished woodwork in that hall of +learning. But, thank God, learning does not depend upon tinted walls +or polished woodwork. Indeed it seems that rude rafters and +unplastered ceilings most often covers the head of learning. The +humble cottage of the farmer shelters many a true scholar and +statesmen are bred in log cabins. Neither was there a furnace with +mysterious cranks and chains nor steam pipes nor radiators. But, when +the cold weather came, the room was warmed by an old sheet iron stove +that stood near the center of the building with an armful of wood in a +box nearby and the kindlings for to-morrow's fire drying on the floor +beneath. The desks were of soft pine, without paint or varnish, but +carved with many a quaint and curious figure by jack knives in the +hands of ambitious youngsters. The seats were rude benches worn smooth +and shiny. A water bucket had its place near the door and a rusty tin +dipper that leaked quite badly hung from a nail in the casing. + +And hanging upon the dingy wall were the old maps and charts that, +torn and soiled by long usage, had patiently guided generations of +boys and girls through the mysteries of lands and seas, icebergs, +trade winds, deserts, and plains. Still patiently they marked for the +boy's bewildered brain latitude and longitude, the tropic of cancer, +the arctic circle, and the poles. Were they hanging there still? the +man wondered. Were they still patiently leading the way through a +wilderness of islands and peninsulas, capes and continents, rivers, +lakes, and sounds? Or had they, in the years that had gone since he +looked upon their learned faces, been sunk to oblivion in the depths +of their own oceans by the weight of their own mountain ranges? And, +suddenly, the man who sought Knowledge in facts found himself wishing +in his heart that some gracious being would make for older children +maps and charts that they might know where flow the rivers of +prosperity, where rise the mountains of fame, where ripple the lakes +of love, where sleep the valleys of rest, or where thunders the ocean +of truth. + +At one end of the old schoolroom, behind the teacher's desk, was a +blackboard with its accompanying chalk, erasers, rulers, and bits of +string. To the boy, that blackboard was a trial, a temptation, a +vindication, or a betrayal. Often, as he sat with his class on the +long recitation seat that faced the teacher's desk, with half studied +lesson, but with bright hopes of passing the twenty minutes safely, +before the slow hand of the old clock had marked but half the time, +his hopes would be blasted by a call to the board where he would bring +upon himself the ridicule of his schoolmates, the condemnation of the +teacher, and would take his seat to hear, with burning cheeks, the +awful sentence: "You may study your lesson after school." + +After school--sorrowfully the boy saw the others passing from the +room, leaving him behind. And the last to go, glancing back with tear +dimmed eyes, was the little girl. Sadly he listened to the voices in +the entry and heard their shouts as they burst out doors; +and--suddenly, his heart beat quicker and his cheeks burned--_that_ +was her voice! + +Clear and sweet through the open window of the man's memory it +came--the voice of his little girl mate of the Yesterdays. + +She was standing on the worn threshold of the old schoolhouse, calling +to her friends to wait; and the boy knew that she was lingering there +for him and that she called to her companions loudly so that he would +understand. + +But the teacher knew it too and bade the little girl go home. + +Then, while the boy listened to that sweet voice growing fainter and +fainter in the distance; while he saw her, in his fancy, walking +slowly, lagging behind her companions, looking back for him; the +teacher talked to him very seriously about the value of his +opportunities; told him that to acquire an education was his duty; +sought to impress upon him that the most important thing in life was +Knowledge. + +Of course, thought the boy, teacher must know. And, thinking this, he +felt himself to be a very bad boy, indeed; because, in his heart, he +knew that he would have, that moment, given up every chance of an +education; he would have sacrificed every hope of wisdom; he would +have thrown away all Knowledge and heaven itself just to be walking +down the road with the little girl. And he must have been a little +had--that boy--because also, most ardently, did he wish that he was +big enough to thrash the teacher or whoever it was that invented +blackboards. + +As the man stooped to take up again his too solid and substantial +book, he felt that he was but a schoolboy still. To him, the world had +become but a great blackboard. In his private life or in conversation +with a friend, he might hide his poorly prepared lesson behind a show +of fine talk, a pet quotation, or an air of learning; but when he was +forced to put what he knew where all men might see--when he was made +to write his sentences in books or papers or compelled to do his +problems in the business world--then it was that his lack of +preparation was discovered, and that he brought upon himself the +ridicule or condemnation of his fellows. Unconsciously he listened, +half expecting to hear again the old familiar sentence: "You may study +your lesson after school." After school--would there be any after +school, he wondered. + +"And, after all, was that teacher in his Yesterdays right?" the man +asked himself. "Was Knowledge the most important thing in life? After +all, was that schoolboy of the Yesterdays such a bad schoolboy +because, in his boyish heart, he rebelled against the tasks that kept +him from his schoolmates and from the companionship of the little +girl? Was that boy so bad because he wished that he was big enough to +thrash whoever it was that invented blackboards, to rob schoolboys of +their schoolgirl mates?" + +Suppose--the man asked himself, as he laid aside the too heavy and +substantial book and looked into the fire again--suppose, that, after +a lifetime devoted to the pursuit of Knowledge, there should be no +one, when school time was over, to linger on the worn old threshold +for him? Suppose he should be forced, in the late afternoon, to go +down the homeward road alone? Could it be truly said that his manhood +years had been well spent? Could any number of accumulated facts +satisfy him if the hour was a lonely hour when school closed for the +day? Might it not be that there is a Knowledge to be gained from Life +that is of more value than the wintry Knowledge of facts? + +As the man looked back into his Yesterdays, the blackboard and its +condemnation mattered little to him. It was the going home alone that +mattered. What, he wondered, would matter most when, at last, he could +look back upon his grown up school days--the world blackboard with its +approval or its condemnation, or the going home alone? + +* * * * * + +It was the time of melting snow. The top of the orchard hill was a +faded brown patch as though, on a shoulder of winter's coat, the +season had worn a hole quite through; while the fields of the fall +plowing made spots that looked pitifully thin and threadbare; and the +creek, below the house where the little girl lived, was a long dark +line looking for all the world like a rip where the icy stitching of a +seam in the once proud garment had, at last, given way. But the drift +in the garden on the boy's side of the hedge was still piled high +against the barrier of thickly interwoven branches and twigs and the +cherry tree, in its shivering nakedness, seemed to be pleading, now, +for spring to come quickly. + +The woman who knew herself to be a woman did not attempt to walk home +from her work that Saturday afternoon. The streets were too muddy and +she was later than usual because of some extra work. + +Of her Occupation--of the world into which she had gone--the woman +also was gaining Knowledge. Though, she did not learn from choice but +because she must. And she learned of her work only what was needful +for her to know that she might hold her place. She had no desire to +know more. Because the woman already knew the supreme thing, she had +no desire to learn more of her Occupation than she must. Already she +knew her womanhood, and that, to a woman who knows, is the supreme +thing. For a woman with understanding there is no Knowledge greater +than this: the knowledge of her womanhood. There was born in her no +passion for knowledge of things. She burned with no desire to follow +the golden chain, link by link, to its hidden end. In her womanhood +she held already the answer to the sum of Life. + +The passion of her womanhood was not to _know_ but to _trust_--not +_facts_ but _faith_--not _evidence_ but _belief_--not _reason_ but +_emotion_. Her desire was not to take from the world by the power +of Knowledge but to receive from the world by right of her sex and love. +She did not crave the independence of great learning but longed, rather, +for the prouder dependence of a true womanhood. Out of her woman heart's +fullness she pitied and fed the poor mendicant without inquiring into +the economic condition that made him a beggar. Her situation, she +accepted with secret rebellion, with hidden shame and humiliation +in her heart, but never asked why the age forced her into such a +position. For affection, for sympathy, for confidence, and understanding, +she hungered with a woman hunger; and, through her hunger for these, +from the men and women with whom she labored she gained Knowledge of +Life. Of the lives of her fellow workers--of the women who had entered +that world, even as she had entered it, because they must--of the men +whom she came to know under circumstances that forbade recognition of +her womanhood--she gained Knowledge; and the Knowledge she gained was +this: that the world is a world of hungry hearts. + +I do not know just what the circumstances were under which the woman +learned this. I do not know what her Occupation was nor who her +friends were; nor can I tell in detail of the peculiar incidents that +led to this Knowledge. Such things are not of my story. This, only, +belongs to my story: the woman learned that the world is a world of +hungry hearts. Cold and cruel and calculating and bold, fighting +desperately, merciless, and menacing, the world is but a hungry +hearted world with it all. This, when a woman knows it, is, for her, a +saving Knowledge. Just to the degree that a woman knows this, she is +wise above all men--wise with a wisdom that men cannot attain. Just to +the degree that a woman is ignorant of this, she is unlearned in the +world's best wisdom. + +Long before she knocked at the door of the world into which she had +been admitted, upon condition that she left her womanhood without, the +woman had thought herself wise in knowledge of mankind. In her school +days, text books and lessons had meant little to her beside the +friendship of her schoolmates. At her graduation she had considered +her life education complete. She thought, modestly, that she was +fitted for a woman's place in life. And that which she learned first +from the world into which she had gone was this: that her knowledge of +life was very, very, meager; that there were many, many, things about +men and women that she did not know. + +School could fit her only for the fancy work of Life: plain sewing she +must learn of Life itself. School had made her highly ornamental: Life +must make her useful. School had developed her capacity for pleasure +and enjoyment: not until Life had developed her capacity for sorrow +and pain would her education be complete. School had taught her to +speak, to dress, and to act correctly: Life must teach her to feel. +School had trained her mind to appreciate: Life must teach her to +sympathize. School had made her a lady: Life must make the lady a +woman. + +The woman had known her life schoolmates only in pleasure--in those +hours when they came to her seeking to please or desiring to be +pleased. In her Occupation she was coming to know them in their hours +of toil, when there was no thought of gaining or giving pleasure, but +only of the demands of their existence; when duty, pitiless, stern, +uncompromising, duty held them in its grip; when need, unrelenting, +ever present, dominating need, drove them under its lash. She had +known them only in their hours of leisure--when their minds were free +for the merry jest, the ready laugh, the quick sympathy: now she was +coming to know them in those other hours when their minds were intent +upon the battle they waged--when their thoughts were all of the +attack, the defense, the advance, the retreat, the victory or defeat. +She had known them only in their hours of rest--when their hands were +empty, their nerves and muscles relaxed, their hearts calm and their +brains cool; now she saw them when their hands held the weapons of +their warfare--the tools of their craft--when their nerves and muscles +were braced for the strain of the conflict or tense with the effort of +toil; when their hearts beat high with the zeal of their purpose and +their brains were fired with the excitement of their efforts. She had +known them only in the hours of their dreaming--when, as they looked +out upon life, they talked confidently of the future: she was learning +now to know them when they were working out their dreams; at times +with hopes high and courage strong; at other times discouraged, +frightened, and dismayed. She had known them only as they dreamed of +the past--when they talked in low tones of the days that were gone: +now she saw them as they thought only of the present and the days that +were to come. So this woman, from the world into which she had gone, +gained knowledge of mankind. + +And this is the pity and the danger of it: that the woman gained this +knowledge from a world, that, even as it taught her, denied her +womanhood. The sadness of it all is this: to the world that refused to +recognize her womanhood, it was given to teach her that which would +make her womanhood complete. The knowledge that she must have to +complete her womanhood the woman should have gained only from the life +of her dreams--the life that is beyond that old, old, open door +through which she could not pass alone. In the companionship, +sympathy, strength, protection, and love, of that one who was to cross +with her the threshold of the door that God set open in the beginning, +she should have gained the knowledge of life that would ripen her +girlhood into womanhood. For what else, indeed, has God given love to +men and women? In the strength that would come to her with her +children, the woman should have been privileged to learn sorrow and +pain. In the world that would have honored, above all else, her +womanhood, she should have been permitted to find the knowledge of +life that would perfect and complete her womanhood. + +Fruit, I know, may be picked green from the tree and artificially +forced to a kind of ripeness. But the fruit that matures under +Nature's careful hand; that knows in its ripening the warm sunshine +and the cleansing showers, the cool of the quiet evening and the +freshness of the dewy morn, the strength of the roaring storms and the +softness of the caressing breeze--this fruit alone, I say, has the +flavor that is from heaven. + +It is a trite saying that many a girl of sixteen, these days, knows +more of life than her grandmother knew at sixty. It remains to be +proven that, because of this knowledge, the young woman of to-day is a +better woman than her grandmother was. But, as the only positive proof +would be her children, the case is very likely to be thrown out of +court for lack of evidence for it seems, somehow, that, when women +gain Knowledge from that world into which they go alone, leaving their +womanhood behind, they acquire also a strange pride in being too wise +to mate for love or to bear children. And yet, it is true, that the +knowledge that enables a woman to live happy and contented without +children is a damnable knowledge and a menace to the race. + +Poor old world, you are so "grown up" these days and your palate is so +educated to the artificial flavor that you have forgotten, seemingly, +how peaches taste when ripened on the trees. God pity you, old world, +if you do not soon get back into the orchard before you lose your +taste for fruit altogether. + +The knowledge that the woman gained from her Occupation made her +question, more and more, if that one with whom she could cross the +threshold of the door that led to the life of her dreams, would ever +come. The knowledge she gained made her doubt her courage to enter +that door with him if he should come. In the knowledge she gained of +the world into which she had gone alone, her womanhood's only +salvation was this: that she gained also the knowledge that the world +of men, even as the world of women, is a world of hungry hearts. It +was this that kept her--that made her strong--that saved her. It was +this knowledge that saved her womanhood for herself and for the race. + +The week, for the woman, had been a hard week. The day, for her, had +been a hard day. When she boarded the car to go to her home she was +very tired and she was not quite the picture of perfect woman health +that she had been that other Saturday--the time of falling leaves. + +For some unaccountable reason there was one vacant seat left in the +car and she dropped into it with a little inward sigh of relief. With +weary, unseeing, eyes she stared out of the window at the throng of +people hurrying along through the mud and slush of the streets. Her +tired brain refused to think. Her very soul was faint with loneliness +and the knowledge that she was gaining of life. + +The car stopped again and a party of girls of the high school age, +evidently just from the Saturday matinee, crowded in. Clinging to the +straps and the backs of seats, clutching each other with little gusts +and ripples of laughter, they filled the aisle of the crowded car with +a fresh and joyous life that touched the tired woman like a breath of +spring. In all this work stale, stupidly weary, world there is nothing +so refreshing as the wholesome laugh of a happy, care free, young +girl. The woman whose heart was heavy with knowledge of life would +have liked to take them in her arms. She felt a sense of gratitude as +though she were indebted to them just for their being. And would +these, too--the woman thought--would these, too, be forced by the +custom of the age--by necessity--to go into the world that would not +recognize their womanhood--that would put a price upon the priceless +things of their womanhood--that would teach them hard lessons of life +and, with a too early knowledge, crush out the sweet girlish +naturalness, even as a thoughtless foot crushes a tender flower while +still it is in the bud? + +And thinking thus, perhaps because of her weariness, perhaps because +of some chance word dropped by the girls as they talked of their +school and schoolmates, the woman went back again into her +Yesterdays--to the schoolmates of her Yesterdays. The world in which +she now lived and labored was forgotten. Forgotten were the worries +and troubles of her grown up life--forgotten the trials and +disappointments--forgotten the new friends, the uncongenial +acquaintances, the cruel knowledge, the heartless business--forgotten +everything of the present--all, all, was lost in a golden mist of the +long ago. + +The tall, graceful, girl holding to a strap at the forward end of the +car, in the woman's Yesterdays, lived just beyond the white church at +the corner. The dark haired, dark eyed, round faced one, she knew as +the minister's daughter. While the dainty, doll like, miss clinging to +her sturdier sister, in those days of long ago, was the woman's own +particular chum. And the girl with the yellow curls--the one with the +golden hair--the blue eyed, and the brown--the slender and the +stout--every one--belonged to the tired woman's Yesterdays--every one +she had known in the past and to each she gave a name. + +And then--as the woman, watching the young schoolgirls in the crowded +car, lived once again those days of the old schoolhouse on the hill +where, with her girl companions of the long ago, she sought the +beginnings of Knowledge--the boys came, too. Just as in the Yesterdays +they had come to take their places in the old schoolroom, they came, +now, to take their places in the woman's memory. + +There was the tall, thin, lad whose shoulders seemed, even in his +school days, to find the burden of life too heavy; and who wore always +on his face such a sad and solemn air that one was almost startled +when he laughed as though the parson had cracked a joke at a funeral. +The woman smiled as she remembered how his clothes were never known to +fit him. When his trousers were so short that they barely reached +below his knees his coat sleeves covered his hands and the skirts of +that garment almost swept the ground; but, when the trousers were +rolled up at the bottom and hung over his feet like huge bags, his +long, thin, arms showed, half way to his elbows, in a coat that was +too small to button about even his narrow chest. That boy never missed +his lessons, though, but when he learned them no one ever knew for he +seemed to be always drawing grotesque figures and funny faces on his +slate or whittling slyly on some curious toy when the teacher's back +was turned. He had no particular chum or crony. He was never a leader +but dared to follow the boldest. To the little boys and girls he was a +hero; to the older ones he was--"Slim." + +The woman, by chance, had met this old schoolmate, one day, in her +grown up world. In the editorial rooms of a large city daily he was +the chief, and she noticed that his clothing fitted him a little +better; that he was a little broader in the shoulders; a little larger +around the waist; his face was not quite so solemn and his eyes had a +more knowing look perhaps. But still--still--the woman could see that +he was, after all, the same old "Slim" and she fancied, with another +smile, that he often, still, whittled toys when the teacher's back was +turned. + +Then came the fat boy--"Stuffy." He, too, had another name which does +not matter. Always in the Yesterdays, as in the to-days, there is a +"Stuffy." "Stuffy" was evidently built to roll through life, pushed +gently by that special providence that seems to look after the affairs +of fat people. His teeth were white and even, his eyes of the deepest +blue, and his nose--what there was of it--was almost hidden by cheeks +that were as red and shiny as the apples he always carried in his +pocket. He was very generous with those same apples--was +"Stuffy"--though one was tempted to think that he shared his fruit not +so much from choice but rather because he disliked the hard work that +was sure to follow a refusal of the pressing invitation to "go +halvers." The woman fancied that she could see again the look of +mingled fun and fear, generosity and greed, that went over her +schoolmate's face as he saw the half of his eatable possessions pass +into the keeping of his companions. And then, as he watched the +tempting morsels disappear, the expression on his face would seem to +show a battle royal between his stomach and his heart, in that he +rejoiced to see the happiness of his friends, even while he coveted +that which gave them pleasure. She wondered where was "Stuffy" now? +She felt sure that he must live in a big house, and drive to and from +his place of business in a fine carriage, with fine horses and a +coachman in livery, and dine and wine his friends as often as he chose +with never a fear that he would run short of good things for himself. +She was quite sure, too, that he would suffer with severe attacks of +gout at times and would have four or five half grown daughters and a +wife of great ambition. Does he, she wondered, does he ever--in the +whirl and rush of business or in the excitement and pleasure of his +social life--does he ever go back to those other days? Does the grown +up "Stuffy" remember how once he traded marbles for candy or bought +sweet cakes with toys? + +And then, there was the boy with the freckled face and tangled hair, +whose nose seemed always trying to peep into his own mischief lighted +eyes as though wishing to see what new deviltry was breeding there: +and his crony, who never could learn the multiplication table, who was +forever swearing vengeance on the teacher, whose clothes were always +torn, and who carried frogs and little snakes in his pockets: and the +timid boys who always played in one corner of the yard by themselves +or with the girls or stood by and watched, with mingled admiration and +envy, the games and pranks of the bolder lads: and "Dummy"--poor +"Dummy"--the shining mark for every schoolboy trick and joke; with his +shock of yellow hair, his weak cross eyes, his sharp nose, thin lips, +and shambling, shuffling, shifting manner--poor "Dummy." + +And of course there was a bully, the Ishmael of the school, whom +everybody shunned and nobody liked; who fought the teacher and +frightened the little children; who chewed, and smoked, and swore, and +lied, and did everything bad that a boy could do. He had a few +followers, a very few, who joined him rather through fear than +admiration and not one of whom cared for or trusted him. The woman +remembered how this schoolboy face was sadly hard and cold and cruel, +as though, because he had gotten so little sunshine from life, his +heart was frozen over. She had read of him, in the grown up world, +receiving sentence for a dreadful crime, and, remembering his father +and mother, had wondered if his grandparents were like them and how +many generations before his birth his career of crime began. + +Again and again, the car had stopped to let people off but the woman +had not noticed. The schoolgirls, all but the tall one who had found a +seat, were gone. But the woman had not seen them go. + +And then, as she sat dreaming of the days long gone--as she saw again +the faces of her school day friends, one there was that stood out from +among them all. It was the face of the boy who lived next door--the +boy who had stood with her under the cherry tree; who had put a tiny +play ring of brass upon her finger; and who had kissed her with a kiss +that was somehow different. He was the hero of her Yesterdays as he +was the acknowledged chieftain of the school. No one could run so +fast, swim so far, dive so deep, or climb so high as he. No one could +throw him in wrestling or defeat him in boxing. He was their lord, +their leader, their boyish master and royally he ruled them all--his +willing subjects. He it was who stopped the runaway horse; who killed +the big snake; and who pulled the minister's little daughter from the +pond. It was he who planned the parties and the picnics; the sleigh +rides in winter and the berrying trips in summer. It was he whom the +girls all loved and the boys all worshiped--bold, handsome, daring, +dashing, careless, generous, leader of the Yesterdays. + +Again she saw his face lifted slyly from a spelling book to smile at +her across the aisle. Again she felt the rich, warm, color rush to her +cheeks as he took his seat, beside her on the recitation bench. Again +her eyes were dimmed with tears when he was punished for some broken +rule or shone with gladness when she heard his clear voice laughing +with his friends or calling to his mates and her. + +And once again, in the late afternoon, with him and with the other +boys and girls, she went down the road from the little schoolhouse in +the edge of the timber on the hill; her sunbonnet hanging by its +strings and her dinner basket on her arm. Onward, through the long +shadows that lay across their way, they went together, to pause at +last before the gate of her home, there to linger for a little, while +the others still went on. Farther and farther in the evening they +watched their schoolmates go--up the road past the house where he +lived--past the orchard and over the hill--until, in the distance, +they seemed to vanish into the sunset sky and she was left with him +alone. + +The conductor called the woman's street but she did not heed. The man +in uniform pulled the bell cord and, as the car stopped, called again, +looking toward her expectantly. But she did not notice. With a smile, +the man, who knew her, approached, and: "Beg your pardon Miss, but +here's your street." + +With blushing cheeks and confused manner, she stammered her thanks, +and hurried from the car amid the smiles of the passengers. And the +woman did not know how beautiful she was at that moment. She was +wondering: in the hungry hearted world--under all his ambition, plans, +and labor, with the knowledge that must have come to him also from +life--was his heart ever hungry too? + + + + + +IGNORANCE + +When the man had gained a little knowledge from the thing that he had +found to do and had wearied himself greatly trying to follow the +golden chain, link by link, to the very end, he came, then, to +understand the value of Ignorance. He came to see that success in +working out his dreams depended quite as much upon Ignorance as upon +Knowledge--that, indeed, to know the value of Ignorance is the highest +order of Knowledge. + +There are a great many things about this man's life that I do not +know. But that does not matter because most of the things about any +man's life are of little or no importance. That the man came to know +the value of Ignorance was a thing of vast importance to the man and, +therefore, is of importance to my story. Ignorance also is one of the +Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life but only those who have much +knowledge know its value. + +A wise Ignorance is rich soil from which the seeds of Knowledge will +bring forth fruit, a hundred fold. "I do not know": this is the +beginning and the end of wisdom. One who has never learned to say: "I +do not know," has not the A B C of education. He who professes to be +educated but will not confess Ignorance is intellectually condemned. + +A man who pretends to a knowledge which he has not is like a pygmy +wearing giant's clothing, ridiculous: but he who admits Ignorance is +like a strong knight, clothed in a well fitting suit of mail, ready to +achieve truth. + +When a man declares openly his ignorance concerning things of which he +knows but little, the world listens with increased respect when he +speaks of the thing he knows: but when a man claims knowledge of all +things, the world doubts mightily that he knows much of anything, and +accepts questioningly whatever he says of everything. + +That which a man does not know harms him not at all, neither does it +harm the world; but that which, through a shallow, foolish, +self-conceit, he professes to know, when he has at best only a half +knowledge, or, in a self destructive vanity, deceives himself into +thinking that he knows, betrays him always to the injury of both +himself and others. An honest Ignorance is a golden vessel, empty, +ready to be filled with wealth but a pretentious or arrogant knowledge +is a vessel so filled with worthless trash that there is no room for +that which is of value. + +The world is as full of things to know as it is full of hooks, No man +can hope to read all the books in the world. Selection is enforced by +necessity. So it is in Knowledge. One should not think that, because a +man is ignorant of some things, he is therefore a fool; his ignorance +may be the manifestation of a choice wiser than that of the one who +elects to sit in judgment upon him. + +With the passion to know fully aroused; with his mind fretting to +grapple with the problem of Life; and his purpose fired to solve the +riddle of time; the man succeeded in acquiring this: that he must dare +to know little. He came to understand that, while all knowable things +are for all mankind to know, no man can know them all; and that the +wisest men to whom the world pays highest tribute, are the wisest +because they have not attempted to know all, but, recognizing the +value of Ignorance, have dared to remain ignorant of much. +Intellectual giants they are; intellectual babes they are, also. The +man had thought that there was nothing that these men--these wise +ones--did not know. He came to understand that even _he_ knew +some things of which they were ignorant. So his determination to know +all things passed to a determination to know nothing of many things +that he might know more of the things that were most closely +associated with his life and work. He determined to know the most of +the things that, to him, were most vital. + +He saw also that he must work out his dreams within the circle of his +own limitations; and that his limitations were not the limitations of +his fellow workers; neither were their limitations his. He did not +know yet just where the outmost circle of his limitations lay but he +knew that it was there and that he must make no mistake when he came +to it. And this, too, is true: just to the degree that the man +recognized his limitations, the circle widened. + +Also the man came to understand that there are things knowable and +things unknowable. He came to see that truest wisdom is in this: for +one to spend well his strength on the knowable things and refuse to +dissipate his intellectual vigor upon the unknowable. Not until he +began really to know things was he conscious in any saving degree of +the unknowable. He saw that those who strive always with the +unknowable beat the air in vain and exhaust themselves in their +senseless folly. He saw that to concern oneself wholly with the +unknowable is to rob the world of the things in which are its life. To +meditate much upon the unknowable is an intellectual dissipation that +produces spiritual intoxication and often results in spiritual +delirium tremens. A habitual spiritual drunkard is a nuisance in the +world. The wisdom of Ignorance is in nothing more apparent than in a +clear recognition of the unknowable. + +And then the man came to regret knowing some of the things that he +knew. He came, in some things, to wish with all his heart that he had +Ignorance where he had Knowledge. He found that much of the time and +strength that he desired to spend in acquiring the knowledge that +would help him to work out his dreams, he must spend, instead, in +ridding himself of knowledge that he had already acquired. He learned +that to forget is quite as necessary as to remember and very often +much more difficult. Young he was, and strong he was, but, already, he +felt the dragging power of the things he would have been better for +not knowing--the things he desired to forget. They were very little +things in comparison to the things that in the future he would wish to +forget; but to him, at this time, they did not seem small. So it was +that, in his effort to acquire Knowledge, the man began to strive also +for Ignorance. + +I do not know what it was that the man had learned that he desired to +forget. My story is not the kind of a story that tells those things. I +know, only, that for him to forget was imperative. I know, only, that +had he held fast to Ignorance in some things of which he had gained +knowledge, it would have been better. For him in some things Ignorance +would have been the truest wisdom. Ignorance would have helped him to +work out his dreams when Knowledge only hindered by forcing him to +spend much time striving to forget. Those who know too much of evil +find it extremely difficult to gain knowledge of the good. Those who +know too much of the false find it very hard to recognize the true. A +too great knowledge of things that are wrong makes it almost +impossible for one to believe in that which is right. Ignorance, +rightly understood, is, indeed, one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things +of Life. + +And then this man, in learning the value of Ignorance, came perilously +near believing that no man could _know_ anything. He came +dangerously near the belief that Knowledge is all a mirage toward +which men journey hopelessly; a phantom to be grasped by no hand; a +will-o'-the-wisp to be followed here and there but leading nowhere. +He, for a little, said that Ignorance is the truest wisdom. He +believed, for a time, that to say always: "I do not know," is the +height of all intelligence. One by one, he saw his intellectual idols +fall in the dust of the commonplace. Little by little, he discovered +that the intellectual masters he had served were themselves only +servants. His intellectual Gods, he found to be men like himself. And +so, for a while, he said: "We can know nothing. We can only think that +we know. We can only pretend to know. There _is_ no real +Knowledge but only Ignorance. Ignorance should be exalted. In +Ignorance lies peace, contentment, happiness, and safety." Even of his +work--of his dreams he said this. He said: "It is no use." To the very +edge of this pit he came but he did not fall in. + +To accept the fact of the unknowable without losing his faith in the +knowable: to recognize the unknown without losing in the least his +grip upon the known: to find the Knowledge of Yesterday becoming the +Ignorance of to-day and still hold fast to the Knowledge of the +present; to watch his intellectual leaders dropping to the rear and to +follow as bravely those who were still in the front: to see his +intellectual heroes fall and his intellectual idols crumbling in the +dust and still to keep burning the fire of his enthusiasm: to find +Knowledge so often a curse and Ignorance a blessing and still to +desire Knowledge: all this, the man learned that he must do if he +would work out his dreams. That which saved the man from the pit of +hopeless disbelief in everything and helped him to a clear +understanding of Ignorance, was this: he went back again into his +Yesterdays. + +From sheltered fence corners and hidden woodland hollows, from the lee +of high banks, and along the hedge in the garden, the last worn and +ragged remnant of winter's garment was gone. The brook in the valley, +below the little girl's house, had broken the last of its fetters and +was rejoicing boisterously in its freedom. The meadow and pasture +lands showed the tender green of the first grass life. Pussy willow +buds were swelling and over the orchard and the wood a filmy veil of +summer color was dropped as though by fairy hands. In the cherry tree, +a pair of brown birds, just returning from their southern home, were +discussing the merits of the nearby hedge as a building site: the +madam bird insisting, as women will, that the beautiful traditions of +the spot made it, for home building, peculiarly desirable. It was a +well known fact, said she, that brown birds had builded there for no +one knows how many ages. Even in the far away city, the man felt the +season in the air. The reek of city odors could not altogether drown +the subtle perfume that betrayed the near presence of the spring. As +though the magic of the budding, sprouting, starting, time of the year +placed him under its spell, the man went back to the springtime of his +life--back into his Yesterdays. + +Once again, he walked under the clear skies of childhood. Once again, +he lived in the blessed, blessed, days when he had nothing to +forget--when his mind and life were as a mountain brook that, clear +and pure, from the spring of its birth runs ever onward, outward, +turning never back, pausing never to form stagnant, poisonous, pools. +And there it was--in his Yesterdays--in the pure sunlight of +childhood--that he found new intellectual faith--that he came to a +right understanding of the real wisdom of Ignorance. + +The intellectual giants of his Yesterdays--those wise ones upon whose +learning he looked with childish awe--who were they? Famous scholars +who lectured in caps and gowns and words of many syllables upon themes +of mighty interest to themselves? Students who, in their laboratory +worlds, discovered many wonderful things that were not so and solved +many puzzling problems with solutions that were right and entirely +satisfactory until the next graduating class discovered them to be all +wrong and no solution at all? Great religious leaders who were +supernaturally called, divinely commissioned, and armed with holy +authority to point out the true and only way of life until some other +with the same call, commission, and authority, pointed out a wholly +different true and only way? Great statesmen upon whose knowledge and +leadership the salvation of the nation depended, until the next +election discovered them to be foolish puppets of a dishonest and +corrupt party and put new leaders in their places to save the nation +with a new brand of political salvation, the chief value of which was +its newness? No indeed! Such as these were not the intellectual giants +of the man's Yesterdays. The heights of knowledge in those days were +held by others than these. + +One of the very highest peaks in the whole mountain range of learning, +in the Yesterdays, was held by the hired man. Again, at chore time, +the boy followed this wise one about the stables and the barn, +watching, from a safe position near the door, while the horses were +groomed and bedded down for the night. Again the pungent odors from +the stalls, the scent of the straw and the hay in the loft, the smell +of harness leather damp with sweat was in his nostrils and in his +ears, the soft swish of switching tails, the thud of stamping hoofs, +the contented munching of grain, the rustle of hay, with now and then +a low whinny or an angry squeal. And fearlessly to and fro in this +strange world moved the hired man. In and out among the horses he +passed, perfectly at home in the stalls, seeming to share the most +intimate secrets of the horse life. + +Everything that there was to know about a horse, confidently thought +the little boy, this wonderful man knew. The very language that he +used when talking about horses was a language full of strange, hard, +words, the meaning of which was hidden from the childish worshiper of +wisdom. Such words as "ringbone" and "spavin" and "heaves" and +"stringhalt" and "pastern" and "stifle" and "wethers" and "girth" and +"hock," to the boy, seemed to establish, beyond all question, the +intellectual greatness of the one who used them just as words of many +syllables sometimes fix for older children the position on the +intellectual heights of those who use them. "Chiaroscuro," +"cheiropterous," "eschatology," and the "unearned increment"--who, in +the common, every day, grown up, world, would dare question the +artistic, scientific, religious, or political, knowledge of one who +could talk like that? + +Nor did the intellectual strength of this wise one of the Yesterdays +exhaust itself with the scientific knowledge of horses. He was equally +at home in the co-ordinate sciences of cows and pigs and chickens. +Again the boy stood in the cow shed laboratory and watched, with +childish wonder, the demonstration of the master's superior wisdom as +the white streams poured into the tinkling milk pail. How did he do +it--wondered the boy--where did this wizard in overalls and hickory +shirt and tattered straw hat acquire his marvelous scientific skill? + +In the garden, the orchard, or the field, it was the same. No secret +of nature was hidden from this learned one. He knew whether potatoes +should be planted in the dark or light of the moon: whether next +winter would be "close" or "open": whether the coming season would be +"early" or "late": whether next summer would be "wet" or "dry." Always +he could tell, days ahead, whether it would rain or if the weather +would be fair. With a peach tree twig he could tell where to dig for +water. By many signs he could say whether luck would be good or bad. +Small wonder that the boy felt very ignorant, very humble, in the +presence of this wise one! + +Then, one day, the boy, to his amazement, learned that this wizard of +the barnyard knew nothing at all about fairies. Common, every day, +knowledge was this knowledge of fairies to the boy: but the wise one +knew nothing about them. So dense was his ignorance that he even +seemed to doubt and smiled an incredulous smile when the boy tried to +enlighten him. + +It was a great day in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that the +hired man did not know about fairies. + +As the years passed and the time approached when the boy was to become +a man, he learned the meaning of many words that were as strange to +the intellectual hero of his childhood as the language of that +companion of horses had once been strange to him. In time, much of the +knowledge of that barnyard sage became, to the boy, even as the boy's +knowledge of fairies had been to the man. Still--still--it was a great +day in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that the hired man did +not know about fairies. Perhaps, though, it was just as well that the +hired man did not know. If he had become too familiar with the +fairies, his potatoes might not have been planted either in the light +or the dark of the moon and the world's potatoes must be planted +somehow. + +Equally great in his special field of knowledge was the old, white +haired, negro who lived in a tiny cabin just a little way over the +hill. Strange and awful were the things that _he_ knew about the +fearsome, supernatural, creatures, that lived and moved in the unseen +world. Of "hants" and "spirits" and "witches" and "hoodoos" he told the +boy with such earnest confidence and so convincing a manner that to +doubt was impossible. In the unknowable world, the old negro moved +with authority unquestioned, with piety above criticism, with a +religious zeal of such warmth that the boy was often moved by the old +man's wisdom and goodness to go to him with offerings from mother's +pantry. + +And then, one day, the boy discovered that this wonderfully wise one +could neither read nor write. Everybody that the boy knew, in the +grown up world, could read and write. The boy himself could even read +"cat" and "rat" and "dog." Vaguely the boy wondered, even then, if the +old black saint's lack of those commonplace accomplishments accounted, +in any way, for his marvelous knowledge of the unseen world. + +And father--father--was the greatest, the wisest, and the best man +that ever lived. The boy wondered, sometimes, why the Bible did not +tell about his father. Surely, in all the world, there was no other +man so good as he. And, as for wisdom! There was nothing--nothing--that +father did not know! Always, when other men came to see them, +there was talk of such strange things as "government" and "party" +and "campaigns" and "senators" and "congressmen"--things that the boy +did not in the least know about--but he knew that his father knew, +which was quite enough, indeed, for a boy of his age to know. + +The boy, in his Yesterdays, wondered greatly when he heard his father +sometimes wish that he could be a boy again. To him, in the ignorance +of his childhood, such a wish was very strange. Not until the boy had +himself become a man and had learned to rightly value Ignorance did he +understand his father's wish and in his heart repeat it. + +But there was one in those Yesterdays, upon whose knowledge the boy +looked in admiring awe, who taught him that which he could never +outgrow. Very different from the wisdom of the hired man was the +wisdom of this one. Very different was his knowledge from the +knowledge of the old negro. Nor was his learning like, in any way, to +the learning that made the boy's father so good and so wise among men. + +But this leader did not often come openly to the boy's home. Always, +when his mother saw the boy in the company of this one, she called him +into the house, and often she explained to him that the one whom he so +admired was a bad boy and that she did not wish her little son to play +with him. So this intellectual leader of the Yesterdays was forced to +come, stealthily, through the orchard, dodging from tree to tree, +until, from behind the woodshed, he could, with a low whistle, attract +the attention of his admiring disciple and beckon him to his side. +Then the two would slip away over the brow of the hill or down behind +the barn where, safe from mother's watchful eye, the boy could enjoy +the companionship of this one whom Knowledge had so distinguished. + +And often the older boy laughed at the Ignorance of his younger +companion--laughed and sneered at him in the pride of superior +learning--while the little boy felt ashamed and, filled with +admiration for his forbidden friend, wondered if he would ever grow to +be as wise. Scarcely could he hope, for instance, to be able, ever, to +smoke and chew and swear in so masterful a way. And the little +learner's face would beam with timid adoration and envy as he listened +to the tales of wicked adventures so boastfully related by his +teacher. Would he, could he, ever be so bold, so wise in knowledge of +the world? + +Poor little boy in the Yesterdays who knew nothing of the value of +Ignorance! Poor boys in the grown up world--admiring and envying those +who know more of evil than themselves! + +So, always, secretly, the boy, as the years passed, gained the +knowledge that makes men wish that they could be boys again. So, +always, do men learn the value of Ignorance too late. + +And then, as the man lived again in his Yesterdays, and, realizing in +his manhood the value of Ignorance, wished that he could be a boy +again, the little girl came to take her place in his intellectual life +even as she took her place in all the life of his boyhood. Again he +saw her wondering eyes as she stood with him in the stable door to +watch the hired man among the horses. Again he felt her timid hand in +his as he led her to a place where, safe from horns and heels, they +could observe, together, the fascinating operation of milking. +Together they listened to the words of strange wisdom and marveled at +the knowledge of the barnyard scientist. + +All that the boy learned from the old negro, of the fearsome creatures +that inhabit the unseen world, he, in turn, gave to the little girl. +And sometimes she even went with him on a pilgrimage to the cabin over +the hill; there to gaze, half frightened, at the black-faced seer who +had such store of awful wisdom. + +The boy's pride in his father's superior goodness and wisdom she +shared fully--because he was the father of the boy. + +All the sweet lore of childhood was theirs in common. All the wise +Ignorance of his Yesterdays she shared. + +Only in the boy's forbidden friendship with that one who had such +knowledge of evil the little girl did not share. This knowledge--the +knowledge that was to go with him, even in his manhood years, and +which, at last, would teach him the real value of Ignorance--the boy +gained alone. Sadly, the man remembered how, sometimes, when the boy +had stolen away to drink at that first muddy fountain of evil, he +would hear her calling and would be held from answering by the jeers +of his wicked teacher. But never when he was playing with the little +girl did the boy answer the signal whistle of that one whose knowledge +he envied but of whose friendship he was ashamed. + +In his Yesterdays, the ignorance of his little girl mate was an anchor +that held the boy from drifting too far in the current of evil. In his +Yesterdays, the goodness and wisdom of his father was not a +will-o'-the-wisp but, to the boy, a steady guiding light. What +mattered, then, if the knowledge of the old negro _was_ but a +foolish mirage? What mattered if the hired man did _not_ know +about fairies or if he _did_ know so many things that were not +so? So it was that the man came to know the value of Ignorance. So it +was that the man did not fall into the pit of saying: "There is only +Ignorance." + +And so it was, as he returned again from his Yesterdays, that day when +even the reeking atmosphere of the city could not hide, altogether, +the sweetness of the spring, that the memory of the little girl was +with him even as the perfume of the season was in the air. + +* * * * * + +It was the time of the first flowers. + +The woman had been out, somewhere, on a business errand and was +returning to the place where she worked. A crowd had gathered, +blocking the sidewalk, and she was forced to stop. Quickly, as if by +magic, the people came running from all directions. The woman was +annoyed. Her destination was only a few doors away and she had much +work, still, to do before the remaining hours of the afternoon should +be gone. She could not cross the street without going back for the +traffic was very heavy. She faced about as if to retrace her steps, +then, paused and turned again. The street would be open in a moment. +It would be better to wait. Above the heads of the people she could +see, already, the helmets of the police clearing the sidewalk. Pushing +into the jam, she worked slowly forward. + +Clang, clang, clang, with a rattle and clatter and crash, a patrol +wagon swung up to the curb--so close that a spatter of mud from the +gutter fell on the woman's skirt. The wagon wheeled and backed. The +police formed a quick lane across the sidewalk. The crowd surged +forward and carried the woman close against the blue coated barrier. +Down the lane held by the officers of the law, so close to the woman +that she could have touched them, came two poor creatures who were not +ignorant of what is commonly called the world. They had seen life--so +the world would have said. They were wise. They had knowledge of many +things of which the woman, who shrank back from them in horror, knew +nothing. Their haggard, painted, faces, their disheveled hair, their +tawdry clothing, false jewels, and drunken blasphemies, drew a laugh +from the crowd. + +Upon the soul of the woman the laughter of the crowd fell like a demon +laugh from the depths of hell. Almost she shrieked aloud her protest. +Because she knew herself to be a woman, she almost shrieked aloud. + +It was over in an instant. The patrol wagon rumbled away with its +burden of woe. The crowd melted as magically as it had gathered. At +the entrance of the building where she worked, the woman turned to +look back, as though fascinated by the horror of that which she had +seen. But, upon the surface of that sea of life, there was not the +faintest ripple to mark the spot of the tragedy. + +And the crowd had laughed. + +The woman knew the character of that place so near the building in +which she worked. Several times, each day, she passed the swinging +doors of the saloon below and, always, she saw men going in and out. +Many times she had caught glimpses of the faces of those who occupied +the rooms above as they watched at the windows. When first she went to +work she had known little of such things, but she was learning. Not +because she wished to learn but because she could not help it. But the +knowledge of such things had come to her so gradually that she had +grown accustomed to knowing even as she came to know. She had become +familiar with the fact without being forced to feel. + +Perhaps, if the incident had occurred a few years later, when the +woman's knowledge was more complete, she, herself, might have been +able to laugh with the crowd. This knowledge that enables one so to +laugh is, seemingly, much prized these days among those who have not +the wisdom to value Ignorance. + +The afternoon passed, as such afternoons must, and the woman did her +work. What mattered the work that was being wrought in the soul of her +womanhood--the work committed to her hands--the work that refused to +recognize her womanhood--_that_ work was done--and that is all +that seems to matter. And, when her day's work was done, the woman +boarded a car for her home. + +It was an hour when many hundreds of toilers were going from their +labor. So many hundreds there were that the cars could scarcely hold +them and there were seats for only a few. Among those hundreds there +were many who were proud of their knowledge of life. There were not +many who knew the value of Ignorance. The woman who knew that she was +a woman was crowded in a car where there was scarcely room for her to +stand. She felt the rude touch of strangers--felt the bodies of +strange men forced against her body--felt their limbs crushed against +her limbs--felt their breath in her face--felt and trembled in +frightened shame. In that car, crowded close against the woman, there +were men whose knowledge of life was very great. By going to the +lowest depths of the city's shame, where the foulest dregs of humanity +settle, they had acquired that knowledge. + +At first the woman had dreaded those evening trips from work in the +crowded cars. But it was an everyday experience and she was becoming +accustomed to it. She was learning not to mind. That is the horror of +it--_she was learning not to mind._ + +But this night it was different. The heart of her womanhood shrank +within her trembling and afraid--cried out within her in protest at +the outrage. In the fetid atmosphere of the crowded car; in the rough +touch of the crushing bodies of sweating humanity; in the coarse, low, +jest; she felt again the demon that she had heard in the laughter of +the crowd. She saw again the horror of that which had leered at her +from out the disfigured, drunken, faces of the poor creatures taken by +the police. + +Must she--must she learn to laugh that laugh with the crowd? Must she +gain knowledge of the unclean, the vicious, the degrading things of +life by actual contact? Was it not enough for her to know that those +things were in the world as she knew that there was fever in the marsh +lands; or must she go in person into the muck and mire of the swamps? + +So it was that this woman, who knew herself to be a woman, did not +crave Knowledge, but Ignorance. She prayed to be kept from knowing too +much. And it was well for her so to pray. It was the highest wisdom. +Because she knew her womanhood, she was afraid. She feared for her +dream life that was to be beyond the old, old, door. She feared for +that one who, perhaps, would come to cross with her the threshold for +it was given this woman to know that only with one in whose purity of +life she believed could she ever enter into the life of her dreams. +The Master of Life, in His infinite wisdom, made the heart of +womanhood divinely selfish. This woman knew that her dreams could +never be for her save through her belief in the one who should ask her +to go with him through that old, old, door. And the things that the +woman found herself learning made it hard for her to believe in any +man. The knowledge that was forced upon her was breeding doubt and +distrust and denial of good. The realization of her womanhood's +beautiful dream was possible only through wise Ignorance. She must +fight to keep from learning too much. + +And in the woman's fight there was this to help her: in the crowd that +had laughed, her startled eyes had seen one or two who did not +laugh--one or two there were whose faces were filled with pity and +with shame. Always, in the crowded cars, there was some one who tried +quietly to shield her from the press--some one who seemed to +understand. It was this that helped. These men who knew the value of +Ignorance kept the spark of her faith in men alive. The faith, without +which her dreams would be idle dreams, impossible of fulfillment, was +kept for her by those men who knew the value of Ignorance. + +The woman went to her work the next morning with a heart that was +heavy with dread and nerves that were quivering with fear. The +brightness, the beauty, and the joy, of her womanhood, she felt to be +going from her as the sunshine goes under threatening clouds. The +blackness, the ugliness, and the sorrow, of life, she felt coming over +her as fog rolls in from the sea. The faith, trust, and hope, that is +the soul of womanhood was threatened by doubt, distrust, and despair. +The gentleness, sensitiveness, and delicacy, that is the heart of +womanhood was beset by coarseness, vulgarity, and rudeness. Could she +harden her woman heart, steel her woman nerves, and make coarse her +woman soul to withstand the things that she was forced to meet and +know? And if she could--what then--would she gain or lose thereby? For +the life of which she had dreamed, would she gain or lose? + +It was nearly noon when a voice at her side said: "You are ill!" + +It was a voice of authority but it was not at all unkind. + +Turning, she looked up into his face and stammered a feeble denial. +No, she was not ill. + +But the kind eyes looked down at her so searchingly, so gravely, that +her own eyes filled with tears. + +"Come, come," said the voice, "this won't do at all. You must not lose +your grip, you know. It will be all right to-morrow. Take the +afternoon off and get out into the fresh air." + +And something in his voice--something in his grave, steady, eyes--told +her--made her feel that he understood. It helped her to know that this +man of large affairs, of power and authority, understood. + +So, for that afternoon, she went to a park in a distant part of the +city to escape, for a few hours, the things that were crowding her too +closely. Near the entrance of the park, she met a gray haired +policeman who, looking at her keenly, smiled kindly and touched his +hat; then, before she had passed from sight, he turned to follow +leisurely the path that she had taken. Finding a quiet nook on the +bank of a little stream that was permitted to run undisturbed by the +wise makers of the park, the woman seated herself, while the +policeman, unobserved by her, paused not far away to watch a group of +children at play. + +[Illustration: The life that crowded her so closely drifted far, far +away.] + +Perhaps it was the blue sky, unstained by the city smoke: perhaps it +was the sunbeams that filtered through the leafy net-work of the trees +to fall in golden flakes and patches on the soft green: perhaps it was +the song that the little brook was singing as it went its merry way: +perhaps it was the twittering, chirping, presence of the feathery folk +who hopped and flitted so cheerily in and out among the shrubs and +flowers--whatever it was that brought it about, the life that crowded +her so closely drifted far, far, away. The city with its noisy clamor, +with its mad rush and unceasing turmoil, was gone. The world of +danger, and doubt, and fear, was forgotten. The woman lived again the +days that were gone. The sky so blue above her head was the sky that +arched her days of long ago. The sunshine that filtered through the +trees was the same golden wealth that enriched the days of her +childhood. The twittering, chirping, feathery, folk were telling the +same old stories. The little brook that went so merrily on its way was +singing a song of the Yesterdays. + +They were free days--those Yesterdays--free as the days of the +feathery folk who lived among the shrubs and flowers. There was none +of the knowledge that, with distrust and doubt and despair, shuts in +the soul. They were bright days--those Yesterdays--as bright as the +sunlight that out of a clear sky comes to glorify the world. There was +none of that dark and dreadful knowledge that shrouds the soul in +gloom. And they were glad days--those Yesterdays--glad with the +gladness of the singing brook. There was none of that knowledge that +stains and saddens the heart. + +The woman, sitting there so still by the little brook, did not notice +a well dressed man who was strolling slowly through the park. A little +way down the walk, the man turned, and again went slowly past the +place where the woman sat. Once more he turned and this time seated +himself where he could watch her. The man's face was not a good face. +For a little while he watched the woman, then rising, was starting +leisurely toward her when the gray haired policeman came suddenly into +view around a turn in the path. The officer did not hesitate; nor was +he smiling, now, as he stepped in front of the man. A few crisp words +he spoke, in a low tone, and pointed with his stick. There was no +reply. The fellow turned and slunk away while the guardian of the law, +with angry eyes, watched him out of sight, then turned to look toward +the woman. She had not noticed. The officer smiled and quietly +strolled on down the path. + +The woman had noticed neither the man nor her protector because she +was far, far, away in her Yesterdays. She did not heed the incident +because she was a little girl again, playing beside the brook that +came across the road and made its winding way through the field just +below the house. It was only a little brook, but beautifully clear and +fresh, for it had come only a short distance from its birth place in a +glen under the hill that she could see from her window. In some +places, the long meadow grass, growing close down to the edge, almost +touched above, making a cool, green, cradle arch through which the +pure waters flowed with soft whispers as though the baby stream were +crooning to itself a lullaby. In other stretches, the green willows +bent far over to dip their long, slim, fingers in the slow current +that crept so lazily through the flickering light and shade that it +seemed scarce to move at all. And other places there were, where the +streamlet chuckled and laughed over tiny pebbly bars in the sunlight +or gurgled past where flags and rushes grew. + +Again, with her dolls, the little girl played on the grassy bank; +washing their tiny garments in the clear water and hanging them on the +flags or willows to dry; resting often to listen to the fairy song the +water sang; or to whisper to the brook the secrets of her childhood +dreams. The drowsy air was full of the sweet, grassy, smell mingled +with the odor of mint and the perfume of the willows and flags and +warm moist earth. Gorgeous winged butterflies zigzagged here and there +from flower to flower--now near for a little--then far away. Honeybees +droned their hymns of industry the while they searched for sweet +treasures. And now and then a tiny green frog would come out of a +shadowy nook in the bank of the stream to see what the little girl was +doing; or a bird would drop from out the blue sky for a drink or a +bath in the pebbly shallows. And not far away--easily within +call--mother sat on the shady porch, with her sewing, where she could +watch over her little girl. + +Dear, innocent, sheltered, protected, Yesterdays--when mother told her +child all that was needful for her to know, and told her in a most +tender, beautiful, way. Dear, blessed, Yesterdays--when love did not +leave vice to teach the sacred truths of love--days that were days of +blissful Ignorance--not vicious Ignorance but ignorance of the +vicious. There was a wealth of Ignorance in those Yesterdays that is +of more worth to womanhood, by far, than much knowledge of the world. + +And often the boy would come, too, and, together, they would wade hand +in hand in the clear flood, mingling their shouts and laughter with +the music of their playmate brook, while the minnows darted to and fro +about their bare legs; or, they would build brave dams and bridges and +harbors with the bright stones; or, best of all, fashion and launch +the ships of childhood. + +Oh, childish ships of the Yesterdays! What precious cargoes they +carried! What priceless treasures they bore to the far away port of +dreams! + +The little brook was a safe stream for the boy and the girl to play +beside. Nor did they know, then, that their streamlet flowed on and on +until it joined the river; and that the river, in its course, led it +past great cities that poured into it the poisons and the filth of +their sewers, fouling its bright waters, until it was unfit for +children to play beside. + +They did not know, _then_--but the woman knew, _now_. + +And what--she thought as she came back from her Yesterdays--what of +the boy who had played with her beside the brook? He, too, must have +learned what happened to their brook. In learning, what had happened +to him--she wondered--and wondering, she was afraid. + +Because she was no longer ignorant, she was afraid for the mate of her +Yesterdays. Not that she thought over to meet him again. She did not +wish, now, to meet him for she was afraid. She would rather have him +as he was in her Yesterdays. + +Slowly the woman turned away from the quiet seat beside the brook. It +was time for her to go. + +Not far away, she passed the gray haired policeman, who again smiled +and touched his hat. + +Smiling in return she bade him: "Good afternoon." + +"Good afternoon, Miss," he said, still smiling gravely. "Come again, +Miss, when ye's want a breath of air that's pure and clean." + +May heaven bless, for the sweet sake of womanhood, all men who +understand. + + + + + +RELIGION + +It was springtime--blossoming time--mating time. The world was a riot +of color and perfume and song. + +Every twig that a few weeks before had been a bare, unsightly stick +was now a miracle of dainty beauty. From the creek, below the little +girl's house, the orchard hill appeared against the soft, blue, sky a +wonderous, cumulus, cloud of fleecy whiteness flushed with a glow of +delicate pink. The meadows and pastures were studded with stars of +gold and pearl, of ruby and amethyst and silver. The fairy hands that +had thrown over the wood a filmy veil of dainty color now dressed each +tree and bush in robes of royal fabric woven from many tints of +shimmering, shining, green. + +Through the amber light above new turned furrows; amid the jewel glint +of water in the sun; in the diamond sparkle of the morning; against +the changing opal skies of evening; the bees and all their winged kin +floated and darted, flashed and danced, and whirled, from flower to +flower and field to field, from blossom to blossom and tree to tree, +bearing their pollen messages of love and life while sweet voiced +birds, in their brightest plumage, burdened the perfumed air with the +passionate melody of their mating time. + +All nature seemed bursting with eager desire to evidence a Creator's +power. Every tint and color, every breath of perfume, every note of +music, every darting flight or whirling dance, was a call to life--a +challenge to love--an invitation to mate--a declaration of God. The +world throbbed and exulted with the passion of the Giver of Life. + +Life itself begat Religion. + +Not the least of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life is Religion. +Religion is an exaltation of Life or it is nothing. To exalt Life +truly is to be most truly religious. + +But the man, when he first awoke that morning, did not think of +Religion. His first thought was a thought of lazy gratitude that he +need not get up. It was Sunday. With a long sigh of sleepy content, he +turned toward the wall to escape the too bright light that, from the +open window, had awakened him and dozed again. + +It was Sunday. + +There are bitter cold, icy, snowy, Sundays in mid-winter when one hugs +the cheerless radiator and, shivering in chilly discomfort, wishes +that Sundays were months instead of days apart. There are stifling, +sticky, sweltering. Sundays in midsummer when one prays, if he can +pray at all, for the night to come. And there are blustering, rainy, +sleety, dismal, Sundays in the fall when the dead hours go in funeral +procession by and the world seems a gloomy tomb. But a Sunday in +blossoming time! That is different! The very milk wagons, as they +clattered, belated, down the street rattled a cheery note of +fellowship and good will. The long drawn call of the paper boy had in +it a hint of the joy of living. And the rumble of an occasional +passing cab came like a deep undertone of peace. + +The streets were nearly empty. The stores and offices, with closed +doors, were deserted and still. A solitary policeman on the corner +appeared to be meditating, indifferent to his surroundings. The few +pedestrians to be seen moved leisurely and appeared as though in a +mood for reflective thought and quiet interest in the welfare of their +fellows. The hurrying, scrambling, jostling, rushing crowd; the +clanging, crashing, roaring turmoil; the racking madness, the fierce +confusion, the cruel selfishness of the week day world was as a +dreadful dream in the night. In the hard fought battle of life, the +world had called a truce, testifying thus to the place and power of +Religion. + +This is not to say that the world professes Religion; but it _is_ +to say that Religion possesses the world. In a thousand, thousand, +forms, Religion possesses the world. In thoughts, in deeds, in +words--in song and picture and story--in customs and laws and +industries--in society, state, and school--in all of the Thirteen +Truly Great Things of Life, Religion makes itself manifest and +declares its power over men. If one proclaim himself without Religion +then is its power made known in that one's peculiarity. If Religion +did not possess the world, to scorn it would mark no one as different +from his fellows, And this, too, is true: so imperial is the fact of +Religion, that he who would deny it is forced to believe so firmly in +his disbelief that he accepts the very thing he rejects, disguised in +a dress of his own making, and thus bows down in worship before a God +of his own creation. + +To many, Sunday is a day of labor. To many others, it is a day of +roistering and debauch. To some, it is a day of idleness and +thoughtless pleasure. To some, it is a day of devotion and worship. +But still, I say, that, whatever men, as individuals, may do with the +day, the deserted streets, the silent stores, the closed banks, the +empty offices, evidence that, to the world, this day is not as other +days and give recognition--not to creeds and doctrines of warring +sects indeed--but, to Religion. + +Again the man awoke. Coming slowly out of his sleep and turning +leisurely in his bed he looked through the open window at the day. And +still he did not think of Religion. + +Leisurely he arose and, after his bath, shaved himself with particular +care. With particular care he dressed, not in the garb of every day, +but in fresher, newer, raiment. Thus did he, even as the world, give +unthinking testimony to the power and place of Religion. + +Later, when the church bells sent their sweet voiced invitations +ringing over the city, the man went to church. He did not go to church +because he was a religious man nor because he was in a religious mood; +he went because it was his habit to go occasionally. Even as most men +sometimes go to church, so this man went. Nor did he, as a member of +any religious organization, feel it his duty to go. He went as he had +always gone--as thousands of others who, like himself, in habit of +dress and manner were giving unconscious testimony to the power of +Religion in the world, went, that day, to some place of public +worship. + +The streets of the city were now well filled with people. Yesterday, +these same people, in the same streets, had rushed along with anxious, +eager, strained, expressions upon their faces that told of nerves +tense, minds intent, and bodies alert, in the battle they waged for +daily bread, for gain, and for all the things that are held by men to +be worth the struggle. To-morrow, these same people would again lose +themselves in the fierce and strenuous effort of their lives. But +to-day, they walked leisurely; they spoke calmly; they thought coolly; +they had time to notice each other; to greet each other, to smile, to +shake each others' hands. There were many children, too, who, dressed +in their Sunday clothes, with clean faces and subdued manners, even as +their parents, evidenced the power of Religion in the life of +humankind. And, even as their parents, the children knew it not. They +did not recognize the power of Religion in their lives. + +The man did not think of the meaning of these things; though he felt +it, perhaps, somewhat as he felt the warm life of the sun filled air: +he sensed it, perhaps, as he sensed the beauty of the morning. He did +not realize, then, how, in his Dreams, Religion had subtly manifested +itself. He did not realize, that, in his Occupation, he was, every +day, revealing the influence of Religion in his life. He had seen +Religion but dimly when he had thought to follow the golden chain of +Knowledge, link by link, to its hidden end. Dimly had he seen it when +he was learning the value of Ignorance. And yet, in all of these +things it had been even as it would be in all the things that were yet +to come. No man can escape Religion. Man may escape particular forms +of Religion, indeed, but Religion itself he cannot escape. + +With many others the man entered a church. An usher gravely led him to +a seat. I do not know what church it was to which the man went that +morning nor does it, for my story, matter that I do not know. My story +is not of churches nor of sects nor of creeds. This is my story: that +the man came to realize in his life the power of Religion. + +It may have been the beauty of the morning that did it; it may have +been that the week just past was unusually hard and trying and that +the day of rest, therefore, was more than usual, needed: or, perhaps, +it was because the man had learned that he could never follow the +golden chain of Knowledge to its hidden end and had come to know the +value of Ignorance for Religion walks ever close to both Knowledge and +Ignorance, hand in hand with each; whatever it was that brought it +about, the man, that Sunday, came to realize the power of Religion in +the world and in his own manhood life. + +It was very quiet in the church but it was not a sad quietness. The +people moved softly and, when they spoke at all, spoke in whispers but +there was no feeling of death in the air; rather was there a feeling +of life--a feeling of life, too, that was very unlike the feeling of +life in a crowded place of business or amusement. The sweet, +plaintively pleading, tones of the organ trembled in the air. The +glorious sunshine came through the stained glass windows softened and +subdued. Here and there heads were bowed. The people became very +still. And, in the stillness, the man felt strongly the spirit of the +day and place. The organ tones increased in volume. The choir filed +in. The preacher entered. The congregation arose to sing an old +triumphant hymn. + +The man did not sing, but, as he listened to the music and followed +the words of the hymn, he smiled. The people were singing about +unknowable things--of streets of gold and gates of pearl--of crowns +and harps and the throne of God. + +All his life, the man had known that hymn but he had never before +thought of it just as he thought of it that morning. He looked about +at the people who were singing. Who were they? Uneducated, +irresponsible, fanatical dreamers of no place or importance in the +week day world? No indeed! They were educated, responsible, practical, +hard headed, clear brained, people of power and influence--and--the +man smiled again--they were singing about unknowable things. For the +first time in his life, the man wondered at the strangeness of it all. + +When the minister prayed, the man listened as he had never listened to +a prayer before. He felt baffled and bewildered as though he had +wandered into a strange land, among strange people, of whose customs +he was ignorant, and whose language he could neither speak nor +understand. Who was this man who seemed on such familiar terms with +the Infinite? Upon what did he base his assurance that the wealth of +blessings he asked for himself and his people would be granted or even +heard? Had he more than finite mind that he could know the Infinite? + +The sermon that followed was largely a sermon about unknowable things. +It was full of beautiful, helpful, thoughts about things that it was +impossible for anyone to really know anything about. Very familiar +were the things that the minister said that morning. Since his +childhood, the man had heard them over and over many times; but he had +never before thought of them in just that way. + +The sermon was finished and the beautifully mysterious and impressive +words of the benediction were spoken as the people stood with bowed +heads, hushed and still. Again the deep tones of the organ trembled in +the air as the crowd poured forth from the building into the street. + +The man was thoughtful and troubled. He felt as one, who, meeting an +old friend after many years, finds him changed beyond recognition. He +was as one visiting, after years of absence, his old home to find the +familiar landmarks all gone with the years. He was sadly conscious +that something had gone out of his life--that something exceedingly +precious had been taken away from him and that it could never be +replaced. + +Seriously, sadly, the man asked himself: must his belief in Religion +go as his faith in fairies had gone? Was Religion, after all, but a +beautiful game played by the grown up world, even as children play? +And if, indeed, his faith must go because songs and prayers and +sermons have to do so largely with unknowable things, what of the +spirit of the world expressed in the day that is so set apart from all +other days? Sunday is a fact knowable enough. And the atmosphere of +the church is another fact as knowable as the atmosphere of a race +track, a foundry, or a political convention. And the fruits of +Religion in the lives of men--these are as clearly knowable as the +fruits of drunkenness, or gambling, or licentiousness. The man was as +sure of the fruits of Religion as he was sure that the sun was +shining--that the day, so warm and bright, was unlike the cold, hard, +stormy, days of winter. And still--and still--the songs and prayers +and sermons about unknowable things--must his belief in Religion go as +his faith in fairies had gone? + +Unknowable things? Yes--as unknowable as that mysterious something +that colors the trees and plants and flowers with tints of infinite +shadings--as unknowable as that which puts the flavor in the peach, +the strength in the corn, the perfume in the rose--as unknowable as +the awful force that reveals itself in the lightning flash or speaks +in the rolling thunder--as unknowable as the mysterious hand that +holds the compass needle to the north and swings the star worlds far +beyond the farthest reach of the boasting eye of Science. Unknowable? +Yes--as unknowable as that which lies safe hidden behind the most +commonplace facts of life--as unknowable indeed, as Life itself. + +"Nature," said the man, in answer to himself, and smiled at the +foolishness of his own answer. Is nature then so knowable? Are all her +laws revealed; all her secrets known; all her ways understood; all her +mysteries made clear? Do the wise men, after all, know more of nature +than they do of God? Do they know more of earth than of heaven? Do +they know more of a man's mind than they do of his soul? And yet--and +yet--does one refuse to live because he cannot understand the mystery +of life? Does one deny the earth because the secrets of Mature are +unknowable? Does one refuse to think because thoughts are not material +things--because no one has ever seen a thought to say from whence it +came or whither it went? + +Disbelief demands a knowledge as exact as that demanded by belief. To +deny the unknowable is as impossible as to affirm it. If it be true +that man knows too much to believe in miracles these days, it is just +as true that he does not know enough to disbelieve in them. And, after +all, there is no reason why anyone should believe in miracles; neither +is there any reason why one should disbelieve in them. + +Every altar is an altar to an unknown God. But man does not refuse to +believe in bread because he cannot understand the mystery of the wheat +field. One believes in a garden, not because he knows how, from the +same soil, water, and air, Nature produces strawberries, potatoes, +sweet corn, tomatoes, or lettuce, but because fresh vegetables are +good. The hungry man neither believes nor disbelieves but sits down to +the table and, if he be a right minded man, gives thanks to the God of +gardens who, in ways so unknowable, gives such knowable gifts to man. + +Nor was the man, at this time, able to distinguish clearly between +Religion and the things that men have piled about and hung upon +Religion. Therefore was he troubled about his waning belief and +worried because of his growing doubt. He did not wish to doubt; he +wished to believe. + +In all these many years, through intellectual pride or selfish +ambition, because of an earnest but mistaken purpose to make clear, or +in a pious zeal to emphasize, men have been piling things about and +hanging things upon Religion; and, always, they have insisted that +this vast accumulation of things _is_ Religion. + +These things that men have hung upon Religion are no more a part of +Religion than the ivy that grows upon the stone wall of a fortress is +a part of the nation's defensive strength. These things that men have +piled about Religion belong to it no more than a pile of trash dumped +at the foot of a cliff belongs to the everlasting hills. But these +traditions and customs of men, with their ever multiplying confusions +of doctrines and creeds and sects, beautiful as they are, hide +Religion even as the ivy hides the wall. Even as the accumulated trash +of the ages piled at the foot of the cliff is of interest to the +archaeologist and the seeker after curious junk, so these things that +men have piled about Religion are of interest. But the observer, in +admiration of the ivy, is in danger of ignoring the stern reality of +the fortress. The curious digger in the pile of trash, if his interest +be great, heeds not the grandeur of the cliff that towers above his +head. + +That afternoon the man went for a long walk. He wished to think out, +if he could, the things that troubled him. + +Without plan on his part, his walk led toward a quarter of the city +where he had never been before and where he came at last to an old +cemetery. The ancient iron gates, between their vine clad columns of +stone, were invitingly open and within the enclosure were great trees +that locked their green arms above the silent, grass grown, graves as +though in sheltering kindness for the dead. Tempted by the beauty of +the place the man entered, and, in the deep shade of the old trees, +screened from the road by their mossy trunks, found a seat. Here and +there, among the old graves under the trees, a few people moved +slowly; pausing often to decipher the inscriptions upon the leaning +and fallen tombstones. So old was that ancient burying place that +there was left among the living no one to keep the flowers upon the +graves and visitors came only from idle curiosity. + +And it was so, that, as the man sat there under the quiet old trees, +the graves with their leaning and fallen tombstones, or, perhaps, the +day itself, led his mind back to those companion graves that marked +the passing of his boyhood--back to father and mother and to their +religion--back to the religion of his Yesterdays. And the week of toil +and strife, of struggle and of storm, slipped far, far, away. The +disturbing questions, the doubt and the uncertainty of the morning, +raised as the fogs lift to leave the landscape clear. + +It was such a little way from the boy's home to the church that, when +the weather was fine, they always walked. And surely no day could have +been finer than that Sunday to which the man went back. As the boy, +all washed and combed and dressed in his Sunday best, sat on the big +gate post waiting for his father and mother, it seemed to him that +every living thing about the place knew what day it was. In the +pasture across the road, the horses, leisurely cropping the new grass, +paused often to lift their heads and look about with an air of kindly +interest in things to which they would have given no heed at all had +they been in week day harness. And one old gray, finding an inviting +spot, lay down to roll--got up--and, because it felt so good, lay down +again upon his other side; and then, as if regretting that he had no +more sides to rub, stretched himself out with such a huge sigh of +content that the boy on the gate post laughed; whereat the horse +raised his head and looked at him as though to say: "Little boy, don't +you know that it is Sunday?" Under the big elm, in the corner of the +pasture, the cows stood, with half closed eyes, chewing their cuds +with an air of pious meditation. The hens strolled sedately about +singing solemnly: ca-w-w, ca-w-w, ca-w-w, and the old red rooster, +standing on tiptoe, flapped his wings as if to crow then checked +himself suddenly and looked around as if to say: "Bless me, I nearly +forgot what day it is!" Then the clear, mellow, tones of the church +bell floated across the little valley and the boy's parents came out +of the house. The dog, stretched at full length on the porch, lifted +his head but did not offer to follow. He, too, seemed to know, thought +the boy as he climbed down from the post to walk soberly away with his +parents. + +Before they reached the lower end of the garden, the little girl with +her mother and uncle came out of their house and, at the gate, waited +for them while the little girl waved her hand in greeting. Then the +two men and the two women walked on ahead and, as the boy and girl +followed, the boy, looking shyly at his companion, saw the sunlight on +her soft, brown, hair that was so prettily arranged with a blue +ribbon--saw the merry eyes under the broad brim of her best hat--saw +the flushed, softly rounded, cheek with the dimple, the curve of the +red lips, and the dainty chin--saw her dress so clean and white and +starched--saw and wondered if the angels in heaven could be more +beautiful than this little girl. + +So they went, that Sunday, down the hill, across the creek, and up the +gentle slope beyond, until they came to the cross roads where the +white church stood under the old elm and maple trees. Already there +were many teams standing under the sheds or tied to the hitch racks +along the side of the road. And by the roads that led away in four +directions, through the fields and meadows and pastures of the farms, +other country folk were coming from their homes and their labors to +worship the God of seedtime and harvest. + +There were no ushers in that church of the Yesterdays for there would +be no strangers save those who would come with their friends; but the +preacher himself was at the door to greet his people or was moving +here and there among them, asking with care for the absent ones. +Neither was there a great organ to fill the air with its trembling +tones; but, at the humble instrument that served as well, the mother +of the little girl presided, while the boy's father led the country +choir. And the sunlight of that Sunday streamed through the open +windows, softened only by the delicate traceries of gently waving +branches and softly rustling leaves. + +And in the songs and prayers and sermons of that worship in the +Yesterdays, the boy heard the same unknowable things that the man had +heard that morning in the city church. Among those people, the boy +felt stirring the same spirit that had moved the man. The old preacher +was long ago resting in the cemetery on the hill, with the boy's +parents, the mother of the little girl, and many, many, others of his +flock. A new and more modern minister would be giving, now, to the +children of that old congregation, the newest and most modern things +that theologians do not know about Religion. But the same old spirit +would be there still; doing the same work for the glory of the race. +And the boy in the Yesterdays, as he listened to the songs and prayers +and sermons, had wondered in his heart about the things he heard--even +as the man, he had asked himself many unanswerable questions... But +there had been no doubt in the questions of the boy. There had been no +disbelief in his wonder. Because the girl's mother played the +organ--because the boy's father sang in the choir--because his mother +and the little girl were there beside him--the boy believed that which +he could not understand. + +"By their fruits"--it is a text as good for grown up children as for +boys and girls. + +What the preachers say about Religion matters little after all. It is +the fathers and mothers and the little girls who keep the faith of the +world alive. The _words_ of those sermons and prayers and songs +in his Yesterdays would go with the boy no farther than the church +door; but that which was in the hearts of those who sang and preached +and prayed--that which song and sermon and prayer attempted but could +not express--_that_ would go with the boy through all the years +of his life. From _that_ the man could never get wholly away. It +became as much a part of him as his love for his parents was a part. + +When church and Sunday school were over the boy went home to the +miracle of the Sunday dinner. And, even as the unknowable things upon +the Sunday dinner table contributed to his manhood's physical strength +and health, so the things expressed by the day that is set apart from +all other days contributed to that strength of manhood that is more +vital than the strength of bone and muscle and nerve and sinew. In the +book wherein it is written: "Man shall not live by bread alone," it is +written, also: "Except ye become as little children." + +Slowly the man arose. Slowly and regretfully he turned to leave his +place under the great trees that, in the solemn, quiet, twilight of +the old cemetery, locked their arms protectingly above the dead. + +"Except ye become as little children." + +Must men in Religion be always trying to grow up? Are the wisest and +the greatest among scholars nearer the secrets of the unknowable +power, that, through Religion, possesses the world, than the +unthinking children are? As the man in the late afternoon went out +through the ancient iron gates, between the vine covered columns of +stone, he knew that his belief in Religion would not go as his faith +in fairies had gone. Because of those companion graves and all that +they meant to him--because of the little girl in his Yesterdays--his +faith in Religion would not go. + +* * * * * + +The woman, alone in her room, sat at the open window looking out over +the city. The long, spring, Sunday was drawing to its close. Above the +roofs of the houses across the street, above the towering stories of +the buildings in the down town districts, above factory chimneys, +church steeples, temple dome, and cathedral spire, she saw the evening +sky light with the glory of the passing day. Over a triumphant arch in +the west, through which the sun had gone, a mighty cloud curtain of +purple was draped, fold on fold, all laced and looped with silver and +edged with scarlet flame. Above the curtain, far flung across the wide +sky, banners of rose and crimson and gold flashed and gleamed; while, +marching in serried ranks, following the pathway of the sun, went +innumerable thousands of cloud soldiers in their uniforms of light. +Slowly the procession passed--the gleaming banners vanished--the +marching armies disappeared--the curtain in the west was drawn close. +The woman at the window watched until the last of the light was gone +and, in the still sky above, the stars hung motionless. Like a +benediction, the sweet mystery of twilight had come upon the land. +Like a softly breathed blessing from heaven, the night had come. + +Because of the experience through which she had passed in the week +just gone, that day, dedicated to Religion, had held for the woman a +new meaning. + +Looking into the darkness that hid the city from her eyes she +shuddered. There were so many there to whom the night came not as a +blessing, but as a curse. Out there, in the soft darkness into which +the woman looked, dreadful crimes were being committed, horrid deeds +were being planned. Out there, in the quiet night, wretched poverty, +gaunt pain, and loathsome disease were pulling down their victims. Out +there, in the blackness, hideous licentiousness, beastly passion, +debasing pleasure were stalking their prey. Out there, murderers of +souls were lying in wait; robbers of hearts were creeping stealthily; +slayers of purity were watching; killers of innocence were lurking. To +the woman at the window, that night, the twinkling lights of the city +were as beacon fires on the outskirts of hell. + +And to-morrow--to-morrow--she must go down into that hell. All that +was there in the darkness, she must see, she must know, she must feel. +All those things of evil would be watching her, crowding her, touching +her, hungering for her; placing pitfalls in her way; longing for her +to slip; waiting for her to fall; testing her, trying her, always +ready with a damnable readiness; always hoping with a hellish hope. +Into that she must go--even into that--this woman, who knew herself to +be a woman, must go. + +And what--what--of her dreams? Could she, she asked herself that +night, could she go into that life, day after day, and still have a +heart left for dreaming? Against the unclean strength that threatened +her, where would she find the strength to keep her womanhood pure and +strong for the holy mission of womanhood? + +Clear and sweet from out the darkness of the night came the sound of a +bell. Then another, and another, and another, until, from every +quarter of the city, their music came, as though in answer to her +question. Some, near at hand, rang loud, triumphant, peals as though +rejoicing over victories already won; others, farther away, in softer +tones, seemed to promise strength for present need; while still +others, in more distant places, sounding soft and far away, seemed to +gently warn, to beckon, to call, to plead. Lifting her tear filled +eyes from the lights of the streets the woman looked at the stars, +and, so looking, saw, lifting into the sky, the church spires of the +city. + +In a little, the music of the bells ceased. But the woman, at the +window, sat still with her face upturned to the stars. + +Gone, now, were the city lights that to her had seemed as beacon fires +on the outskirts of hell. Gone, now, the horrors of that life to which +night comes not as a benediction. Gone, now, her fears for her dreams. +The woman lived again a Sunday evening in her Yesterdays. + +It may have been the flaming glory of the sky; it may have been the +music of the bells; it may have been the stars--whatever it was--the +woman went again into the long ago. Once again she went back into her +Yesterdays--to a Sunday evening in her Yesterdays. + +The little girl was on the front porch of her home with mother. The +sun was going down behind the great trees in the old churchyard at the +cross roads while, across the valley, the voice of the bell was +calling the people to evening worship. And, with the ringing of the +bell, the boy and his mother came to sit with them while the men were +gone to church. + +Then, while the mothers, seated in their easy chairs, talked in low +tones, the boy and the girl, side by side, on the steps of the porch, +watched the light go out of the sky and tried to count the stars as +they came. As the twilight deepened, the elms in the pasture across +the road, the maples along the drive, and the willows down by the +creek, became shadowy and indistinct. From the orchard, an owl sent +forth his quavering call and was answered by his mate from the roof of +the barn. Down in the shadow of the little valley, a whip-poor-will +cried plaintively, and, now and then, a bat came darting out of the +dusk on swift and silent wings. And there, in the darkness across the +valley, shone the single light of the church. The children gave up +trying to count the stars and grew very still, as, together, they +watched the lights of the church. Then one of the mothers laughed, a +low happy laugh, and the children began telling each other about God. + +Many things the boy and the girl told each other about God. And who is +there to say that the things they told were not just as true as many +things that older children tell? Though, I suppose, as the boy and +girl did not quarrel or become angry with each other that Sunday +evening, their talk about God could scarcely be considered orthodox. +Their service under the stars was not at all regular, I know. With +childish awe and reverence--with hushed voices--they only told each +other about God. They did not discuss theology--they were not church +members--they were only children. + +Then, by and by, the father and uncle came, and, with his parents, the +boy went home, calling through the dark, as he went, many good +nights--each call sounding fainter and farther away. And, when she +could neither hear nor make him hear more, the little girl went with +her mother into the house, where, when she was ready for bed, she +knelt to pray that old familiar prayer of the Yesterdays--forgetting +not in her prayer to ask God to bless and keep the boy. + +Oh, childish prayers of the Yesterdays! Made in the strength of a +childish faith, what power divine is in them to keep the race from +death! Oh, childish understanding of God, deep grounded in that wisdom +to which scholars can never attain! Does the Master of Life still set +little children among His disciples in vain? + +The woman no longer feared that which lay in the darkness of the city. +She knew, now, that she would have strength to keep the treasures of +her womanhood safe for him should he come to lead her into the life of +her dreams. She knew, now, what it was that would help her--that would +enable her to keep that which Life had committed to her. + +As she turned from the window, strength and peace were in her heart. +As she knelt beside her bed to pray, her prayer was that prayer of her +Yesterdays. The prayer of a child it was--the prayer of a woman who +knows that she is a woman it was also. + + + + + +TRADITION + +It was summer time--growing time. + +The children of the little brown birds that had nested in the hedge +near the cherry tree, that year, were flying now, quite easily, away +from their little brown mother's counsel and advice. Even to the top +of the orchard hill, they went in search of brave adventure, rejoicing +recklessly in their freedom. But, for the parent birds, the ties of +the home in the hedge were still strong. And, every day, they examined +with experienced eyes the cherries, that, on the near by tree, were +fast nearing ripening time. + +With every gesture expressing more clearly than any spoken word his +state of mind, the man jerked down the top of his desk, slammed the +door, jabbed the elevator bell, and strode grimly out of the building. + +The man's anger was not one of those flash like bursts of wrath, that, +passing as quickly as they come, leave the sky as clear as though no +storm had crossed it. Nor was it the slow kindling, determined, anger, +that, directed against a definite object, burns with steady purpose. +It was rather that sullen, hopeless, helpless rage, that, finding +nothing to vent itself upon, endures even while recognizing that its +endurance is in vain. It was the anger of a captive, wild thing +against the steel bars of its cage, which, after months of effort, it +has found too strong. It was the anger of an explorer against the +impassable crags and cliffs of a mountain range that bars his path. It +was the anger of a blind man against the darkness that will not lift. + +The man's work demanded freedom and the man was not free. In his +dreams, at the beginning of his manhood, he had thought himself free +to work out his dreams. He had said to himself: "Alone, in my own +strength, I will work. Depending upon no man, I will be independent. +Limited only by myself, I will be free." He said this because he did +not, then, know the strength of the bars. He had not, at that time, +seen the mountain range. He had not faced the darkness that would not +lift. Difficulties, hardships, obstacles, dangers, he had expected to +face, and, in his strength, to overcome. But the greatest difficulty, +the severest hardship, the most trying obstacle, the gravest danger, +he had not foreseen. + +Little by little, as the days and months had passed and the man had +made progress in his work, this thing had made itself felt. Little by +little, this thing had forced itself upon him until, at last, he was +made to realize the fact that he was not independent of but dependent +upon all men. He found that he was limited not alone by himself but by +others. He understood, now, that he was not free to work out his +dreams. He saw, now, that the thing most difficult to overcome--the +thing that forbade his progress and refused him freedom--was +Tradition. On every side he met this: "It has never been done; it, +therefore, can never be done. The fathers of our fathers believed +this, therefore we must believe it. This has always been, therefore +this must always be. Others do this, think this, believe this, +therefore you must so do and think and believe." The man found, that, +beyond a point which others could see, others denied him the right to +go. The established customs and habits of others fixed the limit of +the progress he could make with the approval of the world. + +At first he had laughed--secure in his own strength, he had laughed +contemptuously. But that was because he did not then realize the power +of this thing. Later he did not laugh. He became angry with a sullen, +hopeless, helpless, rage that accomplished nothing--that could +accomplish nothing--but only weakened the man himself. As one shut in +a cell exhausts himself beating against the walls, so he wearied +himself. + +Not until he was in the full swing of his work had this thing come +upon him in force. At the beginning of his manhood life, when, in the +strength of his first manhood dreams he had looked out upon the world +as a conquering emperor upon the field of a coming battle, he had not +seen this thing. When he was crying out to the world for something to +do this thing had not made itself felt. Not until he had made +noticeable progress--not until he was in the full swing of his +work--did he find himself forced to reckon with what others had done +or said or thought or believed. + +And never had the man felt his own strength as he felt it now when +face to face with this thing against which his strength seemed so +helpless. If only he could have freedom! He asked nothing but that. As +in the beginning he had asked of the world only room and something to +do, he asked now only for freedom to do. And the world granted him the +freedom of the child who is permitted to play in the yard but must not +go outside the fence. He was free to do his work--to play out his +dreams--only so far as the established customs and fixed +habits--Tradition--willed. "Beyond the fence that shuts in the +familiar home ground," said the world, "you must not go. If you dare +climb over the fence--if you dare go out of the yard," said the world, +"I will punish you--I will ridicule you, condemn you, persecute you, +ostracize you. I will brand you false, a self-seeker, a pretender, a +charlatan, a trickster, a rogue. I will cry you unsafe, dangerous, a +menace to society and the race, an evil to all that is good, an +unspeakable fool. Stay in the yard," said the world, "and you may do +what you like." + +Even in matters of personal habits and taste, the man found that he +was not free. In his dress; in the things he ate and drank; in his +pleasures; in the books he read, the plays he attended, the pictures +he saw, the music he heard, he found that he was expected to obey the +mandates of the world--he found that he was expected to conform to +Tradition--to the established customs and habits of others. In +religion, in politics, in society, in literature, in art--as in his +work--the world said: "Don't go outside the yard." + +I do not know what work it was that the man was trying to do. It does +not matter what his work was. But this I know: in every work that man, +since the beginning, has tried to do, man has been hindered as this +man was hindered--man has been denied as this man was denied, freedom. +Tradition has always blocked the wheels of progress. The world has +moved ahead always in spite of the world. Just as the world has always +crucified its saviors, so, always, it has hindered and held back its +leaders. + +And this, too, I know: after the savior is crucified, those who nail +him to the cross accept his teaching. While the world hinders and +holds back its leaders, it always follows them. + +But the man did not think of this that day when he left the scene of +his labor in such anger. He thought only of that which he was trying +to do. When he went back to his work, the next day, he was still angry +and with his anger, now, came discontent, doubt, and fear, to cloud +his vision, to clog his brain and weaken his heart. + +A friend, at lunch, said: "You look fagged, knocked out, done up, old +man. You've been pegging away too long and too steadily. Why don't you +let up for awhile? Lay off for a week or two. Take a vacation." + +Again and again, that hot, weary, afternoon, the words of the man's +friend came back to him until, by evening, he was considering the +suggestion seriously. "Why not?" he asked himself. He was +accomplishing little or nothing in his present mood. Why not accept +the friendly advice? Perhaps--when he came back--perhaps, he could +again laugh at the world that denied him freedom. + +So he came to considering places and plans. And, as he considered, +there was before him, growing always clearer as he looked, the scenes +of his boyhood--the old home of his childhood--the place of his +Yesterdays. There were many places of interest and pleasure to which +the man might go, but, among them all, there was no place so +attractive as the place of his Yesterdays. There was nothing he so +wished to do as this: to go back to the old home and there to be, for +a little while, as nearly as a man could be, a boy again. + +If the man had thought about it, he would have seen in this desire to +spend his vacation at the old home something of the same force that so +angered him by hindering his work. But the man did not think about it. +He wrote a letter to see if he might spend two weeks with the people +who were living in the house where he was born and, when the answer +came assuring him a welcome, quickly made his arrangements to go. + +With boyish eagerness, he was at the depot a full half hour before the +time for his train. While he waited, he watched the crowd, feeling an +interest in the people who came and went in the never ending +profession that he had not felt since that day when he had first come +to the city to work out his dreams among men. In the human tide that +ebbed and flowed through this world gateway, he saw men of wealth and +men of poverty--people of culture and position who had come or were +going in Pullman or private cars and illiterate, stupid, animal +looking, emigrants who were crowded, much like cattle, in the lowest +class. There were business men of large affairs; countrymen with +wondering faces; shallow, pleasure seekers; artists and scholars; idle +fools; vicious sharks watching for victims; mothers with flocks of +children clinging to their skirts; working girls and business women; +chattering, laughing, schoolgirls; and wretched creatures of the +outcast life--all these and many more. + +And, as he watched, perhaps because he was on his vacation, perhaps +because of something in his heart awakened by the fact that he was +going to his boyhood home, the man felt, as he had never felt before, +his kinship with them all. With wealth and poverty, with culture and +illiteracy, with pleasure and crime, with sadness and joy, as +evidenced in the lives of those who passed in the crowd, the man felt +a sympathy and understanding that was strangely new. And, more than +this, he saw that each was kin to the other. He saw that, in spite of +the wide gulf that separated the individuals in the throng, there was +a something that held them all together--there was a force that +influenced all alike--there was a something common to all. In spite of +the warring elements of society; in spite of the clashing forces of +business; in spite of the conflicting claims of industry represented +in the throng; the man recognized a brotherhood, a oneness, a kinship, +that held all together. And he felt this with a strange feeling that +he had always known that it was there but had never recognized it +before. + +The man did not realize that this was so because he was not thinking +of the people in their relation to his work. He did not know, that, +because his heart and mind were intent upon the things of his +Yesterdays, he saw the world in this new light. He did not, then, +understand that the force which hindered and hampered him in his +work--that denied him the full freedom he demanded--was the same force +that he now felt holding the people together. Even as they all, +whether traveling in Pullman, private car, or emigrant train, passed +over the same rails, so they all, in whatever class they traveled on +the road of Life, were guided by the Traditions--the established +customs--the fixed habits--that are common to their race or nation. +And the strength of a people, as a people, is in this oneness--this +force that makes them one--the Traditions and customs and habits of +life that are common to all. It is the fences of the family dooryards +that hold the children of men together and make the people of a race +or nation one. + +So it was that the man, knowing it not, left his work behind and went, +for strength and rest, back to the scenes of his Yesterdays in +obedience to the command of the very thing that, in his work, had +stirred him to such rage. For what, after all, are Traditions and +customs and habits but a going back into the Yesterdays. + +As the train left the city farther and farther behind, the man's +thoughts kept pace with the fast flying wheels that were bearing him +back to the scenes of his childhood. From the present, he retraced his +steps to that day when he had dreamed his first manhood dreams and to +those hard days when he was asking of the world only something to do. +As, step by step, he followed his way back, incidents, events, +experiences, people, appeared, even as from the car window he caught +glimpses of the whirling landscape, until at last he saw, across the +fields and meadows familiar to his childhood, the buildings of the old +home, the house where the little girl had lived, the old church, and +the orchard hill where he had sat that day when the smoke of a distant +train moving toward the city became to him a banner leading to the +battle front. Then the long whistle announced the station. Eagerly the +man collected his things and, before the train had come to a full +stop, swung himself to the depot platform where he was met by his +kindly host. + +As they drove past the fields and pastures, so quiet after the noisy +city, the man grew very still. Past the little white church among its +old trees at the cross roads; down the hill and across the creek; and +slowly up the other side of the valley they went: then past the house +where the little girl had lived; and so turned in, at last, to the +home of that boy in the Yesterdays. And surely it was no discredit to +the man that, when they left him alone in his old room to prepare for +the evening meal, he scarce could see for tears. + +Scenes of childhood! Memories of the old home! Recollections of the +dear ones that are gone! No more can man escape these things of the +Yesterdays than he can avoid the things of to-day. No more can man +deny the past than he can deny the present. Tradition is to men as a +governor to an engine; without its controlling power the race would +speed quickly to its own destruction. One of the Thirteen Truly Great +Things of Life is Tradition. + +For two happy, healthful, restful, strengthening, inspiring weeks, the +man lived, so far as a man can live, in his Yesterdays. In the cool +shade of the orchard that once was an enchanted wood; under the old +apple tree ship beside the meadow sea; on the hill where, astride his +rail fence war horse, the boy had directed the battle and led the +desperate charge and where the man had dreamed the first of his +manhood dreams; in the garden where the castaway had lived on his +desert island; in the yard near mother's window where the boy had +builded the brave play house for the little girl next door; in the +valley, below where the little girl lived, beside the brook that in +its young life ran so pure and clear; at the old school house in the +edge of the timber; in the ancient cemetery, beside the companion +graves; through the woods and fields and pastures; beside the old mill +pond with its covered bridge; the man lived again those days of the +long ago. + +But, in the places of his Yesterdays, the man found, already, many +changes. The houses and buildings were a little more weather-beaten, +with many of the boards in the porch floors and steps showing decay. +The trees in the orchard were older and more gnarled with here and +there gaps in their ranks. The fences showed many repairs. The little +schoolhouse was almost shabby and, with the wood cleared away, looked +naked and alone. The church, too, was in need of a fresh coat of +white. And there were many new graves in the cemetery on the hill. As +time had wrought changes in the man himself, even so had it altered +the scenes of his boyhood. Always, in men and in things, time works +changes. + +But it is not the changes wrought by time that harms. These come as +the ripening of the fruit upon the tree. It is the sudden, violent, +transformations that men are ever seeking to make, both in things and +in themselves, that menace the ripening life of the race. It is well, +indeed, for the world to hold fast to its Traditions. It is well to +cling wisely to the past. + +Nor did the man live again in his Yesterdays alone. He could not. +Always, she was there--his boyhood mate--the little girl who lived +next door. + +But the opening in the hedge that, at the lower end of the garden, +separated the boy's home from the home of the little girl, was closed. +Long and carefully the man searched; smiling, the while, at a foolish +wish in his heart that time would leave that little gate of the +Yesterdays always open. But the ever growing branches had woven a +thick barrier across the green archway hiding it so securely that, to +the man, no sign was left to mark where it had been. + +With that foolish regret still in his heart, the man asked, quite +casually, of the people who were living in the house if they knew +aught about his playmate of the Yesterdays. + +They could tell him very little; only that she lived in a city some +distance from his present home. What she was doing; whether married or +alone; they could not say. + +And the man, as he stood, with bared head, under the cherry tree in +the corner near the hedge, told himself that he was glad that the +people could tell him nothing. In his busy, grown up, life there was +no room for a woman. In his battle with the things that challenged his +advance, he must be free to fight. It was better for him that the +little girl lived only in his Yesterdays. The little girl who had +helped him play out his boyhood dreams must not hinder him while he +worked out the dreams of his manhood. That is what the man told +himself as he stood, with bared head, under the cherry tree. With the +memory of that play wedding and that kiss in his heart, he told +himself _that_! + +I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if men should chance to +discover how foolish they really are. + +No doubt, the man reflected--watching the pair of brown birds as they +inspected the ripening cherries--no doubt she has long ago forgotten +those childish vows. Perhaps, in the grown up world, she has even +taken new and more binding vows. Would he ever, he wondered, meet one +with whom he could make those vows again? Once he had met one with +whom he thought he wished to make them but he knew, now, that he had +been mistaken. And he knew, too, that it was well that he had found +his mistake in time. Somehow, as he stood there again under the cherry +tree, the making of such vows seemed to the man more holy, more +sacred, than they had ever seemed before. Would he dare--He wondered. +Was there, in all the world, a woman with whom he could--The man +shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Yes, indeed, it was much +better that she lived only in his Yesterdays. And still--still--in the +man's heart there was regret that Time had closed that gateway of his +Yesterdays. + +And often, in the twilight of those evenings, after a day of wandering +about the place, visiting old scenes, or talking with the long time +friends of his people, the man would recall the traditions of his +family; hearing again the tales his father would tell by the winter +fireside or listening to the stories that his mother would relate on a +Sunday or a stormy afternoon. Brave tales they were--brave tales and +true stories of the man's forbears who had lived when the country was +young and who had played no small part in the nation's building. And, +as he recalled these traditions of his people, the man's heart +thrilled with loyal pride while he determined strongly to keep the +splendid record clean. As a sacred heritage, he would receive these +traditions. As a holy duty he would be true to that which had been. + +Reluctantly, but with renewed strength and courage, when the time came +for his going, the man set his face away from his Yesterdays--set it +again toward his work--toward the working out of his dreams. And, as +he went, there was for the thing that checked his progress something +more than anger--for the thing that forced him to go slowly there was +patience. + +Standing on the rear platform, as his train moved slowly away past an +incoming train that had just pulled onto a siding, the man saw the +neighbor who lived next door to his old home drive hurriedly up. The +man in the carriage waved his hand and the man on the moving train, +answering in like manner, wondered idly what had brought the neighbor +there. Surely he had not come to bid one who was almost a stranger +good-bye. And, strangely enough, as the man watched from the window +for a last view of the scenes of his Yesterdays, there was in his +heart, again, regret that the little opening in the hedge was closed. + +* * * * * + +The city was sweltering in a summer heat wave. The sun shone through a +dingy pall of vile smoke with a sickly, yellow, glare. From the +pavement and gutter, wet by the sprinkling wagons, in a vain effort to +lay the dust, a sticky, stinking, steam lifted, filling the nostrils +and laving the face with a combination of every filthy odor. The +atmosphere fairly reeked with the smell of sweating animals, +perspiring humanity, rotting garbage, and vile sewage. And, in the +midst of the hot filth, the people moved with languid, feeble manner; +their faces worn and pallid; their eyes dull and weary; their voices +thin and fretful. + +The woman's heart was faint with the weight of suffering that she was +helpless to relieve. Her quivering nerves shrieked with the horror of +conditions that she could not change. Her brain ached with +contemplation of the cruel necessity that tortured humankind. Her very +soul was sick with the hopelessness of the gasping, choking, +struggling, multitude who, in their poverty and blindness, toiled to +preserve their lives of sorrow and pain and sought relief from their +labors in pleasures more horrible and destructive, by far, than the +slavery to which they gave themselves for the means to pay. + +The woman was tired--very tired. Heart and nerves and brain and soul +and body were tired with a weariness that, it seemed to her, would +never pass. She was tired of the life into which she had gone because +it was the custom of the age and because of her necessity--the life +into which she had not wished to go because it denied her womanhood. +Because she knew herself to be a woman, she felt that she was being +robbed of the things of her womanhood. The brightness and beauty, the +strength and joyousness of her womanhood were, by her, held as sacred +trusts to be kept for her children and, through them, for the race. +She wearied of the struggle to keep the things of her womanhood from +the world that was taking them from her--that put a price upon +them--that used them as thoughtlessly as it uses the stone and metal +and wood that it takes from the earth. She was tired of the horrid +life that crowded her so closely--that crushed itself against her in +the crowded cars--that leered into her face on the street--that +reached out for her from every side--that hungered for her with a +fierce hunger and longed for her with a damnable, fiendish, longing. +She was faint and weak from contact with the loathsome things that she +was forced to know and that would leave their mark upon her womanhood +as surely as the touch of pitch defiles. And she was weary, so weary, +waiting for that one with whom she could cross the threshold of the +old, old, open door. + +Little time was left to her, now, for thought and preparation for the +life of which she had dreamed. Little heart was left to her, now, for +dreaming. Little courage was left for hope. But still her dreams +lived. Still she waited. Still, at times, she hoped. + +But the thing that most of all wearied the woman, who knew that she +was a woman, was this: the restless, discontented, dissatisfied, +uneasy, spirit of the age that, scorning Tradition in a shallow, silly +pride, struggles for and seems to value only that which is new +regardless of the value of the thing itself. The new in dress, +regardless of beauty or fitness in the costume--the new in thought, +regardless of the saneness of the thinking--the new in customs and +manner of living--the new in the home, in marriage relation, in the +education and rearing of children--new philosophy, new science, new +religion, new art, new music, new books, new cooking, new women--it +sometimes appears that the crime of crimes, the most degrading +disgrace, these days, is to be held old-fashioned, behind-the-times, +out-of-date, and that everything, _everything_, not new is +old-fashioned--everything not of the times is +behind-the-times--everything not down-to-date is out-of-date. + +Patriotism, love of country, is old, very old, and is also--or +therefore--quite out-of-date. To speak or write of patriotism, +seriously, or to consider it a factor in life--to live it, depend upon +it, or appeal to it, is to be considered very strange and sadly +old-fashioned. The modern, down-to-date, age considers seriously not +patriotism but "graft" and "price" and "boodle." These are the modern +forces by which the nation is said to be governed; these are the means +by which the nation strives to go ahead. To talk only of these things, +to believe only in these things, to live only these things, is to be +modern and down--low down--to-date. To work from any motive but the +making of money is to be queerly behind-the-times. To write a book or +paint a picture or sing a song, to preach a sermon, to do anything for +any reason under heaven but for cash marks you a fanatic and a fool. +To believe, even, that anyone does anything save for the money there +is in it stamps you simple and unsophisticated, indeed. To profess +such belief, save you put your tongue in your cheek, marks you +peculiar. + +Long, long, ago mankind put its best strength, its best thought, its +best life, into its works, without regard for the price, simply +because it was its work. And the work so wrought in those queer +old-fashioned days has most curiously endured. There is little danger +that much of our modern, down-to-date work will endure for the very +simple reason that we do not want it to endure. "The world wants +something new." Down-to-date-ism does not want its work to last longer +than the dollar it brings. Never fear, the world is getting something +new! But, though we have grown so bravely away from those queer, +old-fashioned days we have not succeeded yet in growing altogether +away from the works that those old-fashioned days produced. But, +patience, old world--patience--down-to-date-ism may, in time, +accomplish even this. + +In those old, old, times, too, it was the fashion for men and women to +mate in love. In love, they planned and builded their homes. In love, +they brought forth children and reared them, with queer, old-fashioned +notions about marriage, to serve the race. In those times, now so +sadly old and out-of-date, men planned and labored for homes and +children and women were home makers and mothers. But the world is now +far from those ancient ways and out-of-date ideals. Marriage has +little to do with home making these modern days. It has almost nothing +to do with children. We have, in our down-to-date-ism, come to be a +nation of childless wives and homeless husbands. We are dwellers in +flats, apartments, hotels, where children would be in the way but dogs +are welcome if only they be useless dogs. We live in houses that are +always for sale or rent. It is our proud boast that we possess nothing +that is not on the market for a price. The thought of selling a home +is not painful for we do not know, the value of a home. We have, for +convenience, to gratify our modern, down-to-date, ever changing +tastes, popularized the divorce court as though a husband or wife of +more than three seasons is old-fashioned and should be discarded for +one of a newer pattern, more in harmony with our modern ideals of +marriage. + +From the down-to-date--the all-the-way-down-to-date woman, I mean--one +gains new and modern ideas of the service that womankind is to render +to the race. Almost it is as though God did not know what he was about +when he made woman. To place a home above a club; a nursery above the +public platform; a fireside above politics; the prattle of children +above newspaper notoriety; the love of boys and girls above the +excitement of social conquest; the work of bearing strong men and true +women for the glory of the race above the near intellectual pursuits +and the attainments of a shallow thinking; all this is to be sadly +old-fashioned. All this is so behind-the-times that one must confess +such shocking taste with all humiliation. + +I hereby beg pardon of the down-to-date powers that be, and most +humbly pray that they will graciously forgive my boorishness. I assure +you that, after all, I am not so benighted that I do not realize how +seriously babies would interfere in the affairs of those down-to-date +women who are elevating the race. By all means let the race be +elevated though it perish, childless, in the process. Very soon, now, +womanhood itself will be out-of-date for the world, in this also, +seems to be evolving something new. + +So the woman, who knew herself to be a woman, most of all, was tired +of things new and longed, deep in her heart, for the old, old, things +that were built into the very foundation of the race and that no +amount of gilding and trimming and ornamenting can ever cover up or +hide; and no amount of disregarding or ignoring can do away with; lest +indeed the race perish from the earth. + +"And when do you take your vacation?" asked a fellow worker as they +were leaving the building after the day's work. + +"Not until the last of the month," returned the woman wearily. "And +you?" + +"Me, oh, I must go Monday! And it's such a shame! I've just received a +charming invitation for two weeks later but no one cares to exchange +time with me. No one, you see, can go on such short notice. I don't +suppose that you--" she paused suggestively. + +"I will exchange time with you," said the woman simply. + +"Will you really? Now, that _is_ clever of you! Are you +_sure_ that you don't mind?" + +"Indeed, I will be glad to get away earlier." + +"But can you get ready to go so soon?" + +The woman smiled. "I shall do very little getting ready." + +The other looked at her musingly. "No, I suppose not, you are so queer +that way. Seems to me I can't find time enough to make new things. One +just _must_ keep up, you know." + +"It is settled then?" asked the woman, at the corner where they +parted. + +"It will be so good of you," murmured the other. + +The woman had many invitations to spend her brief vacation with +friends, but, that night, she wrote a letter to the people who lived +in her old home and asked if they would take her for two weeks, +requesting that they telegraph their answer. When the message came, +she wired them to meet her and went by the first train. + +At the old home station, her train took a siding at the upper end of +the yards to let the outgoing express pass. From the window where she +sat the woman saw a tall man, dressed in a business suit of quiet +gray, standing on the rear platform of the slowly moving outbound +train and waving his hand to someone on the depot platform. Just a +glimpse she had of him before he passed from sight as her own train +moved ahead to stop at the depot where she was greeted by her host. +Not until they were driving toward her old home did the woman know who +it was that she had seen. + +The woman was interested in all that the people had to tell about her +old playmate and asked not a few questions but she was glad that he +had not known of her coming. She was glad that he was gone. The man +and the woman were strangers and the woman did not wish to meet a +stranger. The boy lived, for her, only in her Yesterdays and the woman +told herself that she was glad because she feared that the man, if she +met him, would rob her of the boy. She feared that he would be like so +many that she had been forced to know in the world that denied her +womanhood. She had determined to be for two weeks, as far as it is +possible for a woman to be, just a girl again and she wanted no +company other than the little boy who lived only in the long ago. + +As soon as supper was over she retired to her room--to the little room +that had been hers in her childhood--where, before lighting the lamp, +she sat for awhile at the open window looking out into the night, +breathing long and deep of the pure air that was sweetly perfumed with +the odor of the meadows and fields. In the brooding quiet; in the soft +night sounds; in the fragrant breeze that gently touched her hair; she +felt the old, old, forces of life calling to her womanhood and felt +her womanhood stir in answer. For a long time she sat there giving +free rein to the thoughts and longings that, in her city life, she was +forced to suppress. + +Rising at last, as though with quick resolution, she lighted her lamp +and prepared for bed; loosening her hair and deftly arranging the +beautiful, shining, mass that fell over her shoulders in a long braid. +Then, smiling as she would have smiled at the play of a child, she +knelt before her trunk and, taking something from its depth, quickly +put out the light again and once more seated herself in a low rocking +chair by the open window. + +Had there been any one to see, they would not have understood. Who is +there, indeed, to understand the heart of womanhood? The woman, +sitting in the dark before the window in that room so full of the +memories of her childhood, held close in her arms an ancient doll +whose face had been washed so many times by its little mother that it +was but a smudge of paint. + +That night the woman slept as a child sleeps after a long, busy, +happy, childhood day--slept to open her eyes in the morning while the +birds in the trees outside her window were heralding the coming of the +sun. Rising she looked and saw the sky glorious with the light of +dawning day. Flaming streamers of purple and scarlet and silver +floated high over the buildings and trees next door. The last of the +pale stars sank into the ocean of blue and, from behind the old +orchard above the house where the boy lived, long shafts of golden +light shot up as if aimed by some heavenly archer hiding behind the +hill. + +When the day was fully come, the woman quickly dressed and went out +into the yard. The grass was dew drenched and fragrant under her feet. +The flowers were fresh and inviting. But she did not pause until, out +in the garden, at the farther corner, close by the hedge, she stood +under the cherry tree--sacred cathedral of her Yesterdays. + +When she turned again to go back to the house, the woman's face was +shining with the light that glows only in the faces of those women who +know that they are women and who dream the dreams of womanhood. + +So the woman spent her days. Down in the little valley by the brook, +that, as it ran over the pebbly bars, drifted in the flickering light +and shade of the willows, slipped between the green banks, or crept +softly beneath the grassy arch, sang its song of the Yesterdays: up in +the orchard beyond the neighboring house where so many, many, times +she had helped the boy play out his dreams; on the porch, in the soft +twilight, watching the stars as they blossomed above while up from the +dusky shadows in the valley below came the call of the whip-poor-will +and the bats on silent wings flitted to and fro; out in the garden +under the cherry tree in the corner near the hedge--in all the loved +haunts of the boy and girl--she spent her days. + +And the tired look went out of her eyes. Strength returned to her +weary body, courage to her heart, and calmness to her over-wrought +nerves. Amid those scenes of her Yesterdays she was made ready to go +back to the world that values so highly things that are new, and, in +the strength of the old, old, things to keep the dreams of her +womanhood. And, as she went, there was that in her face that all men +love to see in the face of womankind. + +Poor old world! Someday, perhaps, it will awake from its feverish +dream to find that God made some things in the heart of the race too +big to be outgrown. + + + + + +TEMPTATION + +The heights of Life are fortified. They are guarded by narrow passes +where the world must go single file and where, if one slip from the +trail, he falls into chasms of awful depths; by cliffs of apparent +impassable abruptness which, if in scaling, one lose his head he is +lost; and by false trails that seem to promise easy going but lead in +the wrong direction. Not in careless ease are those higher levels +gained. The upward climb is one of strenuous effort, of desperate +struggle, of hazardous risk. Only those who prove themselves fit may +gain the top. + +Somewhere in the life of every man there is a testing time. There is a +trial to prove of what metal he is made. There is a point which, won +or lost, makes him winner or loser in the game. There is a Temptation +that to him is vital. + +To pray: "Lead us not into temptation," is divine wisdom for +Temptation lies in wait. There is no need to seek it. And, when once +it is met, there is no dodging the issue or shifting the burden of +responsibility. In the greatest gifts that men possess are the seeds +which, if grown and cultivated, yield poisonous fruit. In the very +forces that men use for greatest good are the elements of their own +destruction. And, whatever the guise in which Temptation comes, the +tempter is always the same--Self. Temptation spells always the mastery +of or the surrender to one's self. + +Once I stood on a mighty cliff with the ocean at my feet. Ear below, +the waves broke with a soothing murmur that scarce could reach my ears +and the gray gulls were playing here and there like shadows of half +forgotten dreams. In the distance, the fishing boats rolled lazily on +the gentle swell and the sunlight danced upon the surface of the sea. +Then, as I looked, on the far horizon the storm chieftain gathered his +clans for war. I saw the red banners flashing. I watched the hurried +movements of the dark and threatening ranks. I heard the rumbling +tread of the tramping feet. And, like airy messengers sent to warn me, +the gusts of wind came racing and wailed and sobbed about the cliff +because I would not heed their warning. The startled boats in the +offing spread their white wings and scurried to the shelter of their +harbor nests. The gray gulls vanished. The sunlight danced no more +upon the surface of the sea. And then, as the battle front rolled +above my head, the billows, lashed to fury by the wind and flinging in +the air the foam of their own madness, came rushing on to try their +strength against the grim and silent rock. Again and again they hurled +their giant forms upon the cliff, until the roar of the surf below +drowned even the thunder in the clouds above and the solid earth +trembled with the shock, but their very strength was their ruin and +they were dashed in impotent spray from the stalwart object of their +assault. And at last, when the hours of the struggle were over; when +the storm soldiers had marched on to their haunts behind the hills; +when the gulls had returned to their sports; and the sun shone again +on the waters; I saw the bosom of the ocean rise and fall like the +breast of an angry child exhausted with its passion while the cliff, +standing stern and silent, seemed to look, with mingled pride and +pity, upon its foe now moaning at its feet. + +Like that cliff, I say, is the soul of a man who, in temptation, gains +the mastery of himself. The storm clouds of life may gather darkly +over his head but he shall not tremble. The lightning of the world's +wrath and the thunder of man's disapproval shall not move him. The +waves of passion that so try the strength of men shall be dashed in +impotent spray from his stalwart might. And when, at last, the storms +of life are over--when the sun shines again on the waters as it shone +before the fight began--he shall still stand, calm and unmoved, master +of himself and men. + +Because those things are true, I say: that Temptation is one of the +Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. + +And the man knew these things--knew them as well as you know them. In +the full knowledge of these things he came to his testing time. To win +or to lose, in the full knowledge of all that victory or defeat meant +to him, he went to his Temptation. + +It was early winter when his time came but he knew that first morning +after he had returned from his vacation that it was coming. The moment +he entered the room to take up again the task of putting his dreams +into action, he saw her and felt her power for she was one of those +women who compel recognition of their sex as the full noonday sun +compels recognition of its light and heat. + +An hour later her duties brought her to him, and, for a few moments, +they stood face to face. And the man, while he instructed her in the +work that she was to do, felt the strength of her power even as a +strong swimmer feels the current of the stream. Through her eyes, in +her voice, in her presence, this woman challenged the man, made him +more conscious of her than of his work. The subtle, insinuating, +luring, strength of her beat upon him, enveloped him, thrilled him. As +she turned to go back to her place, his eyes followed her and he knew +that he was approaching a great crisis in his life. He knew that soon +or late he would be forced into a battle with himself and that +tremendous stakes would be at issue. He knew that victory would give +him increased power, larger capacity, and a firmer grip upon the +enduring principles of life or defeat would make of him a slave, with +enfeebled spirit, humiliated and ashamed. + +Every day, in the weeks that followed, the man was forced to see +her--to talk with her--to feel her strength. And every day he felt +himself carried irresistibly onward toward the testing that he knew +must come. He was conscious, too, that the woman, also, knew and +understood and that it pleased her so to use her power. She willed +that he should feel her presence. In a thousand subtle forms she +repeated her challenge. In ways varied without number she called to +him, lured him, led him. To do this seemed a necessity to her. She was +one of those women whose natures seem to demand this expression of +themselves. Instinctively, she made all men with whom she came in +contact feel her power and, instinctively--unconsciously, perhaps--she +gloried in her strength. + +If the man could have had other things in common with her it would +have been different. If there had been, as well, the appeal of the +intellect--of the spirit--if the beauty of her had been to him an +expression of something more than her sex--if there had been ideals, +hopes, longings, fears, even sorrow or regret, common to both, it +would have been different. But there was nothing. Often the man sought +to find something more but there was nothing. So he permitted himself +to be carried onward by a current against which, when the time should +come, he knew he would need to fight with all his might. And always, +as the current swept him onward toward the point where he must make +the decisive struggle, he felt the woman's power over him growing ever +greater. + +At last it came. + +It was Saturday. The man left the place where he worked earlier than +usual that he might walk to his rooms for he felt the need of physical +action. He felt a strong desire to run, to leap, to use his splendid +muscles that throbbed and exulted with such vigorous life. As he +strode along the streets, beyond the business district, he held his +head high, he looked full into the faces of the people he met with a +bold challenging look. The cool, bracing air, of early winter was +grateful on his glowing skin and he drank long deep breaths of it as +one would drink an invigorating tonic. Every nerve and fiber of him +was keenly, gloriously, alive with the strength of his splendid +manhood. Every nerve and fiber of him was conscious of her and exulted +in that which he had seen in her eyes when she had told him that she +would be at home that evening and that she would be glad to have him +call. With all his senses abnormally alert, he saw and noted +everything about him. A thousand trivial, commonly unseen things, +along his way and in the faces, dress, and manner, of the people whom +he met, caught his eye. Yet, always, vividly before him, was the face +of her whose power he had felt. Under it all, he was conscious that +this was his testing time. He _knew_--or it would have been no +Temptation--it would have been no trial. Impatiently he glanced at his +watch and, as he neared the place where he lived, quickened his +stride, springing up the steps of the house at last with a burst of +eager haste. + +In the front hall, at the foot of the stairs, the little daughter of +his landlady greeted him with shouts of delight and, with the +masterful strength of four feminine years, dragged him, a willing +captive, through the open door to her mother's pleasant sitting room. +She was a beautiful, dainty, little miss with hair and eyes very like +that playmate of the man's Yesterdays and it was his custom to pay +tribute to her charms in the coin of childhood as faithfully and as +regularly as he paid his board. + +Seated now, with the baby on his lap and the smiling mother looking +on, he produced, after the usual pretense of denial and long search +through many pockets, the weekly offering. And then, as though some +guardian angel willed it so, the little girl did a thing that she had +never done before. Putting two plump and dimpled arms about his neck +she said gravely: "Mamma don't like me to kiss folks, you know, but +she said she wouldn't care if I kissed _you_" Whereupon a sweet +little rosebud mouth was offered trustingly, with loving innocence, to +his lips. + +A crimson flame flushed the man's face. With a laugh of embarrassment +and a quick impulsive hug he held the child close and accepted her +offering. + +Then he went quickly upstairs to his room. + +It was sometime later when the man began to prepare for the evening to +which he had looked forward with such eagerness and all his fierce and +driving haste was gone. The mad tumult of his manhood strength was +stilled. He moved, now, with a purpose, sullen, grim, defiant. The +fight was on. While he was still vividly conscious of the woman whose +compelling power he felt, he felt, now, as well, the pure touch of +those baby lips. While he still saw the light in the woman's eyes and +sensed the meaning of her smile, he saw and sensed as clearly the +loving innocence that had shown in the little girl's face as it was +lifted up to his. Upon his manhood's strength lay the woman's luring +spell. Upon his manhood the baby's kiss lay as a seal of +sacredness--upon his lips it burned as a coal of holy fire. The fight +was on. + +The man's life was not at all an easy life. Beside his work and his +memories there was little to hold him true. Since that day when he +stood face to face with Life and, for the first time, knew that he was +a man, he had been, save for a few friends among the men of his own +class, alone. The exacting demands of his work had left him little +time or means to spend in seeking social pleasures or in the delights +of fellowship with those for whose fellowship he would have cared, +even had the way to their society been, at that period of his life, +open to him. He told himself, always, that sometime in the future, +when he had worked out still farther his dreams, he would find the way +to the social life that he would enjoy but until then, he must, of +necessity, live much alone. And now--now--the testing time--the crisis +in his life--had come. Even as it must come to every man who knows his +manhood so it had come to him. + +The man was not deceived. He knew the price he would pay in defeat. +But, even while he knew this--even while he knew what defeat would +mean to him, so great was her power that he went on making ready to go +to her. With the kiss of the little girl upon his lips he made ready +to go to the woman. It was as though he had drifted too far and the +current had become too strong for him to turn back. Thus do such men +yield to such temptations. Thus are men betrayed by the very strength +of their manhood. + +With mad determination he waited the hour. Uneasily he paced his room. +He tried to read. He threw himself into a chair only to arise and move +about again. Every few moments he impatiently consulted his watch. At +every step in the hall, without his door, he started as if alarmed. He +became angry, in a blind rage, with the woman, with himself and even +with the little girl. At last, when it was time to go, he threw on his +overcoat, took his hat and gloves, and, with a long, careful look +about the room, laid his hand on the door. He knew that the man who +was going out that evening would not come hack to his room the same +man. He knew that _that_ man could never come back. He felt as +though he was giving up his apartments to a stranger. So he hesitated, +with his hand upon the door, looking long and carefully about. Then +quickly he threw open the door and, down the hall and down the stairs, +went as one who has counted the cost and determined recklessly. + +[Illustration: Two dimpled arms went around his neck] + +The man had opened the front door and was about to pass out when a +sweet voice called: "Wait, oh, wait." + +Turning, he saw a tiny figure in white flying toward him. + +The little girl, all ready for bed, had caught sight of him and, for +the moment, had escaped from her mother's attention. + +The man shut the door and caught her up. Two dimpled arms went around +his neck and the rosebud mouth was lifted to his lips. + +Then the mother came and led her away while the man stood watching her +as she went. + +Would he ever dare touch those baby lips again he wondered. Could he, +he asked himself, could he face again those baby eyes? Could he ever +again bear the feeling of that soft little body in his arms? + +At the farther end of the hall, she turned, and, seeing him still +there, waved her hand with a merry call: "Good-bye, good-bye." + +Then she passed from his sight and, in place of this little girl of +rosy, dimpled, flesh, the startled man saw a dainty maiden of his +Yesterdays, standing under a cherry tree with fallen petals of the +delicate blossoms in her wayward hair, and with eyes that looked at +him very gravely and a little frightened as, for the shaggy coated +minister, he spoke the solemn words: "I pronounce you husband and wife +and anything that God has done must never be done any different by +anybody forever and ever, Amen." By some holy magic the kiss of the +little girl became the kiss of his play wedding wife of the long ago. + +Very slowly the man went up the stairs again to his room; there to +spend the evening not as he had planned, when he was in the mastering +grip of self, but safe in the quiet harbor of the Yesterdays where the +storms of life break not or are felt only in those gentle ripples that +scarce can stir the surface of the sea. + +The fierce passion that had shaken the very soul of him passed on as +the storm clouds pass. In the calm of the days that were gone, he +rested as one who has fought a good fight and, safe from out the +turmoil and the danger, has come victoriously into the peace that +passeth all understanding. + +In the sweet companionship of his childhood mate, with the little girl +who lived next door, the man found again, that night, his better self. +In the boy of the long-ago, he found again his ideals of manhood. In +his Yesterdays, he found strength to stand against the power of the +temptation that assailed him. + +Blessed, blessed Yesterdays! + +* * * * * + +It was the time of the first snow when, again, the woman sat alone in +her room before the fire, with her door fast locked and the shades +drawn close, even as on that other night--the night when her womanhood +began in dreams. + +In the soft dusk, while the shadows of the flickering light came and +went upon the walls, and the quiet was broken only by the tick, tick, +tick, of the timepiece held in the chubby arms of the fat cupid on the +mantle, the woman sat very still. Face to face with her Temptation, +she sat alone and very still. + +For several months, the woman had seen her testing time approaching. +That day when, looking into her eyes, the man of authority had so +kindly bidden her leave her work for the afternoon, she had known that +this time would come. In the passing weeks she had realized that the +day was approaching when she must decide both for him and for herself. +She had not sought to prevent the coming of that day. She had +knowingly permitted it to come. She was even pleased in a way to watch +it drawing near. Not once, in those weeks, had he failed to be very +kind or ceased to make her feel that he understood. In a hundred ways, +as their work called them together and gave opportunity, he had told +her, in voice and look and the many ways of wordless speech, that the +time was coming. He had been very careful, too--very careful--that, in +their growing friendship, the world should have no opportunity to +misjudge. And the woman, seeing his care, was grateful and valued his +friendship the more. + +So had come at last that Saturday when, with low spoken words, at the +close of the day's work, he had asked if he might call upon her the +following evening; saying gravely, as he looked down into her face, +that he had something very important to tell her. And she had gravely +said that he might come; while her blushes to him confessed that she +knew what it was of importance that he would say. + +Scarcely had she reached her home that afternoon when a messenger boy +appeared with a great armful of roses and, as she arranged the flowers +on her table, burying her flushed face again and again in their +fragrant coolness, she had told herself that to-morrow, when he asked +her to cross with him the threshold of that old, old door, she would +answer: yes. But, even as she so resolved, she had been conscious of +something in her heart that denied the resolution of her mind. + +And so it was that, as she sat alone before her fire that night, she +knew that she was face to face with a crisis in her life. So it was +that she had come to the testing time and knew that she must win or +lose alone. In the sacred privacy of her room, with the perfume of his +roses filling the air and the certainty that when he came on the +morrow she must answer, she looked into the future to see, if she +might, what it held for her and for him if she should cross with him +the threshold of that old, old, door. + +He was a man whose love would honor any woman--this she knew. And he +was a man of power and influence in the world--a man who could provide +for his mate a home of which any woman would be proud to be the +mistress. Nor could she doubt his love for nothing else could have +persuaded such a man to ask of a woman that which he was coming to ask +of her. + +Beginning with her answer on the following evening the woman traced, +in thought, all that would follow. She saw herself leaving the life +that she had never desired because it could not recognize her +womanhood and, in fancy, received the congratulations of her friends. +She lived, in her imagination, those busy days when she would be +making ready for the day that was to come. Very clearly, she pictured +to herself the wedding; it would be a quiet wedding, she told herself, +but as beautiful and complete as cultured taste and wealth could make +it. Then they would go away, for a time, to those cities and lands +beyond the sea that, all her life, she had longed to visit. When they +returned, it would be to that beautiful old home of his family--the +home that she had so often, in passing, admired; and in that home, so +long occupied by him alone, she would be the proud mistress. And +then--then--would come her children--their children--and so all the +fulfillment of her womanhood's dreams. + +But the woman's face, as she looked into a future that seemed as +bright as ever woman dared to dream, was troubled. As she traced the +way that lay so invitingly before her, this woman, who knew herself to +be a woman, was sad. Her heart, still, was as an empty room--a room +that is furnished and ready but without a tenant. Deep within her +woman heart she knew that this man was not the one for whom she waited +by the open door. She did not know who it was for whom she waited. She +knew only that this man was not the one. And she wished--oh, how she +wished--that this was not so. Because of her longing--because of the +dreams of her womanhood--because of her empty heart--she was resolved +to cross with this man, who was not the man for whom she waited, the +threshold that she could not cross alone. Honor, regard, respect, the +affection of a friend, she could give him--did give him indeed--but +she knew that this was not enough for a woman to give the man with +whom she would enter that old, old, door. + +Rising, the woman went to her mirror to study long and carefully the +face and form that she saw reflected there. She saw in the glass, a +sweet, womanly, beauty, expressing itself in the color and tone of the +clean carved features; in the dainty texture of the clear skin and +soft, brown, hair; and in the rounded fullness and graceful lines of +the finely moulded body. Perfect physical strength and health was +there--vital, glowing, appealing. And culture of mind, trained +intelligence, thoughtfulness, was written in that womanly face. And, +with it all, there was good breeding, proud blood, with gentleness of +spirit. + +This woman knew that she was well equipped to stand by this man's side +however high his place in life. She was well fitted to become the +mistress of his home and the mother of his children. She had guarded +well the choicest treasures of her womanhood. She had squandered none +of the wealth that was committed to her. She had held it all as a +sacred trust to be kept by her for that one with whom she should go +through the old, old door. And she had determined that, to-morrow +evening, she would give herself, with all the riches of her womanhood, +to this one who could give her, in return, the home of her dreams. +While her heart was still as an empty room, she had determined to +cross, with this man, the threshold over which no woman may again +return. + +Turning from her mirror, slowly the woman went to the great bunch of +roses that stood upon her table. They were his roses; and they fitly +expressed, in their costly beauty, the life that he was coming to +offer to her. Very deliberately she bent over them, burying her face +in the mass of rich color, inhaling deeply their heavy fragrance. +Thoughtfully she considered them and all that, to her, they +symbolized. But there was no flush upon her cheek now. There was no +warmth in the light of her eyes. No glad excitement thrilled her. +There was no trembling in her touch--no eager joyousness in her +manner. + +Suddenly, some roisterer, passing along the street with his +companions, laughed a loud, reckless, half drunken, laugh that sounded +in the quiet darkness with startling clearness. + +The woman sprang back from the flowers as though a poisonous serpent, +hidden in their fragrant beauty, had struck her. With a swift look of +horror on her white face she glanced fearfully about the room. + +Again the laugh sounded; this time farther down the street. + +The woman sank into her chair, trembling with a nameless fear. To her, +that laugh in the dark had sounded as the laughter of the crowd that +day when she was forced so close to the outcast women who were in the +hands of the police. + +"But those women," argued the frightened woman with herself, "sell +themselves to all men for a price." + +"And you," answered the heart of her womanhood, "and you, also, will +sell yourself to one man, for a price. The wealth of womanhood +committed to you--all the treasures that you have guarded so +carefully--you will sell now to this good man for the price that he +can pay. If he could not pay the price--if he came to you empty +handed--would you say yes?" + +"But I will be true to him," argued the woman. "I will give myself to +him and to him only as wife to husband." + +"You are being false to him already," replied her woman heart, "for +you are selling yourself, not giving yourself to him. You are planning +to deceive him. You would make him think that he is taking to himself +a wife when, for a price, you are selling to him--something higher +than a public woman, it is true--but something, as true, very much +lower than a wife. What matter whether the price be in gold and silver +or in property and social position--it is a price. Except he pay you +your price he could not have you." + +And what, thought the woman, what if--after she had crossed the +threshold with this good man--after she had entered with him into the +life that lay on the other side that door--what if, then, that other +one should come? What if the one for whom her empty heart should have +waited were to come and stand alone before that door through which she +could not go back? And the children--the dear children of her +dreams--what of them? Had not her unborn children the right to demand +that they be born in love? And if she should say, "no," to this +man--if she should turn once more away from the open door, through +which he would ask her to go with him--what then? What if that one who +had delayed his coming so long should never come? + +And then the woman, who knew herself to be a woman, saw the lonely +years come and go. While she waited without the door that led to the +life of her womanhood's dreams, she saw the beauty that her mirror +revealed slowly fading--saw her firm, smooth, cheeks become thin and +wrinkled, her bright eyes grow dim and pale, her soft, brown, hair +turn thin and gray, her body grow lean and stooped. All the wealth of +her womanhood that she had treasured with such care she saw become as +dust, worthless. All the things of her womanhood she would be forced +to spend in that life that denied her womanhood, and then, when she +had nothing left, she would be cast aside as a worn out machine. Never +to know the joy of using her womanhood! Never to have a home! Never to +feel the touch of a baby hand! To lay down the wealth of her woman +life and go empty and alone in her shriveled old age! With an +exclamation, the woman sprang to her feet and stretched out her arms. +"No, no, no," she whispered fiercely, "anything, anything, but that. I +will be true to him. I will be a faithful wife. He shall never know. +He shall not feel that he is cheated. And perhaps--" she dropped into +her chair again and buried her face in her hands as she +whispered--"perhaps, bye and bye, God will let me love him. Surely, +God will let me love him, bye and bye." + +Sometime later, the woman did a strange thing. Going to her desk, +softly, as a thief might go, she unlocked a drawer and took from it a +small jewel case. For several moments she stood under the light +holding the little velvet box in her hand unopened. Then, lifting the +lid, she looked within and, presently, from among a small collection +of trinkets that had no value save to her who knew their history, took +a tiny brass ring. Placing the box on the dresser, she tried, +musingly, to fit the little ring on her finger. On each finger in turn +she tried, but it would go only part way on the smallest one; and she +smiled sadly to see how she had grown since that day under the cherry +tree. + +Turning again, she went slowly across the room to the fire that now +was a bed of glowing coals. For a little she stood looking down into +the fire. Then, slowly, she stretched forth her hand to drop the ring. +But she could not do it. She could not. + +Returning the little circle of brass to its place among the trinkets +in the jewel box, the woman prepared for bed. + +The timepiece in the arms of the fat cupid ticked loudly now in the +darkness that was only faintly relieved by the glowing embers of the +fire. + +With sleepless eyes the woman who had determined to give herself +without love lay staring into the dusk. But she did not see the +darkness. She did not see the grotesque and ghostly objects in the +gloom. Nor did she see the somber shadows that came and went as the +dying fire gained fitful strength. The woman saw the bright sun +shining on the meadows and fields of the long ago. She saw again the +scenes of her childhood. Again, as she stood under the cherry tree +that showered its delicate blossoms down with every puff of air, she +looked with loving confidence into the face of the brown cheeked boy +who spoke so seriously those childish vows. Again, upon her lips she +felt that kiss of the childhood mating. + +The soft light of the fire grew fainter and fainter as the embers +slowly turned to ashes. Could it be that the woman, in her temptation, +would let the sacred fire of love burn altogether out? Must the +memories of her Yesterdays turn to ashes too? + +The last faint glow was almost gone when the woman slipped quickly out +of her bed and, in the darkness, groped her way across the room to the +desk where she found the little jewel case. + +And I think that the fat cupid who was neglecting his bow and arrows +to wrestle with time must have been pleased to see the woman, a little +later, when the dying fire flared out brightly for a moment, lying +fast asleep, while, upon the little finger of the hand that lay close +to her smiling lips, there was a tiny circle of brass. + + + + + +LIFE + + +In childhood, the Master of Life exalts Life. A baby in its mother's +arms is the fullest expression of Divinity. + +It was Christmas time; that season of the year when, for a brief +period, the world permits the children to occupy the place in the +affairs and thoughts of men that is theirs by divine right. + +In the birth of that babe in Bethlehem, the Giver of Life placed the +seal of his highest approval upon childhood and decreed that, until +the end of time, babies should be the true rulers of mankind and the +lawful heirs of heaven. And it is so, that the power of Mary's babe, +from his manger cradle throne, has been more potent on earth in the +governments of men than the strength of many emperors with their armed +hosts. + +It is written large in Nature's laws that mankind should be governed +by love of children. The ruling purpose and passion of the race can +be, with safety, nothing less than the purpose and passion of all +created things--of even the trees and plants--the purpose to reproduce +its kind--the passion for its offspring. The world should be ruled by +boys and girls. + +But Mammon has usurped the throne of Life. His hosts have trampled the +banners of loyal love in the dust. His forces have compelled the +rightful rulers of the world to abdicate. But, even as gross +materialism has never succeeded in altogether denying Divinity, so, +for a few days each year, at Christmas time, childhood asserts its +claims and compels mankind to render, at least a show, of homage. + +Poor, blind, deceived and betrayed, old world; to so fear a foolish +and impotent anarchism that spends its strength in vain railings +against governments while you pay highest honors and present your +choicest favors to those traitors who filch your wealth of young life +under pretense of loyal service. The real anarchists, old world, are +not those who loudly vociferate to the rabble on the street corners +but those who, operating under the laws of your approval, betray their +country in its greatest need--its need of children. The real +anarchists, old world, are those whose banners are made red by the +blood of babies; who fatten upon the labor of their child slaves; and +who seek to rule by the slaughter of children even as that savage of +old whose name in history is hated by every lover of the race. +Regicides at heart, they are, for they kill, for a price, the God +ordained rulers of mankind. A child is nearer, by many years, to God +than the grown up rebel who traitorously holds his own mean interests +superior to the holy will of Life as vested in the sacred person of a +boy or girl. + +To prate, in empty swelling words, of the sacredness of life, the +power of religion, the dignity of state, the importance of commercial +interests and the natural wealth of the nation, while ignoring the +sacredness, power, dignity, importance, and wealth of childhood, is +evidence of a criminal thoughtlessness. + +Children and Life are one. They are the product, the producers, and +the preservers of Life. They exalt Life. They interpret Life. Without +them Life has no meaning. The child is no more the possession of its +parents than the parents are the property of the child. Children are +the just creditors of the human race. Mankind owes them everything. +They owe mankind nothing. A baby has no debts. + +Nor is the passion for children satisfied only in bearing them. A +woman who does not love _all_ babies is unsafe to trust with one +of her own flesh. A man who does not love _all_ children is unfit +to father offspring of his own blood. One need not die to orphan a +child. One need only refuse to care for it. One need only place other +interests first. Men and women who desire to become parents will not +go unsatisfied in a world that is so full of boys and girls for whom +there are neither fathers nor mothers. + +The Master of Life said: "Except ye become as little children." His +false disciple--world--teaches: "Except ye become grown up." But the +laws of Life are irrevocable. If a man, heeding the world, grows up to +possess the earth, his holdings, at the last, are reduced--if he be +one of earth's big men--to six feet of it, only; while the man who +never grows up inherits a heaven that the false kings of earth know +not. + +When the man left his work, at close of the day before Christmas, he +was as eager as he had been that Saturday when he faced the crisis of +his life. With every sense keenly alive, he plunged into the throng of +belated shoppers that filled the streets and crowded into the gaily +decked stores until it overflowed into the streets again. Nearly +everyone was carrying bundles and packages for it was too late, now, +to depend upon the overworked delivery wagons. In almost every face, +the Christmas gladness shone. In nearly every voice, there was that +spirit of fellowship and cheery good will that is invoked by Christmas +thoughts and plans. Through the struggling but good natured crowd, the +man worked his way into a store and, when he forced his way out again, +his arms, too, were full. For a moment he waited on the corner for a +car then, with a look of smiling dismay at the number of people who +were also waiting, he turned away, determined to walk. He felt, too, +that the exercise in the keen air would be a relief to the buoyant +strength and gladness that clamored for expression. + +As he swung so easily along the snowy pavement, with the strength of +his splendid manhood revealed in every movement and the cleanness of +his heart and mind illuminating his countenance, there were many among +those he met who, while they smiled in sympathy with his spirit, +passed from their smiles to half sighs of envy and regret. + +With the impatient haste of a boy, the man dashed up the steps of his +boarding house and ran up stairs to his room; chuckling in triumph +over his escape from the watchful eyes of the little daughter of the +house. For the first time since his boyhood the man was to have the +blessed privilege of sharing the Christmas cheer of a home. + +When the evening meal was over and it was time for his little playmate +to go to sleep, he retired again to his room, almost as excited, in +his eager impatience for the morning, as the child herself. Safe +behind his closed door, he began to unwrap his Christmas packages and +parcels that he might inspect again his purchases and taste, by +anticipation, the pleasure he would know when on the morrow the child +would discover his gifts. Very carefully he cut the strings from the +last and largest package and, tenderly removing the wrappings, +revealed a doll almost as tall as the little girl herself. It was as +large, at least, as a real flesh and blood baby. + +The wifeless, homeless, man who has never purchased a doll for some +little child mother has missed an educational experience of more value +than many of the things that are put in text books to make men wise. + +Rather awkwardly the man held the big doll in his arms, smoothing its +dress and watching the eyes that opened and closed so lifelike; +cautiously he felt for and found that vital spot which if pressed +brought forth a startling: "papa--mama." + +As the dear familiar words of childhood sounded in the lonely bachelor +room, the man felt a queer something grip his heart. Tenderly he laid +the doll upon his big bed and stood for a little looking down upon it; +a half-serious, half-whimsical, expression on his face but in his eyes +a tender light. Then, adjusting his reading lamp, he seated himself +and attempted to busy his strangely disturbed mind with a book. But +the sentences were meaningless. At every period, his eyes turned to +that little figure on the bed, with its too lifelike face and hair and +form while the thoughts of the author he was trying to read were +crowded out by other thoughts that forced themselves upon him with a +persistency and strength that would not be denied. + +The weeks following the testing of the man had been to him very +wonderful weeks. He seemed to be living in a new world, or, rather, +for him, the same old world was wonderfully enriched and glorified. +Never had he felt his manhood's strength stirring so within him. Never +had his mind been so alert, his spirit so bold. He moved among men +with a new power that was felt by all who came in touch with him; +though no one knew what it was. He was conscious of a fuller mastery +of his work; a clearer grasp of the world events. As one, climbing in +the mountains, reaches a point higher than he has ever before attained +and gains thus a wider view of the path he has traveled, of the +surrounding country, and of the peak that is the object of his climb +as well, so this man, in his life climb, had reached a higher point +and therefore gained a wider outlook. It is only when men stay in the +lowlands of self interest or abide in the swamps of self indulgence +that their views of life are narrowly circumscribed. Let a man master +himself but once and he stands on higher ground, with wider outlook, +with keener vision, and clearer atmosphere. + +The man had always seen Life in its relation to himself; he came, now, +to consider his own life in its relation to all Life; which point of +view has all the difference that lies between a low valley and the +mountain peaks that shut it in. He felt his relation, too, not alone +to all human life but to all created things. With everything that +lived he felt himself kin. With the very dray horses on the street, +dragging with patient courage their heavily loaded trucks; with the +stray dog that dodged in and out among the wheels and hoofs of the +crowded traffic; even with the sparrow that perched for a moment on +the ledge outside the window near his desk, he felt a kinship that was +new and strange. Had they not all, he reflected, horse and dog and +sparrow and man--had they not all one thing in common--Life? Was not +Life the one thing supreme to each? Were they not, each one, a part of +the whole? Was not the supreme object of every life, of all life, to +live? Is the life of a man, he asked himself, more mysterious than the +life of a horse? Can science--blind, pretentious, childish +science--explain the life of a dog with less uncertainty than it can +explain the life of a man? Or can the scientist make a laboratory +sparrow more easily than he can produce a laboratory man? With the +very trees that lined the streets near where he lived, he felt a +kinship for they, too, within their trunks and limbs, had life--they, +too, were parts of the whole even as he was a part--they, too, +belonged even as he belonged. + +Thus the man saw Life from a loftier height than he had ever before +attained. Thus he sensed, as never before, the bigness, the fullness, +the grandness, the awfulness, of Life. And so the man became very +humble with a proud humbleness. He became very proud with a humble +pride. He became even as a child again. + +And then, standing thus upon this new height that he had gained, the +man looked back into the ages that were gone and forward into the ages +that were to come and so saw himself and his age a link between the +past and the future; linking that which had been to that which was to +be. All that Life had ever been--the sum of all since the unknown +beginning--was in the present. In the present, also, was all that Life +could ever be, even unto the unknown end. Within his age and within +himself he felt stirring all the mighty forces that, since the +beginning, had wrought in the making of man. Within his age and within +himself he felt the forces that would work out in the race results as +far beyond his present vision as his age was beyond the ages of the +most distant past. + +Since the day when he had first realized his manhood, the working out +of his dreams had been to the man the supreme object of his life. He +had put his life, literally, into his work. For his work he had lived. +But that Christmas eve, when his mind and heart were so filled with +thoughts of childhood and those new emotions were aroused within him, +he saw that the supreme thing in his life must be Life itself. He saw +that not by putting his life into his work, would he most truly live, +but by making his work contribute to his life. He realized that the +greatest achievements of man are but factors in Life--that the one +supreme, dominant, compelling, purpose of Life is to _live_--to +_live_--to _live_--to express itself in Life--that the only +adequate expression of Life _is_ Life--that the passion of Life +is to pass itself on--from age to age, from generation to generation, +in a thousand thousand forms, in a thousand thousand ages, in a +thousand thousand peoples, Life had passed itself on--was even then +passing itself on--seeking ever fuller expression of itself; seeking +ever to perfect itself; seeking ever to produce itself. He saw that +the things that men do come out of their lives even as the plants come +out of the soil into which the seed is dropped; and, that, even as the +dead and decaying plant goes back into the earth from which it came, +to enrich and renew the ground, so man's work, that comes out of his +life, is reabsorbed again into his life to enrich and renew it. He +realized, now, that the object of his life must be not his work but +Life itself--that his effort must be not to do but to be--that he must +accomplish not a great work but a great Life. + +It was inevitable that the man should come to see, also, that the +supreme glory of his manhood's strength was in this: the reproduction +of his kind. The man life that ran so strongly in his veins, that +throbbed so exultantly in his splendid body, that thrilled so keenly +in his nerves--the man life that he had from his parents and from +countless generations before--the life that made him kin to all his +race and to all created things--this life he must pass on. This was +the supreme glory of his manhood: that he could pass it on--that he +could give it to the ages that were to come. + +From the heights which he attained that Christmas eve, the man laughed +at the empty, swelling, words of those who talk about the sacredness +of work--who prattle as children about leaving a great work when they +are gone--who gibber as fools about contributing a great work to the +world. + +If the men of a race will perfect the manhood strength of the race; if +they will exalt their manhood power; if they will fulfill the mission +of life by perfecting and producing ever more perfect lives; if they +will endeavor to contribute to the ages to come stronger, better, men +than themselves; why, the work of the world will be done--even as the +plant produces its flowers and fruit, the work of the world will be +done. In the exaltation of Life is the remedy for the evils that +threaten the race. The reformations that men are always attempting in +the social, religious, political, and industrial world are but +attempts to change the flavor or quality of the fruit when it is +ripening on the tree. The true remedy lies in the life of the tree; in +the soil from which it springs; in the source from which the fruit +derives its quality and flavor. In the appreciation of Life, in the +passion of Life, in the production of Life, in the perfection of Life, +in the exaltation of Life, is the salvation of human kind. For this, +and this alone, man has right to live--has right to his place and part +in Life. + +All this the man saw that Christmas eve because the kiss of the little +girl, on that night of his temptation, had awakened something in his +manhood that was greater than the dreams he had been denying himself +to work out. The friendship of the child had revealed to him this +deeper truth of Life; that there are, for all true men, +accomplishments greater than the rewards of labor. The baby had taught +him that the legitimate fruit of love is more precious to Life, by +far, than the wealth and honors that the world bestows--that, indeed, +the greatest wealth, the highest honors, are not in the power of the +world to give; nor are they to be won by toil. In his thinking, this +man, too, was led by a little child. + +The man's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door. + +It was the little girl's mother; to tell him, as she had promised, +that the child was safely asleep. + +With his arms filled with presents, the man went softly down the +stairs. + +When all had been arranged for the morning, the man returned again to +his room; but not to sleep. There was in his heart a feeling of +reverent pride and gladness, as though he had been permitted to assist +in a religious rite, and, with his own hands, to place an offering +upon a sacred altar. And, if you will understand me, the man was +right. Whatever else Christmas has come to mean to the grown up world, +its true meaning can be nothing less than this. + +Nor did the man again turn to his book or attempt to take up the train +of thought that had so interfered with his reading. Something more +compelling than any printed page--something more insistant than his +own thoughts of Life and its meaning--lured him far away from his +grown up days--took him back again into his days that were gone. Alone +in his room that Christmas eve, the man went back, once more, to his +Yesterdays--back to a Christmas in his Yesterdays. + +Once again, his boyhood home was the scene of busy preparations for +the Christmas gaieties. Once again, the boy, tucked snugly under the +buffalo robe, drove with his parents away through the white fields to +the distant town while the music in his heart kept time to the melody +of the jingling bells. Once again, he experienced the happy perplexity +of selecting--with mother's help--a present for father while father +obligingly went to see a man on business and of choosing--with +father's assistance--a gift for mother while she rested in a far +corner of the store. And then, once again, he faced the trying +question: what should he get for the little girl who lived next door. +What, indeed, _could_ he get for _her_ but a beautiful new +doll--one with brown hair, very like the little girl's own, and brown +eyes that opened and closed as natural as life. + +The next day the boy went, with his father and the little girl and her +uncle, in the big sleigh, to the woods to find a tree for the +Christmas "exercises" at the church; and, in the afternoon, in company +with the older people, helped to make the wreaths of evergreen and +deck the tree with glittering tinsel; while the little girl strung +long strings of snowy pop corn and labored earnestly at the sweet task +of filling mosquito bar stockings with candy and nuts. + +Then came that triumphant Christmas eve, when, before the assembled +Sunday school and the crowded church, the boy took part, with his +class, in the entertainment and sat, with wildly beating heart, while +the little girl, all alone, sang a Christmas carol; and proud he was, +indeed, when the applause for the little singer was so long and loud. +And then, when the farmer Santa Claus had distributed the last +stocking of candy, the boy and the girl, with their elders, went home +together, in the clear light of the stars; while, across the white +fields, came the sound of gay laughter and happy voices mingled with +the ringing music of the sleigh bells--growing fainter and fainter--as +friends and neighbors went their several ways. + +But, best of all--by far the best of all--was that Christmas morning +at home. At the first hint of gray light in the winter sky, the boy +was awake and out of bed to gather his Christmas harvest; hailing each +toy and game and book with exclamations of delight and arousing all +the house with his shouts of: "Merry Christmas." + +The foolish, grown up, old world has a saying that we value most the +things that we win for ourselves by toil and hardship; but, believe +me, it is not so. The real treasures of earth are the things that are +won by the toil of those who bring to us, without price, the fruits of +their labor as tokens of their love. + +Very early, that long ago Christmas morning, the boy went over to the +little girl's house; for his happiness would not be complete until he +could share it with her. And the man, who, alone in his bachelor room +that Christmas eve, dreamed of his Yesterdays, saw again, with +startling clearness, his boyhood mate as she stood in the doorway +greeting him with shouts of, "Merry Christmas," as he went toward her +through the snow; and the heart of the man beat quicker at the lovely +vision--even as the heart of the boy--for she held, close in her +little mother arms, the new addition to her family of dolls--his gift. +The lonely man, that night, realized, as he had never realized before, +how full, at that moment, was the cup of the boy's proud happiness. He +realized and understood. + +I wonder--do you, also, understand? + +In the still house, the big clock in the lower hall struck the hour. +The man in his lonely room listened, counting the +strokes--nine--ten--eleven--twelve. + +It was Christmas. + +* * * * * + +And the woman, also, when she had passed safely through her trial, +looked out upon Life from a point higher than she had ever reached +before. Never before had Life, to her, looked so wide. + +But the woman did not feel stronger after the crisis through which she +had passed; she felt, more keenly than before, her weakness. More than +ever, she felt the need of a strength that she could not find within +herself. More than ever, she was afraid of the Life, that, from where +she now stood, seemed so wide. Nor did she feel a kinship with all +Life. She stood on higher ground, indeed, but the wideness of the +view, to her, only emphasized her loneliness. She sadly felt herself +as one apart--as one denied the right of fellowship. More keenly than +ever before, she felt, in the heart of her womanhood, the humiliation +of the life that sets a price upon the things of womanhood while it +refuses to recognize womanhood itself. More than ever, in her woman +heart, she was ashamed. Neither could she feel that she was doing her +part in Life--that she was taking her place--that she was a link +joining the ages of the past to the ages that would come. She felt +herself, rather, a parasite, attached to Life--not a part of--not +belonging to--but feeding upon. + +This woman who knew herself to be a woman saw, more clearly than ever +before, that one thing, only, could give her full fellowship with the +race. She saw that one thing, only, could make her a link between the +ages that were gone and the ages that were to come. That one thing, +only, could satisfy her woman heart--could make her feel that she was +not alone. + +That one thing which the woman recognized as supreme is the thing +which the Master of Life has committed peculiarly to womanhood. Not to +woman's skillful hands; not to her ready brain; not to the things of +her womanhood upon which the world into which she goes alone to labor +puts a price has the Master of Life committed this supreme thing; but +to her _womanhood_--her sex. In the womanhood that is denied by +the world that receives womankind alone, is wealth that may not be +bought by any price that the world can pay. In the womanhood of women +is that supreme thing without which human life would perish from the +earth. The exercise of this power alone can give to woman the high +place in Life that belongs to her by right divine. The woman saw that, +for her, all other work in the world would be but a makeshift--a +substitute; and, because of this, while Life had, never before seemed +so large, she had, never before felt so small--so useless. + +But still, for the woman, there was peace in her loneliness--there was +a peace that she had not had before--there was a calmness, a +quietness, that was not hers before her trial. It was the peace of the +lonely mountain top to which one climbs from out a noisy, clamoring, +village; the calmness of the deep sky uncrossed by cloud or marked by +smoke of human industry; the quietness of the wide prairie, untouched +by man's improvements. And this tranquil rest was hers because she +knew--deep in her woman's heart she knew--that she had done well; that +she had not been untrue to the soul of her womanhood. + +The woman knew that she had done well because she had come to +understand that, while life is placed peculiarly in the care and +keeping of her sex, her sex has been endowed, for the protection, +perfection, and perpetuation of Life, with peculiar instincts. She had +come to understand that, while woman has been made the giver and +guardian of Life, she, for that reason, is subject to laws that are +not to be broken save with immeasurable loss to the race. To her sex +is given, by Life itself, the divine right of selection that the +future of the race may be assured. To her sex is given an instinct +superior to reason that her choice may perfect human kind. For her, +and for the Life of her kind, there is the law that if she permits aught +but her woman instinct to influence her in selecting her mate +her children and the children of her children shall mourn. + +In the crisis of her life the woman had heard many voices--bold and +tempting, pleading and subtle--urging her to say: "Yes." But always +her instinct--her woman heart--had whispered: "No. This man is not +your mate. This is not the man you would choose to be the father of +your children. Better, far better, contribute nothing to the race than +break the law of your womanhood. Better, far better, never cross the +threshold of that open door than cross it with one who, in your heart +of hearts you know, to be not the right one." + +So the woman had peace. Even in her loneliness, she had peace--knowing +that she had done well. + +And the woman tried, now, to interest herself in the things that so +many of the women of her day seemed to find so interesting. She +listened to brave lectures by stalwart women on woman's place and +sphere in the world's work. She heard bold talks by militant women +about woman's emancipation and freedom. She attended lectures by +intellectual women on the higher life, and the new thought, and the +advanced ideas. She read pamphlets and books written by modern women +on the work of women in the social, political and industrial fields. +She became acquainted with many "new" women who, striving mightily +with all their strength of body and soul for careers, looked with a +kind of lofty disdain or pitying contempt upon those old-fashioned +mothers whose children interfere with the duty that "new" women think +they owe the world. + +But this woman who knew herself to be a woman could not interest +herself in these things to which she tried to give attention. She felt +that in giving herself to these things she would betray Life. She felt +the hollowness, the shallowness, the emptyness of it all in comparison +with that which is divinely committed to womankind. She could not but +wonder: what would be the racial outcome? When women have long enough +substituted other ideals for the ideals of motherhood--other passions +for the passions of their sex--other ambitions for the ambition to +produce and to perfect Life--other desires for the desire to keep that +which Life has committed to them--what then? "How," she asked herself, +"would the world get along without mothers? Or how could the race +advance if the best of women refused to bear children?" And then came +the inevitable thought: are the _best_ women, after all, refusing +to bear children? Might it not be that the wisdom of Mother Nature is +in this also, and that the refusal of a woman to bear children is the +best evidence in the world that she is unfit to be a mother? Is it not +better that the mothers of the race should be those who hold no ideal, +ambition, desire, aim, or purpose in life higher than motherhood? Such +women--such mothers--have, thus far, through their sons and daughters, +won every victory in Life. It is they who have made every advance of +the race possible. Will it not continue to be so, even unto the end? +Is not this indeed the law of Life? If there be any work for women +greater or of more value to the human race than the work of motherhood +then, indeed, is the end of the world, for mankind, at hand. + +From where she lay, the woman, when she first awoke that Christmas +morning, could see the sun just touching the topmost branches of the +tall trees that grew across the street. + +It was a beautiful day. But the woman did not at first remember that +it was Christmas. Idly, as one sometimes will when awakening out of a +deep sleep, she looked at the sunshine on the trees and thought that +the day promised to be clear and bright. Then, looking at the clock in +the chubby arms of the fat cupid on the mantle, she noticed the time +with a start of dismay. She must arise at once or she would be late to +her work. Why, she wondered, had not someone called her. Then, a +crumpled sheet of tissue paper and a bit of narrow ribbon on the +floor, near the table, caught her eye and she remembered. + +It was Christmas. + +The woman dropped back upon her pillow. She need not go to work that +day. She had not been called because it was a holiday. Dully she told +herself again that it was Christmas. + +The house was very quiet. There were no bare feet pattering down the +hall to see what Santa Claus had left from his pack. No exulting +shouts had awakened her. In the rooms below, there was no cheerful +litter of toys and games and pop corn and candy and nuts with bits of +string and crumpled paper from hastily opened parcels and shining +scraps of tinsel from the tree. There were no stockings hanging on the +mantle. At breakfast, there would be a few friendly gifts and, later, +the postman would bring letters and cards with the season's greetings. +That was all. + +The sun, climbing higher above the tall buildings down town, peeped +through the window and saw the woman lying very still. And the sun +must have thought that the woman was asleep for her eyes were closed +and upon her face there was the wistful smile of a child. + +But the woman was not asleep though she was dreaming. She had escaped +from the silent, childless, house and had fled far, far, away to a +land of golden memories. She had gone back into her Yesterdays--to a +Christmas in her Yesterdays. + +Once again a little girl, she lived those happy, busy, days of +preparation when she had asked herself a thousand times each day: what +would the boy give her for Christmas? And always, as she wondered, the +little girl had tried not to wish that it would be a doll lest she +should be disappointed. And always she was unable to wish, half so +earnestly, for anything else. Again she spent the hours learning the +song that she was to sing at the church on Christmas eve and wondered, +often, if _he_ would like her new dress that mother was making +for the occasion. And then, as the day drew near, there was that merry +trip to the woods to bring the tree, followed by that afternoon at the +church. The little girl wondered, that night of the entertainment, if +the boy guessed how frightened she was for him lest he forget the +words of his part; or, when she was singing before the crowd of people +that filled the church, did he know that she saw only him? And then +the triumph--the beautiful triumph--of that Christmas morning! + +The little girl in the Yesterdays needed no one to remind her what day +it was. As soon as it was light, she opened her eyes, and, wide awake +in an instant, slipped from her bed to steal down stairs while the +rest of the household still slept. And there, in the gray of the +winter morning, she found his gift. It was so beautiful, so lifelike, +with its rosy cheeks and brown hair that, almost, the little girl was +afraid that she was not awake after all; and she caught her breath +with a gasp of delight when she finally convinced herself that it was +real. She knew that it was from the boy--she _knew_. Quickly she +clasped it in her arms, with a kiss and a mother hug; and then, back +again she ran to her warm bed lest dolly catch cold. The other +presents could wait until it was really, truly, daylight and uncle had +made a fire; and she drew the covers carefully up under the dimpled +chin of her treasure that lay in the hollow of her arm, close to her +own soft little breast, as natural as life--as natural, indeed, as the +mother life that throbbed in the heart of the little girl. + +For women also it is written: "Except ye become as little children." +If only women would understand! + +All the other gifts of that Christmas time were as nothing to the +little girl beside that gift from the boy. The other things she would +enjoy all the more because the supreme wish of her heart had been +granted; but, had she been disappointed in _that_, all _else_ would +have had little power to please. Under all her Christmas pleasure +there would have been a longing for something more. Her Christmas +would not have satisfied. Her cup of happiness would not have been +full. So, all the treasures that the world can lay at woman's feet will +never satisfy if the one gift be lacking. And that woman who has felt +in her arms a tiny form moulded of her own flesh--who has drawn close +to her breast a soft little cheek and felt upon her neck the touch of +a baby hand--that woman knows that I put down the truth when I write +that those women who deny the mother instinct of their hearts and, for +social position, pleasure, public notice, wealth, or fame, kill their +love for children, are to be pitied above all creatures for they deny +themselves the heaven that is their inheritance. + +Eagerly, that morning, the little girl watched for the coming of the +boy for she knew that he would not long delay; and, when she saw him +wading through the snow, flung open wide the door to shout her +greeting as she proudly held his gift close to her heart; while on her +face and in her eyes was the light divine. And great fun they had, +that Christmas day, with their toys and games and books; but never for +long was the new doll far from the little girl's arms. Nor did she +need many words to make her happiness in his gift understood to the +boy. + +The sun was shining full in the window now; quite determined that the +woman should sleep no longer. Regretfully, as one who has little heart +for the day, she arose just as footsteps sounded outside her door. +Then came a sharp rap upon the panel and--"Merry Christmas"--called +her uncle's hearty voice. + +Bravely the woman who knew herself to be a woman answered: "Merry +Christmas." + + + + + +DEATH + +And that winter's coat, also, began to appear thin and threadbare. + +By looking carefully, one could see that the twigs of the cherry tree +were brightening with a delicate touch of fresh color, while the tiny +tips of the tender green buds were cautiously peeping out of their +snug wrappings as if to ask the state of the weather. In the orchard +and the woods, too, the Life that slept deep in the roots and under +the bark of trunks and limbs was beginning to stir as though, in its +slumber, it heard Spring knocking at its bedroom door. + +I do not know what business it was that called the man to a +neighboring city. The particular circumstances that made the journey +necessary are of no importance whatever to my story. The important +thing is this: for the first time the man was forced to recognize, in +his own life and in his work, the fact of Death. He came to see that, +in the most abundant life, Death cannot be ignored. Because Death is +one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life, this is my story: that +the man was introduced to Death. + +Hurriedly he arranged for his absence, and, rushing home, packed a few +necessities of travel in his grip, snatched a hasty dinner, and thus +reached the depot just in time to catch the evening train. He would +make the trip in the night, devote the following day to the business +that demanded his presence, and the next night would return to his +home city. + +The Pullmans were well filled, mostly with busy, eager, men who, like +himself, were traveling at night to save the daylight for their work. +But the man, perhaps because he was tired with the labor of the day or +because he wished to have for the business of the morrow a clear, +vigorous, brain, made no effort to find acquaintances who might be on +the train or to meet congenial strangers with whom to spend a pleasant +hour. When he had read the evening papers and had outlined in his mind +a plan of operation to meet the situation that compelled him to make +the hurried trip, he retired to his berth. + +The low, monotonous, hum of the flying wheels on the heavy steel +rails; the steady, easy, motion of the express as it flew over the +miles of well ballasted track; the dim light of the curtained berth, +and the quiet of the Pullman, soon lulled the tired traveler to sleep. +Mile after mile and mile after mile was marked off, with the steady +regularity of time itself, by the splendidly equipped train as it +rushed through the darkness with its sleeping passengers. Hamlets, +villages, way stations, signal towers, were passed with flash like +quickness; while the veteran in the engine cab, with the schooling of +thirty years in the hand that rested on the throttle, gazed steadily +ahead to catch, with quick eye and clear brain, the messages of the +signal lamps that, like bright colored dots of a secret code, appeared +on the black sheet of night. + +With a suddenness that defies description, the change came. + +The trained eyes that looked from the cab window read a message from +Death in the night ahead. In the fractional part of a second, the hand +on the throttle responded, doing in flash like movements all that the +thirty years had taught it to do. There was a frightful jarring, +jolting crash of grinding, screaming, brakes, followed on the instant +by a roaring, smashing, thundering, rending of iron and steel and +wood. + +The veteran, whose eye and brain and hand had been thirty years in +service, lay under his engine, a mangled, inanimate mass of flesh; His +fireman, who had looked forward to a place on the engineer's side of a +cab as a young soldier dreams of sword and shoulder straps, lay still +beside his chief. From the wrecked coaches, above the sound of hissing +steam and crackling flames, came groans and shrieks and screams of +tortured men and women and children. + +Then, quickly, the hatless, coatless, and half dressed forms of the +more fortunate ones ran here and there. Voices were heard calling and +answering. There were oaths and prayers and curses mingled with sharp +spoken commands and the sound of axes and saws and sledges, as the +men, who a few minutes before were sleeping soundly in their berths, +toiled with superhuman energy to free their fellows from that horrid +hell. + +To the man who had escaped from the trap of death that had caught so +many of his fellow passengers and who toiled now with the strength of +a giant among the rescuers, it all seemed a dream of terror from which +he must presently awake. He did not think, then, of the Death that had +come so close while he slept. He was not conscious of the danger that +had threatened him. He did not feel gratitude for his escape. He could +not think. He could only strive madly, with the strength of despair, +in the fight to snatch others from the grip of an awful fate; and, as +he fought, he prayed to be awakened from his dream. + +It was over at last. + +Hours later, the man reached his destination, and still, because his +business was so urgent, there was no time for him to think of the +Death that had come so close. Rarely does the business of life give +men time to think of the Death that stands never far away. But, when +his work was finished and he was again aboard the train, on his way +home, there was opportunity for a fuller realization of the danger +through which he had passed so narrowly--there was time to think. Then +it was that the man realized a new thing in his life. Then it was that +a new factor entered into his thinking--Death. Not the knowledge of +Death; he had always had that of course. Not the fear of Death; this +man was no coward. But the _fact_ of Death--it was the _fact_ of Death +that he realized now as he had never realized it before. + +All unexpected and unannounced--without sign of its approach or +warning of its presence--Death had stood over him. He had looked into +the eyes of the King. Death had touched him on the shoulder, as it +were, and had passed on. But Death would come again. The one firmly +fixed, undeniable, unalterable, fact in Life was, to him, now, that +Death would come again. When or how; that, he could not know; perhaps +not for many years; perhaps before the flying train could carry him +another mile. How strange it is that this one fixed, permanent, +unalterable, inevitable fact of Life--Death--is most commonly ignored. +The most common thing in Life is Death; yet few there are who +recognize it as a fact until it presents itself saying: "Come." + +Going back into the years, the man recalled the death of his mother; +and, later, when he was standing on the very threshold of his manhood, +the death of his father. Those graves on the hillside were still in +his memory but they had not realized Death for him. His grief at the +loss of those so dear to him had overshadowed, as it were, the fact of +Death itself. He thought of Death only as it had taken his parents; he +did not consider it in thinking of himself. But now--now--he had +looked into the eyes of the King. He had felt the touch of the hand +that chills. He had heard the voice that cannot be disobeyed. Death +had come into his life a _fact_. + +The low, steady, hum and whirr of the wheels and the smooth, easy +movement of the train told him of the flying miles. One by one, those +miles that lay between him and the end of his journey would go until +the last was gone and he would step from the coach to the platform of +his home depot. And, then, all suddenly, to the man, those flying +miles became as the years of his life. Even as the miles of his +journey were passing so his years had gone--so his years were going +and would go. + +The man was a young man still. For the first time, he felt himself +growing old. Involuntarily he looked at his hands; firm, strong, young +hands they were, but the man, in his fancy, saw them shaking, +withered, and parched, with prominent dull blue veins, and the skinny +fingers bent and crooked with the years. He glanced down at his +powerful, full moulded limbs, and, in fancy, saw them thin and +shrunken with age. And, suddenly, he remembered with a start that the +next day would be his birthday. In the fullness of his young manhood's +strength, he had ignored the passing years even as he had ignored +Death. As he had learned to forget Death, he had learned to forget his +birthdays. It was strange how fast the years were going, thought the +man. Scarcely would there be time for the working out of his dreams. +And, once, it had been such a long, long, time between his birthdays. +Once, he had counted the months, then the weeks, then the days that +lay between. Once, he remembered-- + +Perhaps it was the thought of his birthday that did it; perhaps it was +the memory of those graves in the old cemetery at home. Whatever it +swas, the man slipped back into his Yesterdays when birthdays were ages +and ages apart and, more than anything else in the world, the boy +wanted to grow up. + +At seven, he had looked with envy upon the boy of nine while the years +of grown up men were beyond his comprehension. At nine, fifteen was +the daring limit of his dreams; so far away it seemed that scarcely he +hoped to reach it. As for eighteen--one must be very, very, old, +indeed, to be eighteen. How long the years ahead had seemed, +_then_--and _now_, how short they were when looking back! +And the birthdays--the birthdays that the man had learned to +forget--how could he have learned to forget them! What days of +triumph--what times of victorious rejoicing--those days once had been! +And so, with the fact of Death so recently forced into his life, with +the miles as years slipping under the fast whirring wheels that bore +him onward, the man lived again a birthday in the long ago. + +Weeks before that day the boy had planned the joyous occasion, for +mother had promised that he should have a party. A birthday party! +Joyous festival of the Yesterdays! What delightful hours were spent in +anticipation! What innumerable questions were asked! What a multitude +of petitions were formed and presented! What anxious consultations +with the little girl who lived next door! What suggestions were +offered, accepted and rejected, and rejected or accepted all over +again! What lists of the guests to be invited were made, revised and +then revised again! What counting of the days, and, as the day drew +near, what counting of the hours; not forgetting, all the time, to +hint, in various skillfully persuasive and suggestive ways, as to the +presents that would be most fitting and acceptable! And at last, when +the day had come, as all days must at last come, was there ever in the +history of mortal man or boy such a day? + +There was real wealth of love in mother's kiss that morning. There was +holy pleasure in the pride that was in father's face and voice. There +was unmarred joy when the little girl captured him and, while he +pretended--only pretended--to escape, gave him the required number of +thumps on the back with her soft little fist and the triumphant "one +to grow on." Then came, at last, the crowning event: and so the man +saw, again, the boys and girls who, that afternoon in his Yesterdays, +helped to celebrate his birthday. Why had he permitted them to pass +out of his life? Why had he gone out of their lives? Why must the +years rob him of the friends of the Yesterdays? + +With the birthday feast of good things and the games and sports of +childhood the busy afternoon passed. Up and down the road and across +the fields, the guests departed, with their party dresses soiled, +their party combed hair disheveled, and their party cleaned faces +smudged with grime; but with the clean, clean, joy of the Yesterdays +in their clean, clean, childish hearts. Together the boy and the girl +watched them go, with waving hands and good-bye shouts, until the last +one had passed from sight and the last whoop and call had died away. +And then, reluctantly, the little girl herself went home and the boy +was left alone by the garden hedge. + +Oh, brave, brave, day of the Yesterdays! Brave birthdays of the long +ago when Death was not a fact but a fiction! When the years were ages +apart, and the farthest reach of one's imagination carried only to +being grown up! + +From his Yesterdays the man came back to wonder: if Death should wait +until he was wrinkled, bent, and old--until his limbs were palsied, +his hearing gone, his voice cracked and shrill, and his eyes dim--if +Death should let him stay until he had seen the last of his companions +go home in the evening after that last birthday--would there be one to +stand beside him--to watch with him as the others passed from sight? +Would there be anyone to help him celebrate his last birthday, if +Death should fail to come again until he was old? + +* * * * * + +Everyone was very kind to the woman that morning when the word came +that her uncle had been killed in a railroad accident. All that kind +hearts could do for her was done. Every offer of assistance was made. +But there was really nothing that anyone could do just then. She must +first go as quickly as she could to her aunt. + +The man of authority, who had always seemed to understand her woman +heart and who had paid to her the highest tribute possible for a man +to pay a woman, had broken the news to her as gently as news of Death +can be told, and, as soon as she was ready, his own carriage was +waiting before the entrance in the street below. Nor did he burden her +with talk as they were driven skillfully through the stream of the +down town traffic and then, at a quicker pace, through the more open +streets of the residence district. + +There is so little that can be said, even by the most thoughtful, when +Death enters thus suddenly into a life. The man knew that the woman +needed him. He knew that, save for the invalid aunt, there was now no +near relative to help her do the necessary things that must be done. +There was no one to help her think what would be best to do. So he +asked her gently, as they neared the house, if she would not permit +him, for the next few days, to take the place in her life that would +have been taken by an older brother. Kindly he asked that she trust +him fully--that she let him think and do for her--be a help to her in +her need--even as he would have helped her had she consented to come +into his life as he wished her to come. And the woman, because she +knew the goodness and honor of this man's heart, thanked him with +gratitude too great for words and permitted him to do for her all that +a most intimate relative would have done. + +At last it was over. The first uncontrollable expressions of +grief--the arrangements for the funeral--the service at the house and +the long ride to the cemetery with the final parting and the return to +the house that would never again be quite the same--all those hard, +first, days were past and to-morrow--to-morrow--the woman would go +back to her work. In the final going over of affairs, the finishing of +unfinished business, the ending of undeveloped plans and prospects, +the settling and closing of accounts, and the considering of new +conditions enforced by Death, it had been made very clear that for the +woman to work was, now, more than ever necessary. There was, now, no +one but her upon whom the invalid aunt could depend for even the +necessities of life. + +And the woman was glad that she was able to provide for that one who +had always been so gentle, so patient, in suffering and who, in her +sorrow, was now so brave. Since the death of the girl's own mother, +the aunt had taken, so far as she could, a mother's place in the life +of the child; and, as the years had passed and the little girl had +grown into young womanhood, she had grown into the heart of the +childless woman until she was as a daughter of her own flesh. So the +woman did not feel this added care that was forced upon her by the +changed conditions as a burden other than a burden of love. But still, +that afternoon, when it was all over, and she faced the new future +that Death had set before her, she realized the fact of Death as she +had never realized it before. + +The years since her mother's death had not been many, and, it seemed +to her, now, that they had passed very quickly. She was only a little +girl, then, and her uncle and his wife had taken her so fully into +their hearts that she had scarcely felt the gap in her life after the +first weeks of the separation had passed. Her mother belonged to the +days of her childhood and, though the years were not many as she +looked back, those childhood days seemed far, far, away. Death had +come to her, now, in the days of her womanhood. Suddenly, +unexpectedly, with awful, startling, reality, the fact of Death had +come into her life; forcing her to consider, as she had never +considered before, the swiftly passing years. + +What--she asked herself as she thought of the morrow--what, for her, +lay at the farthermost end of that procession of to-morrows? When the +best of her strength was gone with the days and weeks and months and +years--what then? When Death should come for that one who was, in +everything but blood, her mother and who was, now, her only +companion--what then? To be left alone in the world--to go, alone, all +the rest of the journey--this was the horror that Death brought to +her. As she looked, that afternoon, into the years that were to come, +this woman, who knew that she was a woman, and who was still in the +glory and beauty of her young womanhood, felt suddenly old--she felt +as though every day of the sad days just passed had been a year. + +And then, at last, from her grief of the present and from her +contemplation of the years that were to come, she turned wearily back +to the long ago. In the loneliness and sorrow of her life she went, +again, hack into her Yesterdays. There was, indeed, no other place for +her to go but back into her Yesterdays. Only in the Yesterdays can one +escape the sadness and loneliness that attend the coming of Death. +Death has little power in the Yesterdays. In childhood life, Death is +not a fact. + +Funerals were nothing more than events of surpassing interest in those +days--a subdued, intense, interest that must not be too openly +expressed, it is true, but that nevertheless could not be altogether +suppressed. Absorbed in her play the little girl would hear, suddenly, +the ringing of the bell in the white church across the valley; and it +would ring, not joyously, cheerily, interestingly, as on Sundays but +with sad, solemn, measured, notes, that would fill her childish heart +with hushed excitement. And then--it mattered not where he was or what +he was doing--the little boy would come, rushing with eager haste, to +join her at the front gate where they always watched together for the +procession and strove for the honor of sighting first the long string +of vehicles that would soon appear on one of the four roads leading to +the church. And oh, joy of joys, if it so happened that the procession +came by the way that led past the place where they danced with such +eager impatience! + +First would come, moving with slow feet and drooping head, the old +gray horse and time worn phaeton of the minister; and they would feel +a little strange and somewhat hurt because the man of God, who usually +greeted them so cheerily, would not notice them as he passed. But the +sadness in their hearts would be forgotten the next moment as they +gazed, with excited interest and whispered exclamations, at the +shining, black, hearse with its beautiful, coal black, horses that, +stepping proudly, tossing their plumed heads, and shaking the tassels +on the long nets that hung over their glossy sides, seemed to invite +the admiration that greeted them. And then, through the glass sides of +the hearse, the boy and the girl, with gasps of interest, would +discover the long black coffin half hidden by its load of flowers; or, +perhaps, the hearse, the horses, and the coffin, would all be snow +white which, the little girl thought, was prettiest of all. Then would +follow the long line of carriages, filled with people who wore their +Sunday clothes; and the boy and the girl, recognizing a friend or +acquaintance, here and there, would wonder to themselves how it would +seem to be riding in such a procession. One by one, they would count +the vehicles and recall the number in the last funeral they had +watched; gleefully triumphant, if this procession were longer than the +last; scornfully disappointed, if it were not so imposing. And then, +when the last carriage had gone up the hill on the other side of the +creek and had disappeared from sight among the trees that half hid the +church, they would wait for the procession to reappear after the +services and would watch it crawling slowly along the distant road on +its way to the cemetery. + +And the next day they would play a funeral. + +Even as they had played a wedding, they would play a funeral. Only, +they played a wedding but that once, while they played funerals many, +many, times. + +Sometimes it would be a doll's funeral when the chief figure in the +solemn rites would be taken from the grave, after it was all over, and +would be rocked to sleep with the other dollies, none the worse, +apparently, for the sad experience. Again, the part of the departed +would be taken by a mouse that had met a violent death at the hands of +the cook; or, perhaps, they would find a baby bird that had fallen +from its nest before its wings were strong. But the grandest, most +triumphant, most successful funeral of the Yesterdays was a kitten +that had most opportunely died the very day a real grown up funeral +had passed the house. What a funeral that was--with an old shoe box +for a coffin, the boy's wagon draped with pieces of black cloth +borrowed from the rag bag for a hearse, the shepherd dog for a proudly +stepping team, and all the dolls in their carriage following slowly +behind! In a corner of the garden, not far from the cherry tree, they +dug a real grave and set up a real tombstone, fashioned by the boy, to +mark the spot. And the little girl was so earnest in her sorrow that +she cried real tears at which the boy became, suddenly, very gay and +boisterous, as boys will upon such occasions, and helped her to forget +right quickly. + +Oh, boy of the Yesterdays, who would not let his little girl mate +grieve but made her laugh and forget! Where was he now? The woman +wondered. Had Death come into his life, too? Were the years ever, to +him, as a funeral procession? Did ever he feel that he was growing +old? Could he, now, make her forget her grief--could he help her to +laugh again--or had his power gone even as those Yesterdays when +Death, too, was only a pleasing game? + +From the next room, a gentle voice called softly and the woman arose +to go to her aunt. For that one who was left dependent upon her she +would be brave and strong--she would go back to her work in the +morning. + +Only children are privileged to play with the fact of Death. Only in +the Yesterdays are funerals events of merely passing interest. Only in +the Yesterdays does Death go always past the door. + + + + + +FAILURE + +And that year, also, went to join the years of the Yesterdays. + +It is as though Life, bringing to man every twelve months a new year, +bids him try again. Always, it is necessary for man to try again. +Indeed Life itself is nothing less than this: a continual trying +again. + +In the world laboratory, mankind is conducting a series of elaborate +experiments--always on the verge of the great discovery but never +quite making it--always thinking that the secret is about to be +revealed but never quite uncovering it--always failing in his +experiments but always finding in the process something that leads +him, with hope renewed, to try again. + +The man had failed. + +Sadly, sternly, with the passing of the year, he admitted to himself +that he had failed. Humiliated and ashamed, with the coming of the new +year, he admitted that he must begin again. Bitterly he called himself +a fool. And perhaps he was--more or less. Most men are a little +foolish. The man who has never been forced to swallow his own folly +has missed a bitter but wholesome tonic that, more than likely, he +needs. This man was not the kind of a man who would blame any one but +himself for his failure. If he had been that particular kind of a fool +his failure would have been of little value either to him or to any +one. Neither would there be, for me, a story. + +I do not know the particulars of this man's failure--neither the what, +the why, nor the how. I know only that he failed--that it was +necessary for him to fail. Nor is this a story of such particulars for +they are of little importance. A man can fail in anything. Some, even, +seem to fail in everything. This, therefore, is my story: that as +Failure enters into the life of every man it came into the life of +this man. In some guise or other Failure seems to be a necessity. It +is one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. But the man did +not, at that time, understand that his failure was a necessity. +_That_ understanding came to him only with Success. + +You may say that this man was too young to accomplish a real Failure. +But you need not bother about that, either. One is never too young to +experience Failure. And Failure, to the one who fails, is always, at +the time, very real. + +So this man saw the castles that he had toiled so hard to build come +tumbling down about him. So he was awakened from his bright dreams to +find that they were only dreams. So he came to see his work as +idleness and folly. Sorrowfully he looked at the ruin of his building. +Hopelessly he recalled his dreams. Despairingly he looked upon his +fruitless labor. With his fine manhood's strength dead within him, he +bitterly felt himself to be but a weakling; fit only to be pushed +aside by the stronger, better, men among whom he went, now, with +lifeless step and downcast face. There was left in his heart no +courage and no hope. He saw himself a most miserable coward, and, +ashamed and disgraced in his own sight, he shrank from the eyes of his +fellows and withdrew into himself to hide. + +And the only thing that saved the man was this: he did not pity +himself. Self-pity is debilitating. It is the dry rot that weakens the +life lines. It is the rust that eats the anchor chains. At the last +analysis, a man probably knows less about himself than he knows about +others. The only difference is that what he knows about others is +sometimes right while that which he thinks he knows about himself is +nearly always wrong. Salvation is in pitying someone else. If one must +have pity he should accept it from strangers only. The pity of +strangers is harmless to the object of it and very gratifying--to the +strangers. Self-accusation, self-censure, self-condemnation: these are +the antidotes for the poison that sometimes enters the soul through +Failure. But these antidotes must be administered with care. +Self-accusation has, usually, a very low percentage of cause. +Self-censure, undiluted, is dangerous to self-respect. And +self-condemnation is rarely to be had pure. When one brings himself to +trial before himself his chance for justice is small--the judge is +nearly always prejudiced, the jury packed, and the evidence +incomplete. + +The man, when he had withdrawn into himself, saw the world moving on +its way without him as though his failure mattered, to it, not at all. +He was forced to realize that the work of the world could be done +without him. He was compelled to see that the sum of human happiness +and human woe would be neither less nor more because of him. The world +did not really need his success--he needed it. The world did not +suffer from his failure--he suffered. He did not understand, then, +that no man is in line for success until he understands how little +either his success or his failure matters to the world. He did not +know, then, how often a good strong failure is the corner stone of a +well builded life. + +A child is not crippled for life because it falls when it is learning +to walk; neither has a man come to the end of his upward climb because +he "stubs his toe." The man knew this later but just then he was too +sore at heart to think of even trying to get up again. All those first +months of that new year he did nothing but the labor that was +necessary for him to do in order to live. And, in that which he did, +he had no heart but toiled as a dumb beast toils in obedience to its +master. The joy of work which is the reward of labor was gone. + +So the spring came. The air grew warm and balmy. The grass on the +lawns and in the parks began to look soft and inviting to feet that +were weary with the feel of icy pavements. The naked trees were being +clothed in spring raiment, fresh and green. The very faces of the +people seemed to glow with a new warmth as though a more generous life +was stirring in their veins. As the sun gathered strength, and the +coldness and bleakness of winter retreated farther and farther before +the advance of summer, the manner and dress of the crowds upon the +streets marked the change as truly as the habits of the birds and +flowers, until, at last, here and there, straw hats appeared and +suddenly, as bluebirds come, barefooted boys were playing marbles in +the alleys and fishing tackle appeared in the windows of the stores. + +All his life the man had been an ardent fisherman. And so, when his +eyes were attracted that noon, as he was passing one of those windows +filled with rods and reels and lines and hooks and nets and all things +dear to the angler's heart, he paused. His somber face brightened. His +form, that was already stooped a little, straightened. His listless +eyes, for a moment, shone with their old time fire. Then he went on to +his work. + +But, less than ever, that afternoon, was the man's heart in his labor. +While his hands mechanically performed their appointed tasks and his +brain as mechanically did its part, the man himself was not there. He +had gone far, far, away into his Yesterdays. Once again, in his +Yesterdays, the man went fishing. + +The boy was a very small boy when first he went fishing. And he fished +in the brook that ran through the valley below the little girl's +house. His hook was only a pin, bent by his own fingers; his line, a +bit of string or thread borrowed from mother's work basket; and his +rod, a slender branch of willow or a green shoot from one of the trees +in the orchard, or, it might be, a stalk of the tall pigweed that grew +down behind the barn; and for bait, those humble friends of boyhood, +the angle worms. How the boy shouted and danced with glee when he +found a big one; even though he did shudder a little as he picked it +up, squirming and wiggling, to drop it into the old baking powder can +he called his bait box! And how the little girl shrieked with fear and +admiration! Very proud was the boy that he had courage to handle the +crawling things--though many of them did escape into their tiny holes +before he could bring himself quite to the point of catching them and +pulling them out. "Only girls are afraid of worms and toads and bugs. +Boys can bait their own hooks." Manfully, too, did he hide his +thoughts when conscience pricked him, even as he the worm. "Do worms +have feelin's?" He wondered. "Does it hurt?" Half frightened, he had +laughed, one day, when the little girl asked: "What if some wicked +giant should catch you and stick you on a great hook and swing you +through the air, kicking and squirming, and drop you into the water +where it's deep, and leave you there till some great fish comes along +to swallow you like the man in the Bible that mother reads about?" + +But the boy in his Yesterdays carried home no fish from that little +brook; though he spent many hours in the hot summer sun watching +eagerly for a bite. He knew there must be fish there--great big +fellows--there were such lovely places for them under the grassy +banks--if only they would come out--but they never did. Not until he +was older did the boy understand the real reason of this failure. The +water was not deep enough. He learned, in time, that big fish are not +found in shallow streams. + +I do not know, but perhaps, the man, even as the boy, was fishing in a +too shallow stream. + +As he grew older, the boy wandered farther down the creek. A "sure +'nough" fishhook took the place of the bent pin and a real "boughten" +line, with a sinker, was tied to the hook though he still used the +slender willow rods. And, now, he sometimes brought home a fish or two +from the deeper water down in the pasture lot; and no success in after +life would ever bring to the man the same thrill of delight that was +felt by the boy when he landed a tiny "chub" or "shiner." No Roman +general, returning in triumph from the wars with captives chained to +his chariot, ever moved with a prouder spirit than he, when he went +home to mother with his little string of captured fishes. + +Then there came a day that was the proudest in his life--the day when +he was given a larger hook, a longer line, a cane pole, and permission +to go to the mill pond. No more fishing for him in the brook now! He +had outgrown all that. How small the little stream seemed, now, as he +crossed it on his way down the road! Could it be possible, he asked +himself, that he was ever content to fish there, and with a bent pin, +at that? And he felt carefully in his pocket to see if those extra +hooks were safe; and took another peep at the big worms in his bait +box--an old tomato can this time. There would be no twinge of +conscience when he baited his hook that day. And proudly he tried to +take longer steps in the dusty road; almost breaking into a run as he +neared the turn where he knew that he would see the pond. + +Often, the boy wondered if there could be anywhere in all the world +such another body of water as that old mill pond. Often, he wondered +how deep it was down by the dam in the shadow of the giant elms that +half hid the mill. Many times, he questioned: "Where did all the water +come from anyway?" Surely it could not _all_ come from the tiny +stream that flowed down the valley below the little girl's house! Why, +he could wade in that and there were boats on this! + +Once again, the man, in his Yesterdays, stood at that turn in the +road; under his bare, boyish, feet the hot, hot, dust; over his head +the blue, blue, sky; before him the beautiful water that mirrored back +the trees, the clouds, and the buildings. Once again, he sat in the +shadow of the old covered bridge, fish pole in hand, and, with boyish +delight and pride, hailed each addition to the string of catfish and +suckers that swam near by, safely anchored to the bank. He could hear +the drowsy hum of the mill across the pond and the merry shout of the +miller hailing some passer-by. And, now and then, would come, the +clatter of horses' hoofs and the rumble of a farmer's wagon on the +planks above his head and he would idly watch the ever widening +circles in the water as some bit of dirt, jarred from the beams above, +marred the glassy surface. The swallows were wheeling here and there +in swift, graceful motions; one moment lightly skimming the surface of +the pond and the next, high in air above the trees and buildings. A +water snake came gliding toward an old log close by. A turtle was +floating lazily in the sun. And a kingfisher startled him with its +harsh, discordant, rattle as it passed in rapid flight toward the +upper end of the pond where the tall cat-tails were nodding in the +sunlight and the drooping willows fringed the bank with green. + +The shadows of the giant elms near the dam grew longer and longer. A +workman left the mill and started across the pasture toward his home. +A farmer stopped on his way from the field to water his team. The +frogs began to call shrilly from the reeds and rushes. The swallows, +twittering, sought their nests beneath the bridge. It was time that +the boy was going home. + +Slowly, reluctantly, the little fisherman drew his line from the water +and wrapped it carefully round the pole. Then, picking up his string +of fish, he inspected them thoughtfully--admiring the largest and +wishing that the others were like him--and, casting one last glance at +the water, the trees, the mill, started down the road toward home. + +He must hurry now. It was later than he thought. Mother would be +watching and waiting supper for him. How pleased she would be to see +his fish. He wished that the string were longer. How quickly the night +was coming on. It was almost dark. And then, as the boy went down into +the deepening dusk of the valley, he saw, on the other side, the light +in the windows. He was almost home. + +Tired little fisherman. Wearily he crossed the creek and made his way +up the gentle slope toward the lights that gleamed so brightly against +the dark mass of the orchard hill, while high above, the first stars +of the evening were coming out. And then, as in the gloaming he +reached at last the gate where the little girl lived, he found her +waiting--watching anxiously--eager to greet him with sweet solicitude. +"Did you catch anything?" + +Proudly the boy exhibited his catch--wishing again in his heart that +the string were longer. Sadly, he told how the biggest fish of all had +dropped from his hook just when he had it almost landed. And +sometimes--the man remembered--sometimes the boy was forced to answer +that he had caught nothing at all. But always, then, would he bravely +declare that he would have better luck next time. + +Tired little fisherman--going home with his catch in the evening! +Always--disappointed little fisherman--wishing that his string were +longer! Always-brave-to-try-again little fisherman--when his day was a +day of failure! + +The man came back from his Yesterdays, that afternoon, to wonder: when +the shadows of his life grew longer and longer--when his sun was +slowly setting--when he reluctantly withdrew, at last, from the busy +haunts of men--when he went down the road toward home, as it grew +darker and darker until he could not see the way, would there be a +light in the window for him? Would he know that someone was waiting +and watching? And would he wish that his string of fish were longer? +However great his catch, would he not wish that the string were +longer? And might it not be, too, that always in life the largest fish +would be the one that he had almost landed? + +And it was so that the old fire came again into the man's eyes to +stay. He stood once more erect before men. Again his countenance was +lighted with courage and with hope. With the brave words of the little +fisherman who had caught nothing, the man, once again, faced the world +to work out his dreams. + +* * * * * + +And the woman who knew herself to be a woman was haunted by the +thought of Failure. + +After Death had come with such suddenness into her life, she had gone +back to her work, and, in spite of the changes that Death had wrought, +the days had gone much as the days before. But, because of the new +conditions and the added responsibilities, she gave herself, now, +somewhat more fully to that work than she had ever done before. She +left for herself less time for the dreams of her womanhood--less time +for waiting beside that old, old, door beyond which lay the life that +she desired with all the strength of her woman heart. + +And that world in which she labored--that life to which she now gave +herself more and more--rewarded her more and more abundantly. Because +she was strong in body with skillful hands and quick brain; because +she was superior in these things to many who labored beside her; she +received a larger reward than they. For the richness, the fullness, of +her womanhood, she received nothing. From love, the only thing that +can make that which a woman receives fully acceptable to her, she +received nothing. + +There were many who, now, congratulated the woman upon what they +called her success. And some, who knew the measure of the reward she +received from the world that set a price upon the things of her +womanhood, envied her; wishing themselves as fortunate as she. She was +even pointed out and spoken of triumphantly, by certain modern, +down-to-date, ones, as an example of the successful woman of the age. +Her success--as it was called--was cited as a triumphant argument for +the right of women to sell their womanhood for a price: to put their +strength of mind and flesh and blood, their physical and intellectual +vigor, their vitality and life, upon a market that cannot recognize +their womanhood; even though by so doing they rob the race of the only +contribution they can make that will add to its perfection. + +Really, if the customs and necessities of this age of +"down-to-date-ism" are to take the world's mothers, then it would seem +that this age of "down-to-date-ism" should find, for the perpetuation +and perfection of the race, a substitute for women. The age should +evolve a better way, a more modern method, than the old-fashioned way +that has been in vogue so long. For, just as surely as the laws of +life are beyond our power to repeal, so surely will the operation of +the laws of life not change to accommodate our newest thinking and the +race, by spending its best woman strength in work that cannot +recognize womanhood, will bequeath to the ages to come an ever +lowering standard of human life. + +The woman felt this--she felt that she could most truly serve the race +by being true to the dreams of her womanhood. She felt that the work +she was doing was not her real work but a makeshift to be undertaken +under protest and discarded without regret when her opportunity to +enter upon the real work of her life should present itself. But still, +even while feeling this, gradually there had come to be, for her, an +amount of satisfaction in knowing that she was succeeding in that +which she had set her hand to do. In the increasing reward she +received, in the advanced position she occupied, in the deference that +was shown her, in the authority that was given her, in the larger +interests that were intrusted to her, and even in the attitude of +those who held her to be a convincing example of the newest womanhood, +there was coming to be a kind of satisfaction. + +Then came that day when the woman expressed a little of this +satisfaction to the man who had always understood and who had been +always so kind. In this, too, the woman felt that he understood. + +The man had not sought to take advantage of the intimacy she had +granted him in those trying days when Death had come into her life. He +had never failed in being kind and considerate in the thousand little +things of the work that brought them together and that gave her +opportunity to learn his goodness and the genuine worth of his +manhood. Nor had he failed to make her understand that still he hoped +for the time when she would go with him into the life beyond the old, +old, door. But that day, when she made known to him, a little, her +growing satisfaction in that which the world called her success, she +saw that he was hurt. For the first time he seemed to be troubled and +afraid for her. + +Very gravely lie looked down into her eyes. Very gravely he +congratulated her. And then, quietly and convincingly, with words of +authority, he pointed out to her the possible heights she might +reach--would reach--if she continued. He told her of the place that +she, if she chose, might gain. He spoke of the reward that would be +hers. And, as he talked to her of these things, he saw the light of +interest and anticipation kindling in her eyes. Sadly he saw it. Then, +pausing--hesitating--he asked her slowly: "Do you really think that it +is, after all, worth while? For _you_, I mean, do you think that +it would be a satisfying success?" He did not wish to interfere with +her career, he said--and smiled a little at the word. He would even +help her if--if--she was sure that such a career would bring her the +real happiness he so much wanted her to have. + +And the woman, as the man looked into her eyes and as she saw the +trouble in his thoughtful face and listened to his gravely spoken +words, felt ashamed. Remembering, again, the dreams of her womanhood, +she was ashamed. From that day, the woman was haunted by the thought +of Failure. + +Why, she asked herself, why could she not open the door of her heart +to this man who had been so good to her--so true to her and to +himself? If he had taken advantage in any way, if he had sought to use +his power, she would not have cared so much. But because she knew him +so well; because she had seen his splendid character, his fine +manhood, his kindness of heart, and his strength; because of the +dreams of her womanhood; she had tried to open the door and bid him +take possession of her heart that was as an empty room furnished and +ready. But she could not. She seemed to have lost the key. +Why--why--could she not give this man what he asked? Why could she not +go with him into the life of her dreams? What was it that held her +back? What was it that held shut the door of her womanhood against +him? Could it be that, after all, she was fit only for the career upon +which she was already entered? Could it be that she was not worthy to +enter into the life her womanhood craved--the life for which she had +longed with such passionate longing--the life she had desired with +such holy desire? Could it be that she was unworthy of her womanhood? + +Bitterly this woman, who knew herself to be a woman, who had dreamed +the dreams of womanhood, and who was pointed out as a successful +woman--bitterly she felt that she had failed. + +She knew that her failure could not be because she had squandered the +wealth of her womanhood. Very carefully had she kept the treasures of +her womanhood for the coming of that one for whom she waited--knowing +not who he was but only that she would know him when he came. Might it +be that he _had_ come and she did not know him? Might it be that +the heart of her womanhood did not know? If this was so then, indeed, +Life itself is but an accident and must trust to blind chance the +fulfillment of its most sacred mission--the perpetuation and +perfection of itself. + +That the Creator should give laws for the right mating of all his +creatures except man--leaving men and women, alone, with no guide to +lead them aright in this relationship that is most vital to the +species--is unthinkable. Deeply implanted in the hearts of men and +women there is, also, an instinct; an instinct that is superior to the +dictates of the social, financial, or ecclesiastical will. And it is +this natural instinct of mate selection that should govern the +marriages of human kind as truly as it marries the birds of the fields +and the wild things that mate in the forests. + +The woman knew, instinctively, that she should not give herself to +this man. She felt in her heart that to do so would make her kin to +her sisters in the unnamable profession. The church would sanction, +the state would legalize, and society would accept such a union--does +accept such unions--but only the divine laws of Life, given for the +protection of Life, can ever make a man and a woman husband and wife. +The laws that govern the right mating of human kind are not enacted by +organizations either social, political, or religious, but are written +in the hearts of those who would, in mating, fulfill the purpose of +Life. These laws may be broken by man but they cannot by him be +repealed; and the penalty that is imposed for their violation is very +evident to all who have eyes to see and who observe with +understanding. + +The woman knew, also, that, in respect and honor and gratitude to this +man, she dared not do this thing against which the instinct of her +heart protested. But still she asked herself: "Why? Why was the door +shut against him? Why was it not in her power to do that which she so +longed to do?" + +And still, the thought of Failure haunted her. + +And so it was, that, in asking, "why"--in seeking the reason of her +failure, the woman was led back even to the years of her childhood. +Back into her Yesterdays she went in search of the key that kept fast +locked the door of her heart against the man whom she would have so +gladly admitted. And, all the way back, as she retraced the steps of +her years, she looked for one who might have the key. But she found no +one. And in her Yesterdays she found only a boy who had entered her +heart when it was the heart of a little girl. + +That the boy of her Yesterdays lived still in the heart of the woman, +she knew. But surely--surely--the boy was not strong enough to hold +her woman heart against the man who sought admittance. The boy could +not hold the door against the man and against the woman herself. Those +vows, made so solemnly under the cherry tree, were but childish vows. +It was but a play wedding, after all. And the kiss that had sealed the +vows--the kiss that was so different from other kisses--it was but a +childish kiss ... In the long years that had come between that boy and +girl the vows and the kiss had become but memories--even as the games +they played--even as her keeping house and her family of dolls. That +child wedding belonged only to the Yesterdays. + +The woman was haunted by the thought of Failure. + + + + + +SUCCESS + +The world said that he was a young man to have achieved so notable a +Success. And he was. But years have, really, little to do with a man's +age. It is the use that a man makes of his years that ages him or +keeps him young. + +This man knew that he was a man. He knew that manhood is not a matter +of years. And, knowing this, he had dreamed a man's dream. In the +world he had found something to do--a man's work--and from his +Occupation he had gained Knowledge. He had learned the value of +Ignorance and, behind the things that men have hung upon and piled +about it, he had come to recognize Religion. He knew both the dangers +and the blessings of Tradition. He had gained the heights that are +fortified by Temptation and from those levels so far above the +lowlands had looked out upon Life. Death he knew as a fact and through +Failure he had passed as through a smelting furnace. It is these +things, I say, that count for more in life than years. So, although he +was still young, the man was ready for Success. He was in the fullness +of his manhood strength. The tide of Life, for him, was just reaching +its height. + +I do not know just what it was in which the man achieved Success. Just +what it was, indeed, is not my story; nor does it matter for Success +is always the same. My story is this: that the man achieved Success +while he was still young and strong to rejoice in the triumph. + +The dreams that he had dreamed on the hilltop, when first he realized +his manhood, were, in part, fulfilled. He was looked upon by the world +as one not of the common herd--as one not of the rank and file. He was +accepted, in the field of his work, as a leader--a master. He was held +as one having authority and power. The world pointed him out to its +children as an example to be followed. The mob, that crowds always at +the foot of the ladder, looked up and cursed or begged or praised as +is the temper of such mobs. His name was often in the papers. When he +appeared on the streets or in public places he was recognized. The +people told each other who he was and what he had done. He was +received as a companion by those who were counted great by the world. +Doors that were closed to the multitude, and that had been closed to +him, were opened readily. Opportunities, offered only to the few, were +presented. The golden stream of wealth flowed to his feet. By the +foolish hangers-on of the world he was sought--he was offered praise +and admiration. All that is called Success, in short, was his; not in +so great a measure as had come to some older than he, it is true; but +it was genuine; it was merited; it was secure; and, with the years, it +would increase as a river nearing the sea. + +And the man, as he looked back to that day of his dreams, was glad +with an honest gladness. As he looked back to the time when he had +asked of the world only something to do, he was proud with a just +pride. As he looked back upon the things out of which he had builded +his Success and saw how well he had builded, he was satisfied. But +still in his gladness and pride and satisfaction there was a +disappointment. + +In his dreams, when he had looked out upon the world as a conquering +emperor, the man had seen only the deeds of valor--the exhibitions of +courage, of heroism, of strength--he had seen only the victories--the +honors. But now, in the fulfillment of his dreams--when he had won the +victory--when the honors were his--he knew the desperate struggle, the +disastrous losses, the pitiful suffering. He had felt the dangers grip +his heart. He had felt the horrid fear of defeat striking at his soul. +Upon him were the marks of the conflict. His victory had not been won +without effort. Success had demanded a price and he had paid. Perhaps +no one but the man himself knew how great was the price he had paid. + +The man found also that Success brought cares greater than he had ever +known in the days of his struggle. Always there are cares that wait at +the end of the battle and attend only upon the victor. Always there +are responsibilities that come only when the victory is won--that are +never seen in the heat of the conflict. + +Once let it be discovered that you have the strength and the +willingness to carry burdens and burdens will be heaped upon you until +you stagger, fainting, under the load. Life has never yet bred a man +who could shoulder the weight that the world insists that he take up +in his success. And, when the man could not carry all the burdens that +the world brought because his strength and endurance was only that of +a mortal, the world cursed him--called him selfish, full of greed, +heartless, an oppressor caring nothing for the woes of others. Those +who had offered no helping hand in the time of his need now clamored +loudly for a large part of his strength. Those who had cared nothing +for his life in the times of his hardships now insisted that he give +the larger part of his life to them. Those who had held him back now +demanded that he lift them up to a place beside him. Those who had +shown him only indifference--coldness--contempt, now begged of him +attention--friendship--honors--aid. + +And from all these things that attended his success the man found it +impossible to escape. The cares, the burdens, the responsibilities +that Success forced him to take up rested heavily upon him. So heavy +indeed were these things that he had little strength or will left for +the enjoyment of that which he had so worthily won. + +And the victory that he had so hardily gained, the place that he now +held, the man found that he could keep only by the utmost exertion of +his strength. The battles he had fought were nothing in comparison to +those he must now fight. The struggle he had made was nothing to the +effort he must continue to make. Temptations multiplied and appeared +in many new and unexpected forms. The very world that pointed him out +as an example watched eagerly for excuse to condemn. Those who sought +him with honors--who praised and flattered him, in envy, secretly +hoped for his ruin. Those who followed him like dogs for favors would +howl like wolves on his trail if he turned ever so little aside. Those +who opened for him the doors of opportunities would flock like +vultures to carrion if he should fall. The world, that, without +consideration, heaped upon him its burdens, would trample him beneath +its feet if he should slip under the weight. Nor had he in Success won +freedom. His very servants were freer than he, to come and go, to seek +their peculiar pleasures. + +The chains with which Success had fettered the man were unusually +galling and heavy upon him that day, when, on his way to an important +appointment, his carriage was checked in a crowded street. The man's +mind was so absorbed in the business waiting his attention that he did +not notice how dense was the crowd that barred the way. +Impatiently--with overwrought nerves--he spoke sharply, commanding his +man to drive on. + +The man begged pardon but it was impossible. + +"Impossible," still more sharply, "what's the matter?" + +The driver ventured a smile, "It's the circus parade, sir." + +"Then turn around." + +But that, too, was impossible. The traffic had pushed in behind +hemming them in. + +Then, down the street that crossed in front of the crowded jam of +vehicles, came the familiar sound of trumpets and the gorgeously +attired heralds at the head of the procession appeared, followed by +the leading band with its crashing, smashing, music. + +As gilded chariot followed gilded chariot, each drawn by many pairs of +beautiful horses, gaily plumed and equipped--as the many riders, in +glittering armor and flashing, spangled, costumes, rode proudly past; +followed by the long line of elephants and camels with the cages of +their fellow captives; and, in turn, by the chariot racers, the +clowns, and the wagons of black faced fun makers; and at last by the +steam calliope with its escort of madly shouting urchins--the man in +the carriage slipped away from the cares and burdens of the present +into the freedom of his Yesterdays. He escaped from the galling chains +that Success had put upon him and lived again a circus day in the long +ago. + +Weeks before the date of the great event, the barns and sheds and +every available wall in the little village, to which the boy often +went with his father, would be covered with gorgeous pictures +announcing the many startling, stupendous, wonders, to be seen for so +small a price. There was a hippopotamus of such size that a boat load +of twenty naked savages was not for him a mouthful. There were +elephants so huge that the house where the boy lived was but a play +house beside them. There were troops of aerial artists, who, on wires +and rings and trapeze and ladders and ropes, did daring, dreadful, +death defying, deeds, that no simian in his old world forest would +ever think of attempting. There was a great, glittering, gorgeous, +procession, of such length that the farther end was lost beyond the +distant horizon and tents that covered more acres of ground than the +boy could see from the top of the orchard hill. + +Wonderful promises of the billboards! Wonderful! Wonderful promises of +the billboards of Life! Wonderful! + +Then would follow the days of waiting--the endless days of +waiting--when the boy, with the help of the little girl, would try to +be everything that the billboards pictured, from the roaring lion in +his cage to the painted clown who cut such side splitting capers and +the human fly that, with her gay Japanese parasol, walked upside down +upon a polished ceiling. When circus day was coming, the fairies and +knights and princes and soldiers and all their tried and true +companions were forced to go somewhere--anywhere--out of the boy's +way. There was no time, in those busy days, even for fishing. The old +mill pond had no charm that was not exceeded by the promises of the +billboards. The earth itself, indeed, was merely a place upon which to +pitch a circus tent. The charms of the little girl, even, were almost +totally eclipsed by the captivating loveliness of those ladies who, in +spangled tights of blue and pink and red, hung by their teeth at dizzy +heights, bestrode glittering wheels upon slack wires, or were shot +from cannon to soar, amid black smoke and lurid flame, like angels, +far above the heads of the common people. + +There was no lying in bed to be called the third time the morning of +that day; when at last it came. Scarcely had the sun peeped through +the orchard on the hill when the boy was up and at the window +anxiously looking to see if the sky was clear. Very early the start +for town was made for there is much on circus day that is not pictured +on the billboards--_that_, of course, the boy knew. And, as they +drove through the fresh smelling fields, the boy would wonder if the +long journey would ever come to an end and would ask himself, with +sinking heart: "What if they had mistaken the day? What if something +had happened that the circus could not materialize the promises of the +billboards? What, if the hippopotamus, the elephants, the beautiful +ladies in spangles and tights, and all the other promises of the +billboards should fail?" And somewhere, deep within his being, the boy +would feel a thrill of gladness that the little girl was so close +beside him. If anything should happen that the promises of the +billboards should fail he would need the little girl. While, if +nothing happened--if it was all as pictured--still it would not be +enough if the little girl were not there. + +It was all over at last. The spangled riders galloped out of the ring; +the trapeze performers made their last death defying leap; the clown +cracked his last joke and cut his last caper; the last peanut in the +sack was devoured by the elephant; and, at the close of the long day, +the boy and the girl went back through the quiet fields to their +homes; tired with the excitement and wonder of it all but with sighs +of content and happiness. And, deep in his heart, that night, the boy +resolved that he would grow up to travel with a circus. He would be +very sorry to leave father and mother and the little girl but nothing +in the world--nothing--should keep him from such a glorious career. + +The man knew, now, that the promises of those billboards in his +Yesterdays were never fulfilled. He knew, now, that the golden +chariots were not gold at all but only gilded. He knew, now, that +those wondrous beings who wore the glittering, spangled, costumes, +were only very common and very ordinary men and women. He did not, +now, envy the riders in the procession or the performers in the tent. +He knew that to have a place in the parade or to perform in the ring, +is to envy those whose applause you must win. The quiet of the old +fields; the peaceful home under the orchard hill; the gentle +companionship of the little girl; these were the things that in the +man's life endured long after the glamor of the circus was gone. + +Through the circus day crowd the man was driven on to his appointment +but his mind was not now occupied with the business that awaited him. +His thoughts were not with the crowd that filled the streets. His +heart was in his Yesterdays. The music of the circus band, the sight +of the parade that so stirred his memories of childhood, had awakened +within him a hunger for the old home scenes. He longed to escape from +Success--to get away from the circus parade of Life in which he found +himself riding. He was weary of performing in the ring. He wanted to +go home through the quiet fields. Perhaps--perhaps--amid the scenes of +his Yesterdays, he might find that which Success had not brought. + +As quickly as he could make arrangements, he went. + +Of the woman's success, I cannot write here. My story has been poorly +told, indeed, if I have not made it clear that, for this woman who +knew herself to be a woman, Success was inseparable from Love. + +For every woman who knows herself to be a woman, Love and Success are +one. + + + + + +LOVE + +Again it was that time of the year when every corner of the world is a +lovers' corner. + +On bough and branch, in orchard and wood; on bush and vine, in garden +and yard; in meadow grass and pasture sod; on the silvery lichens that +cling to the rocks; among the ferns and mosses that dwell in cool +retreats; amid the reeds and rushes by the old mill pond; in the +fragrant mints and fluted blades on the banks of the little creek; the +children of Nature sought their mates or by their mates were sought. + +Every flower cup was a loving cup, lifted to drink a pledge to Life; +every tint of color was a blush of love, called forth by the wooing of +Life; every perfumed breath was a breath of love, a blessing and +prayer of Life; every rustling movement was a whisper of love, a +promised word of Life; every touch of the breeze was a caress of love, +a passionate kiss of Life; every sunbeam was a smile of love, warm +with the tender triumph of Life. + +The bees, that, in their labor for hive and swarm, carry the golden +pollen from flower to flower, preach thus the word of God. The gauze +winged insects, that, in the evening, dance their aerial mating dance, +declare thus the Creator's will. The fireflies, that, in the night +time, light their tiny lamps of love, signal thus a message from the +throne on high. + +The fowls of the air, singing their mating songs; the wild stallion on +the hills, trumpeting aloud his fiery strength; the bull on the +plains, thundering his bellowing challenge; the panther that in the +mountains screams to his mate; the wolf that in the timber howls to +his mistress; declare thus the supreme law of Life--make known the +unchanging purpose of God--and evidence an authority and power divine. + +In all this wooing and mating; in all this seeking and being sought; +in all this giving and receiving; in all this loving and being loved; +in all natural and holy desire; Life is exalted--the divine is +worshiped--acceptable offerings to God are made. + +To preserve Life--to perpetuate Life--to produce Life--to perfect +Life--to exalt Life--this is the purpose of Life. In all the activity +of Life there is no other meaning manifest. This, indeed, _is_ +Life. How foolish then to think only of eternal Life as though it +began at the grave. This Life that _is_, is the eternal Life. +_Eternity is to-day_. The man and woman who mate in love fulfill +thus the eternal law of Life, and, in their children, conceived and +born in Love, do they know and do the will of God, even as do all +things that are alive. + +Life and Love are one. + +The man had been at his boyhood home but three days when the neighbor, +who lived next door, told him that his childhood playmate was coming, +with her aunt, to visit their old home for a few weeks. + +"Needs a rest and quiet" the neighbor said; and smiled at nothing at +all as neighbors will sometimes do. + +Perhaps, though, the neighbor smiled at the look of surprise and +bewilderment that swept over the man's face as he heard the news, or +it might have been at the mingling of pleasure and regret that was in +his voice as he answered: "Indeed." Or, perhaps, the neighbor was +wondering what the woman would say and how she would look if she knew +that the man was to be next door. Whatever the reason the neighbor +smiled. + +They did not know that the woman was, in reality, seeking to escape +from the thought of Failure that so haunted her. Since that day when +her good friend had talked to her of her career and had gravely +asked--"for _you_ do you think it would be success?"--her work +had become more and more unbearable. In desperation, at last, she had +arranged to go, for a few weeks, back to the scenes of her girlhood; +hoping to find there, as she had found before, the peace and strength +she needed. + +The cherry tree, in the corner of the garden near the hedge, showered +the delicate petals of its blossoms down with every touch of the +gentle breeze. In the nearby bower of green, a pair of brown birds had +just put the finishing touch to a new nest. But, in the years that had +passed since that boy and girl play wedding, the tree had grown large, +and scarred, and old. Many pairs of brown birds had nested and reared +their broods in the hedge since that day when the lad had kissed his +childhood mate with a kiss that was different. And the little opening +through which the boy and girl had so often gone at each other's call +was closed by a growth of branches that time had woven as if to shut, +forever, that gateway of their Yesterdays. On his former visit, the +man had looked for that gateway of his childhood but could not find +it. And now, when he heard that she was coming, he went again, +curiously, to see if he could find any sign to show where the opening +had been. But the branches that the years had woven hid from the man's +eyes every trace of the old way that, in his Yesterdays, had been so +plain. + +Late that afternoon, when the neighbor, coming from the depot with his +guests, drove slowly up the hill, the man stood at the gate where, +years before, the little boy had sat on the post, and, swinging his +bare legs, had watched the big wagons, loaded with household goods, +turning into the yard of the place next door. + +There was no reason why the man should get up when the first touches +of gray light showed in the eastern sky the next morning, but the day +seemed to call him and he arose and went out. From the little hill +where he had sat that day when first he knew that he was a man and +where his manhood life began with his dreams, he watched the sun rise +and saw the sleeping world awake. Then back through the orchard that +was all dew drenched and ringing with the morning hymn of the birds, +he went, until he stood in the garden. + +The man did not know why he went into the garden. Something seemed to +lead him there. And he went very softly as one goes into places that +are holy with the memories of dead years. Very still, he stood, +watching the two birds that had builded their nest in the hedge near +the cherry tree that, now, lifted its branches so high. The two birds +were very, very, busy that morning; but, busy as they were, the father +bird could not resist pouring forth the joy of his life in a flood of +melody while his mate, swinging and fluttering and chirping on a +nearby twig, seemed to enter as fully and heartily into his sentiments +as though the song were her own. Breathlessly, with bare head and +upturned, eager, face, the man watched and listened. + +When the song was ended he drew a long breath--then started and, +without moving from his place, looked carefully around. A low call had +reached his ears--a familiar call that seemed to come out of the long +ago. Surely his fancy was playing him strange tricks that morning. + +He was turning toward the house when, again, that call came--low and +clear. It was a call of his Yesterdays. And this time it was followed +by a low, full throated laugh that was as full of music as the song of +the bird to which the man had been listening. + +With amazement and wonder upon his face, he turned quickly toward the +hedge, as a voice that was like an echo of the laugh said: "Good +morning! Pardon me for startling you--you looked so much like the +little boy that I couldn't resist." + +[Illustration: When they told me that you were here I wanted to go +away again] + +"But where are you?" asked the man, bewildered still. + +Again came that low, full throated laugh. Then: "I believe you think I +am a ghost. I'm here at the hedge--at the old place. Have you +forgotten?" + +Slowly, as she spoke, he went toward the hedge, guided by her voice. +"So _you_ found it then," he said slowly, gazing at the beautiful +woman face that was framed in the green of the leaves and branches. + +And at his words, the woman's heart beat quicker--so he had +_tried_ to find it--but aloud she only said: "Of course." + +To which he returned smilingly: "But it is quite grown over now, isn't +it? You could scarcely come through there now as you used to do--could +you?" + +The woman laughed again. "I could if I were a man"--she challenged. + +A moment later he stood beside her; a little breathless, with his +clothing disarranged, and a scratch or two on his face and hands. + +"Do you know"--she said when they had shaken hands quite properly as +grown up people must do--"do you know that I was dreadfully afraid to +meet you? When they told me that you were here I wanted to go away +again. I was afraid that you would be so different. Do you +understand?" + +"Yes," he said, gravely, "I understand." But he did not tell her, +then, how fully he understood. + +She went on: "But when I looked through the hedge and saw you with +your hat off, watching the birds, I knew you were the same little +boy--and--well--I could not resist giving the old call." + +And, all at once, the man knew why he had risen early that morning and +why he had gone into the garden. + +After that, they spent many days together in the scenes of their +childhood; living over again, so far as man and woman may, their +Yesterdays. And so cane, at last, the day that was forever after, to +them, _the_ day of all their days. + +It was in the afternoon and they were together down by the little +brook, in the shade of the willows, where the stream, running lazily +under the patches of light and shade, murmured drowsily--seeming more +than half asleep. She was weaving an old time daisy chain from a great +armful that he had helped her gather on their way to the cool retreat. +A bit of fancy work that she had brought from the house lay neglected +near his hat, which the man, boy like, had cast aside. He was +industriously fishing for minnows, with a slender twig of willow for a +rod, a line of thread from her sewing, and a pin, that she had found +for him, fashioned into a hook. With a pointed stick he had dug among +the roots of the old tree for bait--securing one, tiny, thin, worm and +rejoicing gleefully at his success. For a long time neither had said a +word; but the woman, her white fingers busy with the daisies in her +lap, had several times looked up from her pretty task to smile at the +man who was so intensely and seriously interested in his childish +sport. + +"Gee! I nearly got one that time!" He exclaimed with boyish triumph +and disappointment in his voice. + +The woman laughed merrily. "One would think," she said, "that your +fame in life depended upon your catching one of those poor little +fish. What do you suppose your dear, devoted, public would say if they +could see you now?" + +The man grunted his disapproval. "I came out here to get away from +said public," he retorted. "Why do you drag 'em into our paradise?" + +At his words, a warm color crept into the woman's face, and, bending +low over the daisies in her lap, she did not answer. + +Lifting the improvised fishing tackle of his childhood and looking at +it critically the man said: "I suppose, now, that if this rod were a +split bamboo, and this thread were braided silk, and this pin with its +wiggly piece of worm were a "Silver Doctor" or a "Queen of the Waters" +or a "Dusty Miller" or a "Brown Hackle"; and if this stream were an +educated stream, with educated trout; and the house up there were a +club house; and your dear old aunt, who is watching to see that I +don't eat you, were a lot of whist playing old men; I suppose you +would think it all right and a proper sport for a man. But for me--I +can't see much difference--except that, just now--" he carefully +lowered his hook into the water--"just now, I prefer this. In fact," +he added meditatively, "I would rather do this than anything else in +the world." + +The color in the woman's face deepened. + +After a little, he looked cautiously around to see her bending over +the daisy chain. A moment later, under pretense of examining his bait, +he stole another look. Then, in spite of his declaration, he abandoned +his sport to stretch himself full length on the ground at her side. + +She did not look at him but bent her head low over the wealth of white +and gold blossoms in her lap; and the man noticed, with an odd feeling +of pleasure, the beautiful curve of her white neck from the soft brown +hair to the edge of her dress low on the shoulder. Then, with a sly +smile, as the boy of their Yesterdays might have done, he stealthily +raised the slender willow twig and with the tip cautiously attempted +to lift the thin golden chain that she always wore loosely about her +throat with the locket or pendant concealed by her dress. + +She clutched the chain with a frightened gesture and a little +exclamation. "You must not--you must not do that." + +The man laughed aloud as the mischievous boy would have laughed. + +But the woman, with flaming cheeks, caught the twig from his hand and +threw it into the creek. "If you are not good, I shall call auntie," +she threatened. + +At which he looked ruefully toward the porch and became very serious. +"Do you know that I am going away to-morrow?" he asked. + +"And leave your paradise for your dear public?" she said mockingly. +"The public will be glad." + +"And you, will you care?" + +"I'm going back to my work, too, next week," she replied. + +"But will you care to-morrow?" he persisted. + +The woman's fingers, busy with the daisy chain, trembled. + +The man, when she still did not answer his question, arose and, +picking up his hat and her sewing, held out his hand. + +She looked up into his face questioningly. + +"Come"--he said with a grave smile--"come." + +Still without speaking, she gave him her hand and he helped her to her +feet; and, at her touch, the man again felt that thrill of pleasure. + +The aunt, from her place on the porch, saw them coming up the grassy +slope, through the daisies, toward the house. She saw them coming and +smiled--as the neighbor had smiled, so she smiled, apparently, at +nothing at all. + +But the man and the woman did not go to the porch where the old lady +sat. With a wave of their hands, they passed from her sight around the +house, and, a few minutes later, stood face to face in that quiet, +secluded, corner of the garden, under the old cherry tree, close by +the hedge. + +"Now," said the man gently, "now tell me--will you be sorry to have me +go away to-morrow?" + +She made no pretense that she did not understand, Nor did she hesitate +as one in doubt. Lifting her head, proudly, humbly, graciously, she +looked at him and, in that look, surrendered to him, without reserve, +all the treasures of her womanhood that, with such care, she had kept +against that hour. And her face was shining with the light that only a +woman's mate can kindle. + +The man caught his breath. "My wife," he said. "My wife," + +A few moments later he whispered: "Tell me again--I know that you have +always belonged to me and I to you--but tell me again--you will--you +will--be my wife?" + +Releasing herself gently, she lifted her hands and, unfastening that +slender chain of gold from around her throat, with rosy cheeks and +happy, tender, eyes, held out to him a tiny brass ring. + +So the Yesterdays of the man and the Yesterdays of the woman became +Their Yesterdays. + +All that Dreams, Occupation, Knowledge, Ignorance, Religion, +Tradition, Temptation, Life, Death, Failure, Success, Love and +Memories had given him, this man who knew that he was a man, gave to +her. All that the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life had given her, +this woman who knew herself to be a woman, gave to him. And thus these +two became one. As God made them one, they became one. + +And this is the love that I say, is one of the Thirteen Truly Great +Things of Life. + +But my story is not yet quite finished for still, you must know, there +are Memories. + + + + + +MEMORIES + +And the years of the man and the woman passed until all their days +were Yesterdays. + +Even as they had, together, crossed the threshold of the old, old, +door that has stood open since the beginning, they stood now, +together, upon the threshold of another door that has never been +closed. + +And it was so, that, as once they went back into the Yesterdays that +became Their Yesterdays, so they still went back to the days that were +past. It was so, that the things of their manhood and womanhood had +become to them, now, even as the things of their childhood. They knew, +now, that, indeed, the work of men is but the play of children, after +all. + +Their years were nearly spent, it is true. His hair was silvery white +and his form was bent and trembling. Her cheeks were like the drying +petals of a rose and her once brown hair was as white as his. But the +vigor and strength and life of their years lived still--gloriously +increased in the lives that they had given to the race. + +Gone were the years of their manhood and womanhood--even as the days +of their boyhood and girlhood--they were gone. But, as the boy and the +girl had lived in the man and the woman, the man and the woman lived, +now, in their boys and girls and in the children of their children. + +And this was the true glory and the fulfillment of their lives--that +they could live thus in their children--that they could see themselves +renewed in their children and in their children's children. + +So it was that Memories became to this man and this woman, also, one +of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. + +There are many things that might be told about this man and +woman--about the work they did, the place they held in life, and the +rewards and honors they received--but I have put down all that, at the +end, seemed of any importance to them. Therefore have I put down +all that matters to my story. + +What matters to them and to my story is this: always, as they went +back into the Yesterdays, they went back to the days of their +childhood and to the days of their children. They went back only to +_Their_ Yesterdays. To those other days--those days when they +were strangers--they did not go back. + + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Their Yesterdays, by Harold Bell Wright + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEIR YESTERDAYS *** + +***** This file should be named 6105.txt or 6105.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/0/6105/ + +Produced by Julie Barkley, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Their Yesterdays + +Author: Harold Bell Wright + +Release Date: July, 2004 [EBook #6105] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 6, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THEIR YESTERDAYS *** + + + + +Etext prepared by Julie Barkley, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + +[Illustration: In the glowing heart of the fire she saw her home warm +with holy love.] + +THEIR YESTERDAYS + + +By: HAROLD BELL WRIGHT + + +Author of "The Winning Of Barbara Worth" etc., etc. + + + + + +With illustrations by F. GRAHAM COOTES + + + + + +To Mrs. Elsbery W. Reynolds + +In admiration of the splendid motherhood that, in her sons, has +contributed such wealth of manhood to the race. And, in her daughter, +has given to human-kind such riches of womanhood. With kindest +regards, I inscribe this book. + +H. B. W. + +"Relay Heights" June 8, 1912 + + + + + + +_Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, Pleased with a rattle, +tickled with a straw; Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, +A little louder, but as empty quite; Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his +riper stage, And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age; Pleased +with this bauble still, as that before; Till tired he sleeps, and +life's poor play is o'er._ + +"AN ESSAY ON MAN"--_Pope._ + + + + + +PROEM + +There was a man. + +And it happened--as such things often so happen--that this man went +back into his days that were gone. Again and again and again he went +back. Even as every man, even as you and I, so this man went back into +his Yesterdays. + +Then--why then there was a woman. + +And it happened--as such things sometimes so happen--that this woman +also went back into her days that were gone. Again and again and again +she went back. Even as every woman, even as you and I, so this woman +went back into her Yesterdays. + +So it happened--as such things do happen--that the Yesterdays of this +man and the Yesterdays of this woman became Their Yesterdays, and that +they went back, then, no more alone but always together. + +Even as one, they, forever after, went back. + + + + + +What They Found in Their Yesterdays + +And the man and the woman who went back into Their Yesterdays found +there the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. Just as they found +these things in their grown up days, even unto the end, so they found +them in Their Yesterdays. + +Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life there are. No life can have less. +No life can have more. All of life is in them. No life is without them +all. + +Dreams, Occupation, Knowledge, Ignorance, Religion, Tradition, +Temptation, Life, Death, Failure, Success, Love, Memories: these are +the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life--found by the man and the +woman in their grown up days--found by them in Their Yesterdays--and +they found no others. + +It does not matter where this man and this woman lived, nor who they +were, nor what they did. It does not matter when or how many times +they went back into Their Yesterdays. These things are all that they +found. And they found these things even as every man and woman finds +them, even as you and I find them, in our days that are and in our +days that were--in our grown up days and in our Yesterdays. + +And it is so that in all of these Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life +there is a man and there is a woman. + + + + + +THE THIRTEEN TRULY GREAT THINGS OF LIFE + +DREAMS + +OCCUPATION + +KNOWLEDGE + +IGNORANCE + +RELIGION + +TRADITION + +TEMPTATION + +LIFE + +DEATH + +FAILURE + +SUCCESS + +LOVE + +MEMORIES + + + + + +THEIR YESTERDAYS + + + + +DREAMS + +The man, for the first time, stood face to face with Life and, for the +first time, knew that he was a man. + +For a long time he had known that some day he would be a man. But he +had always thought of his manhood as a matter of years. He had said to +himself: "when I am twenty-one, I will be a man." He did not know, +then, that twenty-one years--that indeed three times twenty-one +years--cannot make a man. He did not know, then, that men are made of +other things than years. + +I cannot tell you the man's name, nor the names of his parents, nor +his exact age, nor just where he lived, nor any of those things. For +my story, such things are of no importance whatever. But this is of +the greatest importance: as the man, for the first time, stood face to +face with Life and, for the first time, realized his manhood, his +manhood life began in Dreams. + +It is the dreams of life that, at the beginning of life, matter. Of +the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life, Dreams are first. + +It was green fruit time. From the cherry tree that grew in the upper +corner of the garden next door, close by the hedge that separated the +two places, the blossoms were gone and the tiny cherries were already +well formed. The nest, that a pair of little brown birds had made that +spring in the hedge, was just empty, and, from the green laden +branches of the tree, the little brown mother was calling anxious +advice and sweet worried counsel to her sons and daughters who were +trying their new wings. + +In the cemetery on the hill, beside a grave over which the sod had +formed thick and firm, there was now another grave--another grave so +new that on it no blade of grass had started--so new that the yellow +earth in the long rounded mound was still moist and the flowers that +tried with such loving, tender, courage, to hide its nakedness were +not yet wilted. Cut in the block of white marble that marked the +grass-grown grave were the dearest words in any tongue--Wife and +Mother; while, for the new-made mound that lay so close beside, the +workmen were carving on a companion stone the companion words. + +There were two other smaller graves nearby--one of them quite +small--but they did not seem to matter so much to the tall young +fellow who had said to himself so many times: "when I am twenty-one, I +will be a man." It was the two graves marked by the companion words +that mattered. And certainly he did not, at that time, feel himself a +man. As he left the cemetery to go home with an old neighbor and +friend of the family, he felt himself rather a very small and lonely +boy in a very big and empty world. + +But there had been many things to do in those next few days, with no +one but himself to do them. There had been, in the voices of his +friends, a note that was new. In the manner of the men who had come to +talk with him on matters of business, he had felt a something that he +had never felt before. And he had seen the auctioneer--a lifelong +friend of his father--standing on the front porch of his boyhood home +and had heard him cry the low spoken bids and answer the nodding heads +of the buyers in a voice that was hoarse with something more than long +speaking in the open air. And then--and then--at last had come the +sharp blow of the hammer on the porch railing and from the trembling +lips of the old auctioneer the word: "Sold." + +It was as though that hammer had fallen on the naked heart of the boy. +It was as though the auctioneer had shouted: "Dead." + +And so the time had come, a week later, when he must go for a last +look at the home that was his no longer. Very slowly he had walked +about the yard; pausing a little before each tree and bush and plant; +putting forth his hand, at times, to touch them softly as though he +would make sure that they were there for he saw them dimly through a +mist. The place was strangely hushed and still. The birds and bees and +even the butterflies seemed to have gone somewhere far away. Very +slowly he had gone up the steps to open the front door. Very slowly he +had passed from room to room in the empty, silent, house. On the +kitchen porch he had paused again, for a little, because he could not +see the steps; then had gone on to the well, the garden, the +woodhouse, the shop, the barn, and so out into the orchard that shaded +the gently rising slope of the hill beyond the house. At the farther +side of the orchard, on the brow of the hill, he had climbed the rail +fence and had seated himself on the ground where he could look out and +away over the familiar meadows and fields and pastures. + +A bobo-link, swinging on a nearby bush, poured forth a tumbling +torrent of silvery melody. Behind him, on the fence, a meadow lark +answered with liquid music. About him on every side, in the soft +sunlight, the bluebirds were flitting here and there, twittering +cheerily the while over their bluebird tasks. And a woodpecker, hard +at work in the orchard shade, made himself known by the din of his +industry. + +But the man, who did not yet quite realize that he was a man, gave no +heed to these busy companions of his boyhood. To him, it was as though +those men with their shovels had heaped that mound of naked, yellow, +earth upon his heart. The world, for him, was as empty as the old +house down there under the orchard hill. For a long time he sat very +still--seeing nothing, hearing nothing, heeding nothing--conscious +only of that dull, aching, loneliness--conscious only of that heavy +weight of pain. + +A mile or more away, beyond the fields, a moving column of smoke from +a locomotive lifted itself into the sky above the tree tops and +streamed back a long, dark, banner. As the column of smoke moved +steadily on toward the distant horizon, the young man on the hilltop +watched it listlessly. Then, as his mind outran the train to the +cities that lay beyond the line of the sky, his eyes cleared, his +countenance brightened, his thoughts went outward toward the great +world where great men toil mightily; and the long, dark, banner of +smoke that hung above the moving train became to him as a flag of +battle leading swiftly toward the front. Eagerly now he +watched--watched until, far away, the streaming column of smoke passed +from sight around a wooded hill and faint and clear through the still +air--a bugle call to his ears--came the long challenging whistle. + +Then it was that he realized his manhood--knew that he was a man--and +understood that manhood is not a matter of only twenty-one years. And +then it was--as he sat there alone on the brow of the little hill with +his boyhood years dead behind him and the years of his manhood +before--that his manhood life began, even as the manhood life of every +man really begins, with his Dreams. + +Indeed it is true that all life really begins in dreams. Surely the +lover dreams of his mistress--the maiden of her mate. Surely mothers +dream of the little ones that sleep under their hearts and fathers +plan for their children before they hold them in their arms. Every +work of man is first conceived in the worker's soul and wrought out +first in his dreams. And the wondrous world itself, with its myriad +forms of life, with its grandeur, its beauty and its loveliness; the +stars and the heavenly bodies of light that crown the universe; the +marching of the days from the Infinite to the Infinite; the procession +of the years from Eternity to Eternity; all this, indeed, is but God's +good dream. And the hope of immortality--of that better life that lies +beyond the horizon of our years--what a vision is that--what a +wondrous dream--given us by God to inspire, to guide, to comfort, to +hold us true! + +With wide eyes the man looked out upon a wide world somewhat as a +conquering emperor, confident in his armed strength, might from a +hilltop look out over the scene of a coming battle. He did not see the +grinding hardships, the desperate struggles, the disastrous losses, +the pitiful suffering. The dreadful dangers did not grip his heart. +The horrid fear of defeat did not strike his soul. He did not know the +dragging weight of responsibility nor the dead weariness of a losing +fight. He saw only the deeds of mighty valor, the glorious exhibitions +of courage, of heroism, of strength. He felt only the thrill of +victories, the pride of honors and renown. He knew only the +inspiration of a high purpose. He heard only the call to greatness. +And it was well that in his Dreams there were only these. + +The splendid strength of young manhood stirred mightily in his limbs. +The rich, red, blood of youth moved swiftly in his veins. His eager +spirit shouted aloud in exultation of the deeds that he would do. And, +surely, it was no shame to him that at this moment, when for the first +time he realized his manhood, this man, in his secret heart, felt +himself to be a leader of men, a conqueror of men, a savior of men. It +was no shame to him that he felt the salvation of the world depending +upon him. + +And he was right. Upon him and upon such as he the salvation of the +world _does_ depend. But it is well, indeed, that these +unrecognized, dreaming, saviors of the world do not know, as they +dream, that their crosses, even then, are being prepared for them. It +is their salvation that they do not know. It is the salvation of the +world that they do not know. + +And then, as one from the deck of a ship bound for a foreign land +looks back upon his native shore when the vessel puts out from the +harbor, this man turned from his years that were to come to his years +that were past and from dreaming of his future slipped back into the +dreams of his Yesterdays. Perhaps it was the song of the bobo-link +that did it; or it may have been the music of the meadow lark; or +perhaps it was the bluebird's cheerful notes, or the woodpecker's loud +tattoo--whatever it was that brought it about, the man dreamed again +the dreams of his boyhood--dreamed them even as he dreamed the dreams +of his manhood. + +And there was no one to tell him that, in dreaming, his boyhood and +his manhood were the same. + +Once again a boy, on a drowsy summer afternoon, he lay in the shade of +the orchard trees or, in the big barn, sought the mow of new mown hay, +and, with half closed eyes, slipped away from the world that droned +and hummed and buzzed so lazily about him into another and better +world of stirring adventure and brave deeds. Once again, when the sun +was hidden under heavy skies and a steady pouring rain shut him in, +through the dusk of the attic he escaped from the narrow restrictions +of the house, and, from his gloomy prison, went out into a fairyland +of romance, of knighthood, and of chivalry. Again it was winter time +and the world was buried deep under white drifts, with all its +brightness and beauty of meadow and forest hidden by the cold mantle, +and all its music of running brooks and singing birds hushed by an icy +hand, when, snug and warm under blankets and comforters, after an +evening of stories, he slipped away into the wonderland of dreams--not +the irresponsible, sleeping, dreams--those do not count--but the +dreams that come between waking and sleeping, wherein a boy dare do +all the great deeds he ever read about and can be all the things that +ever were put in books for boys to wish they were. + +Oh, but those were brave dreams--those dreams of his Yesterdays! No +cruel necessity of life hedged them in. No wall of the practical or +possible set a limit upon them. No right or wrong decreed the way they +should go. In his Yesterdays, there were fairy Godmothers to endow him +with unlimited power and to grant all his wishes, even unto mountains +of golden wealth and vast caverns filled with all manner of precious +gems. In his Yesterdays, there were wicked giants and horrid dragons +and evil beasts to kill, with always a good Genii to see that they did +not harm him the while he bravely took their baleful lives. In his +Yesterdays, he was a prince in gorgeous raiment; an emperor with +jeweled scepter and golden crown; a knight in armor, with a sword and +proudly stepping horse of war; he was a soldier leading a forlorn +hope; or a general, with his plumed staff officers about him, +directing the battle from a mountain top; he was a sailor cast away on +a desert island; or a captain commanding his ship in a storm or, +clinging to the shrouds in a smother of battle flame and smoke, +shouting his orders through a trumpet to his gallant crew; he was a +pirate; a robber chief; a red Indian; a hunter; a scout of the +plains--he could be anything, in those dreams of his Yesterdays, +anything. + +So, even as the man, the boy had dreamed. But the man did not think of +it in that way--the dreams of his _manhood_ were too real. + +Then in his Yesterdays would come, also, the putting of his dreams +into action, for the play of children, even as the works of men, are +only dreams in action after all. The quiet orchard became a vast and +pathless forest wherein lurked wild beasts and savage men ready to +pounce upon the daring hunter; or, perhaps, it was an enchanted wood +with lords and ladies imprisoned in the trees while in the carriage +house--which was not a carriage house at all but a great castle--a +cruel giant held captive their beautiful princess. The haymow was a +robbers' cave wherein great wealth of booty was stored; the garden, a +desert island on which lived the poor castaway. And many a long summer +hour the bold captain clung to the rigging of his favorite apple tree +ship and gazed out over the waving meadow sea, or the general of the +army, on his rail fence war horse, directed the battle from the +hilltop or led the desperate charge. + +But rarely, in his Yesterdays, could the boy put his dreams into +successful action alone. Alone he could dream but to realize his +dreams, he needs must have the help of another. And so _she_ came +to take her place in his life, to help him play out his dreams--the +little girl who lived next door. + +Who was she? Why, she was the beautiful princess held captive by the +giant in his carriage house castle until rescued by the brave prince +who came to her through the enchanted wood. She was the crew of the +apple tree ship; the robber band; the army following her general in +his victorious charge; and the relief expedition that found the +castaway on his desert island. Sometimes she was even a cannibal +chief, or a monster dragon, or a cruel wild beast. And always--though +the boy did not know--she was a good fairy weaving many spells for his +happiness. + +The man remembered well enough the first time that he met her. A new +family was moving into the house that stood just below the garden and, +from his seat on the gate post, the boy was watching the big wagons, +loaded with household goods, as they turned into the neighboring yard. +On the high seat of one of the wagons was the little girl. A big man +lifted her down and the boy, watching, saw her run gaily into the +house. For some time he held his place, swinging his bare legs +impatiently, but he did not see the little girl come out into the yard +again. Then, dropping to the ground, the boy slipped along the garden +fence under the currant bushes to a small opening in the hedge that +separated the two places. Very cautiously, at first, he peered through +the branches. Then, upon finding all quiet, he grew bolder, and on +hands and knees crept part way through the little green tunnel to find +himself, all suddenly, face to face with her. + +That was the beginning. The end had come several years later when the +family had moved again. + +The parting, too, he remembered well enough. A boy and girl parting it +was. And the promises--boy and girl promises they were. At first many +poorly written, awkwardly expressed, laboriously compiled, but warmly +interesting letters were exchanged. Then the letters became shorter +and shorter; the intervals between grew longer and longer; until, even +as childhood itself goes, she had slipped out of his life. Even as the +brave dreams of his boyhood she had gone--even as his Yesterdays. + +The bobo-link had long ago left his swinging bush. The meadow lark had +gone to find his mate in a distant field. The twittering bluebirds had +finished their tasks. The woodpecker had ceased from his labor. The +sunshine was failing fast. Faint and far away, through the still +twilight air, came the long, clear, whistle of another train that was +following swiftly the iron ways to the world of men. + +The man on the hill came back from his Yesterdays--came back to +wonder: "where is the little girl now? Has she changed much? Her eyes +would be the same and her hair--only a little darker perhaps. And does +she ever go back into the Yesterdays? It is not likely," he thought, +"no doubt she is far too busy caring for her children and attending to +her household duties to think of her childhood days and her childhood +playmate. And what would her husband be like?" he wondered. + +There was no woman in the dreams of the man who that afternoon, for +the first time, realized his manhood and began his manhood life. He +dreamed only of the deeds that he would do; of the work he would +accomplish; of the place he would win; and of the honors he would +receive. The little girl lived for him only in his Yesterdays. She did +not belong to his manhood years. She had no place in his manhood +dreams. + +Slowly he climbed the rail fence again and, through the orchard, went +down the hill toward the house. But he did not again enter the house. +He went on past the kitchen porch to the garden gate where he stood, +for some minutes, looking toward the hedge that separated the two +places and toward the cherry tree that grew in the corner of the +garden next door. + +At the big front gate he paused again and turned lingeringly as one +reluctant to go. The old home in the twilight seemed so lonely, so +deserted by all to whom it had been most kind. + +At last, with a movement suggestive of a determination that could not +have belonged to his boyhood, he set his face toward the world. Down +the little hill in the dusk of the evening he went, walking quickly; +past the house where the little girl had lived; across the creek at +the foot of the hill; and on up the easy rise beyond. And, as he went, +there was on his face the look of a man. There was in his eyes a new +light--the light of a man's dream. Nor did he once look back. + +To-morrow he would leave the friends of his boyhood; he would leave +the scenes of his Yesterdays; he would go to work out his dreams--even +as in his Yesterdays, he would play them out--for the works of men are +as the plays of children but dreams in action, after all. + +Would he, _could_ he, play out his manhood dreams alone? + +And the woman also, for the first time, was face to face with Life +and, for the first time, knew that she was a woman. + +For a long while she had seen her womanhood approaching. Little by +little, as her skirts had been lengthened, as her dolls had been put +away, as her hair had been put up, she had seen her womanhood drawing +near. But she had always said to herself: "when I do not play with +dolls, when I can dress like mother, and fix my hair like mother, I +will be a woman." She did not know, then, that womanhood is a matter +of things very different from these. Until that night she did not +know. But that night she knew. + +I cannot tell you the woman's name, nor where she lived, nor any of +those things that are commonly told about women in stories. But, as my +story is not that kind of a story, it will not matter that I cannot +tell. What really matters to my story is this: the woman, that night, +when, for the first time, she knew herself to be a woman, began her +woman life in dreams. Because the dreams of life are of the greatest +importance--because Dreams are of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of +Life--this is my story: that the woman life of this woman, when first +she knew herself to be a woman, began in dreams. + +It was the time of the first roses. For a week or more she had been +very busy with a loving, tender, joyous, occupation that left her no +time to think of herself. Her dearest friend--her girlhood's most +intimate companion, and, save for herself, the last of their little +circle--was to be married and she was to be bridesmaid. + +They had been glad days--those days of preparation--for she rejoiced +greatly in the happiness of her friend and had shared, as fully as it +was possible for another to share, the sweet sacredness, the holy +mysteriousness, and the proud triumph of it all. But with the gladness +of those days, there had come into her heart a strange quietness like +the quietness of an empty room that is furnished and ready but without +a tenant. + +At the wedding that evening she had been all that a bridesmaid should +be, even to the last white ribbon and the last handful of rice, for +she would that no shadow of a cloud should come over the happiness of +her friend. But when the new-made husband and wife had been put safely +aboard the Pullman, and, with the group on the depot platform +frantically waving hats and handkerchiefs and shouting good lucks and +farewells, the train had pulled away, the loneliness in her heart had +become too great to hide. Her escort had made smart jokes about her +tears, alleging disappointment and envy. He was a poor, shallow, +witless, fool who could not understand; and that he could not +understand mattered, to her, not at all. She had commanded him to take +her home and at her front door had thanked him and sent him away. + +And then it was--in the blessed privacy of her own room, with the door +locked and the shades drawn close, with her wedding finery thrown +aside and the need of self-repression no longer imperative--that, as +she sat in a low chair before the fire, she looked, for the first +time, boldly at Life and, for the first time, knew that she was a +woman--knew that womanhood was not a matter of long skirts, of hair +dressing, and the putting away of dolls. + +She was tired, very tired, from the responsibilities and excitement of +the day but she did not feel that she could sleep. From the fire, she +looked up to the clock that ticked away so industriously on the +mantle. It was a little clock with a fat, golden, cupid grasping the +dial in his chubby arms as though striving to do away with time when +he might better have been busy with his bow and arrows. The hands of +the clock pointed nearly midnight. The young woman looked into the +fire again. + +Already her girl friend had been a wife several hours--a wife. Already +the train was miles away bearing the newly wedded ones to their future +home--their home. The hours would go swiftly into days, the days into +weeks and months and years, and there would be boys and girls--their +children. And the years would go swiftly as the days and there would +be the weddings of their sons and daughters and then--the children of +their children. + +And the woman who that night knew that she was a woman--the woman +whose heart, as she sat alone before the fire, was even as an empty +room--a room that is furnished and ready but without a tenant--what, +this woman asked herself, would the years bring her? The years of her +childhood and girlhood were past. What of her womanhood years that +were to come? + +There are many doors in the life of these modern days at which a woman +may knock with hope of being admitted; and this woman, as she sat +alone before her fire that night, paused before them all--all save +two. Two doors she saw but did not pause before; and _one_ of +them was idleness and pleasure. And one other door there is that +stands open wide so that there is no need to knock for admittance. +Before this wide open door the woman paused a long time. It is older +than the other doors. It is very, very, old. Since the beginning it +has never been closed. But though it stood open so wide and there was +no need to knock for admittance, still the woman could not enter for +she was alone. No woman may enter that old, old, open door, alone. + +Three times before she had stood before that ancient door and had been +urged to cross the threshold; but always she had hesitated, had held +back, and turned away. She wondered if always she would hesitate, if +always she would turn away; or would some one come with whom she could +gladly, joyously, confidently, cross the threshold. She could not say. +She could only wait. And while she waited she would knock at one of +the other doors. She would knock because she must. The custom of the +age, necessity, circumstances, forced her to knock at one of those +doors that, in the life of these modern days, opens to women who seek +admittance alone. + +I cannot tell just what the circumstances of the woman's life were nor +why it was necessary. Nor does it in the least matter that I cannot +tell. The necessity, the circumstances, have nothing to do with my +story save this: that, whatever they were, I am quite sure they ought +not to have been. I am quite sure that _any_ circumstance, or +necessity, or custom, that forces a woman who knows herself to be a +woman to seek admittance at any one of those doors through which she +must enter alone is not right. This it is that belongs to my story: +the woman did not wish to enter the life that lies on the other side +of those doors through which she must go alone. + +Alone in her room that night, with the shades drawn close and the only +light the light of the dancing fire, this woman who, for the first +time, knew herself to be a woman, did not dream of a life on the other +side of those doors at which she must ask admittance. She dreamed of a +future beyond the old, old, door that has stood open wide since the +beginning. + +And it was no shame to her that she so dreamed. It was no shame that +she called before her, one by one, those who had asked her to cross +with them the threshold and those who might still ask her. It was no +shame that, while her heart said always, "no," she still +waited--waited for one whom she knew not but only knew that she would +know him when he came. And it was no shame to her that, even while +this was so, she saw herself in the years to come a wife and mother. +In the glowing heart of the fire she saw her home warm with holy love, +bright with sacred companionship. In the dancing flames she saw her +children--happy, beautiful, children. Nor did she in her dreams fear +the flickering shadows that came and went for in the dusk of the room +she felt the dear presence of that one who was to be her other self; +who was to be to her strength in her weakness, hope in her sadness, +and comfort in her mourning. + +It is well indeed that the shadows of life bring no fears into our +dreams else we would not dare to dream and life itself would lose its +purpose and its meaning. + +So the woman saw her future, not in the shadows that came and went +upon the wall, but in the glowing heart of the fire. And, as she +dreamed her dreams of womanhood, her face grew beautiful with a +tender, thoughtful, beauty that is given only to those women who dream +such dreams. With the realization of her womanhood and the beginning +of her woman life, her lips curved in a smile that was different from +the smile of girlhood and there came into her eyes a light that was +never there before. And then, as one setting out on a long journey +might turn back for a last farewell view of loved familiar scenes, she +turned to go back for a little into her Yesterdays. + +There was a home in those Yesterdays and there was a mother--a mother +who lived now in a better home than any of earth's building. A father +she had never known but there was a big, jolly, uncle who had done and +was doing yet all that an uncle of limited means could do to take her +father's place in the life of his sister's only child. And there was +sunshine in her Yesterdays--bright sunshine--unclouded by city smoke; +and flowers unstained by city grime; and blue skies unmarred by city +buildings; and there were beautiful trees and singing birds and broad +fields in her Yesterdays. Also there were dreams--such dreams as only +those who are very young or very wise dare to dream. + +It may have been the firelight that did it; it may have been the +vision of her children who lived only in the life that she saw beyond +the old, old, open door: or perhaps it was the wedding finery that lay +over a nearby chair: or the familiar tick, tick, tick, of the clock in +the arms of the fat cupid who neglected his bow and arrows in a vain +attempt to do away with time--whatever it was that brought it about, +the woman dreamed again the dreams of childhood--dreamed them even as +she dreamed those first dreams of her womanhood. + +And no one was there to tell her that the dreams of her girlhood and +of her womanhood were the same. + +Again, on a long summer afternoon, as she kept house in a snug corner +of the vine shaded porch, she was really the mistress of a grand +mansion that was furnished with beautiful carpets and furniture, china +and silver, books and pictures. And in that mansion she received her +distinguished guests and entertained her friends with charming grace +and dignity, even as she set her tiny play table with dishes of +thimble size and served tea and cakes to her play lady friends. Again, +as she rocked her dollies to sleep beside the evening fire and tucked +them into their beds with a little mother kiss for each, there were +dreams of merry boys and girls who should some day call her mother. +And there were dreams of fine dresses and jewels the while she +stitched tiny garments for her newest child who had come to her with +no clothing at all, or fashioned a marvelous hat for another whose +features were but a smudge of paint and whose hair had been glued on +so many times that it was far past combing and a hat was a necessity +to hide the tangled mat. And sometimes she was a princess shut up in a +castle tower and a noble prince, who wore golden armor and rode a +great war horse, would come to woo her and she would ride away with +him through the deep forest followed by a long procession of lords and +ladies, of knights and squires and pages. Or, perhaps, she would be a +homeless girl in pitiful rags who, because of her great beauty, would +be stolen by gypsies and sold to a cruel king to be kept in a dungeon +until rescued by a brave soldier lover. + +And, in her Yesterdays, the master of the dream home over which she +was mistress--the father of her dream children--the prince with whom +she rode away through the forest--the soldier lover who rescued her +from the dungeon--and the hero of many other adventures of which she +was the heroine--was always the same. Outside her dreams he was a +sturdy, brown cheeked, bare legged, little boy who lived next door. +But what a man is outside a woman's dreams counts for little after +all--even though that woman be a very small and dainty little woman +with a very large family of dolls. + +The woman remembered so well their first meeting. It was at the upper +end of the garden near the strawberry beds and he was creeping toward +her on hands and knees through a hole in the hedge that separated the +two places. How she had jumped when she first caught sight of him! How +he had started and turned as if to escape when he saw her watching +him! How shyly they had approached each other with the first timid +offerings of friendship! + +Many, many, times after that did he come to her through the opening in +the hedge. Many, many, times did she go to him. And he came in many +disguises. In many disguises she helped him put his dreams into +action. But always, to her, he was a hero to be worshiped, a leader to +be followed, a master to be obeyed. Always she was very proud of +him--of his strength and courage--of the grand deeds he wrought--and +of the great things that he would some day do. And sometimes--the most +delightful times of all--at her wish, he would help her, in his +masterful way, to play out her dreams. And then, though he liked being +an Indian or a robber or a soldier best, he would be a model husband +and help her with the children; although he did, at times, insist upon +punishing them rather more than she thought necessary. But when the +little family was ill with the measles or scarlet fever or whooping +cough no dream husband could have been more gentle, more thoughtful, +or more wise, in his attention. + +And once they had played a wedding. + +The woman whose heart was as an empty room stirred in her chair +uneasily as one who feels the gaze of a hidden observer. But the door +was locked, the shades drawn close, and the only light was the +flickering light of the fire. The night without was very dark and +still. There was no sound in the sleeping house--no sound save the +steady tick, tick, tick, of the time piece in the chubby arms of the +fat cupid on the mantle. + +And once they had played a wedding. + +It was when her big, jolly, uncle was married. The boy and the girl +were present at the ceremony and she wore a wonderful new dress while +the boy, scrubbed and combed and brushed, was arrayed in his best +clothes with shoes and stockings. There were flowers and music and +good things to eat and no end of laughter and gay excitement; and the +jolly uncle looked so big and fine and solemn; and the bride, in her +white veil, was so like a princess in one of the dreams; that the +little girl was half frightened and felt a queer lump in her throat as +she clung to her mother's hand. And there was a strange ceremony in +which the minister, in his gown, read out of a book and said a prayer +and asked questions; and the uncle and the princess answered the +questions; and the uncle put a ring on the finger of the princess; and +the minister said that they were husband and wife. And then there were +kisses while everybody laughed and cried and shook hands; and some one +told the little girl that the princess was her new auntie; and her +uncle caught her up in his big arms and was his own jolly self again. +It was all very fine and strange and impressive to their childish +eyes; and so, of course, the very next day, the boy and the girl +played a wedding. + +It was up in that quiet corner of the garden, near the hedge, and the +cherry tree was in bloom and showered its delicate blossoms down upon +them with every puff of air that stirred the branches; while, in the +hedge nearby, a little brown bird was putting the finishing touch to a +new nest. The boy's shepherd dog, who sat up when you told him, was +the minister; and all the dollies were there, dressed in their finest +gowns. The little girl was very serious and again, half frightened, +felt that queer lump in her throat as she promised to be his wife. And +the boy looked very serious, too, as he placed a little brass ring +upon her finger and, speaking for the brown eyed, shaggy coated, +minister, said: "I pronounce you husband and wife and anything that +God has done must never be done any different by anybody forever and +ever, Amen." And then--because there was no one else present and they +both felt that the play would not be complete without--then, he had +kissed her, and they were both very, very, happy. + +So it was that, in the quiet secrecy of her dimly lighted room, the +woman who that night knew herself to be a woman, felt her cheeks hot +with blushes and upon her hot cheeks felt her tears. + +So it was that she came back from her Yesterdays to wonder: where was +the boy now? What kind of a man had he grown to be? Was he making his +way to fame and wealth or laboring in some humble position? Had he a +home with wife and children? Did he ever go back into the Yesterdays? +Had he forgotten that wedding under the cherry tree? When the one with +whom she would go through the old, old, door into the life of her +womanhood dreams should come, would it matter if the hero of her +childhood dreams went in with them? He could be no rival to that one +who was to come for he lived only in the Yesterdays and the Yesterdays +could not come back. The fat little cupid on the mantle neglected his +bow and arrows in vain; he could not do away with time. + +Very slowly the woman prepared for her rest and, when she was ready, +knelt in the soft dusk of her room, a virgin in white to pray. And +God, I know, understood why her prayer was confused and uncertain with +longings she could not express even to him who said: "Except ye become +as little children." God, I know, understood why this woman, who that +night, for the first time, knowing herself to be a woman had dreamed a +true woman's dream--God, I know, understood why, as she lay down to +sleep in the quiet darkness, she stretched forth her empty arms and +almost cried aloud. + +In to-morrow's light it would all be gone, but that night--that +night--her womanhood dreams of the future were real--real even as the +girlhood dreams of her Yesterdays. + + + + + +OCCUPATION + +In a small, bare, room in a cheap city boarding house, the man cowered +like a wild thing, wounded, neglected, afraid; while over him, gaunt +and menacing, cruel, pitiless, insistent, stood a dreadful need--the +need of Occupation--the need of something to do. + +In all the world there is no danger so menacing as the danger of +idleness: there is no privation so cruel, no suffering so pitiful, as +the need of Occupation: there is no demand so imperative, no necessity +so dreadful, as the want of something to do. + +Occupation is the very life of Life. As nature abhors a vacuum so life +abhors idleness. To _be_ is to be occupied. Even though one spend +his days in seeking selfish pleasures still must he occupy himself to +live, for the need of something to do is most imperative upon those +who strive hardest to do nothing. As life and the deeds of men are +born in dreams so life itself is Occupation. A man _is_ the thing +he does. What the body is to the spirit; what the word is to the +thought; what the sunshine is to the sun; Occupation is to Dreams. One +of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life is Occupation. + +From the cherry tree in the upper corner of the garden near the hedge, +the cherries had long ago been gathered. The pair of brown birds had +reared their children and were beginning to talk with their neighbors +and kinfolk about their winter home in the south. In the orchard on +the hill back of the house, the late fruit was hanging, full ripe, +upon the bending boughs. From the brow of the hill, where the man had +sat that afternoon when, for the first time, he faced Life and knew +that he was a man, the fields from which the ripened grain had been +cut lay in the distance, great bars and blocks and patches of golden +yellow, among the still green pastures and meadows and the soft brown +strips of the fall plowing. In the woods, the squirrels were beginning +to take stock of the year's nut crop and to make their estimates for +the winter's need, preparing, the while, their storehouses to receive +the precious hoard. And over that new mound in the cemetery, the grass +fairies had woven a coverlid thick and firm and fine as though, in +sweet pity of its yellow nakedness, they would shield it from the +winds that already had in them a hint that summer's reign was past. + +But all this was far, very far, from where, in his small bare room, +the man crouched frightened and dismayed. The rush and roar of the +crowded trains on the elevated road outside his window shook the +casement with impatient fury. The rumbling thunder of the heavily +loaded subway trains jarred the walls of the building. The rattle and +whirr of the overflowing surface cars rose sharply above the hum and +din of the city streets. To the man who asked only a chance, only a +place, only room to stand and something--anything--to do, it was +maddening. A blind, impotent, fury took possession of him. He clenched +his fists and cursed aloud. + +But the great, crowded, world heeded his curses as little as it +noticed him and he fell again into the silence of his hopelessness. + +Out from the sheltered place of his dreams the man had come into the +busy world of deeds--into the world where those who, like himself, had +dreamed, were putting their dreams into action. Out from the years of +his boyhood he had come into the years of his manhood--out from the +scenes of his Yesterdays into the scenes of his to-days. + +For weeks, with his young strength stirring mightily within him and +his rich, red, blood hot in his veins, he had been crying out to the +world: "Make way for me. Give me a place that I may work out my +dreams. Give me something to do." For weeks, he had been trying to +convince the world that it needed him. But the busy, happy, world--the +idle, dreaming, world--the discontented, sullen, world--was not so +easily convinced. His young strength and his red blood did not seem to +count for as much as they should. His confidence and his courage did +not seem to impress. His high rank in the boyhood world did not +entitle him to a like position among men. His graduating address had +made no stir in the world of thought. His athletic record had caused +no comment in the world of industry. His coming did not disturb the +world of commerce. + +A few he found who wrought with all the vigor and enthusiasm of their +dreaming. These said: "What have you done that we should make room for +you? Prove yourself first then come to us." Many he saw who had +wearied of the game and were dreaming new dreams. These said: "We +ourselves are without Occupation. There are not places enough for all. +Stand aside and give us room." Many others there were who, with dreams +forgotten, labored as dull cattle, goaded by brute necessity, with no +vision, no purpose, no hope, to make of their toil a blessing. And +these laughed at him with vicious laughter, saying: "Why should anyone +want anything to do?" + +So the man in those days saw his dreams going from him--saw his bright +visions growing dim. So he came to feel that his young strength was of +no value; that his red blood was worthless; that his courage was vain. +So his confidence was shaken; his faith was weakened; his hope grew +faint. He came to feel that the things that he had dreamed were +already all wrought out--that there were no more great works to be +done--that all that could be done was being accomplished--that in all +the world there was nothing more for a man to do. Disappointed, +discouraged, disheartened, weary and alone, he told himself that he +had come too late--that in all the world there was nothing more for a +man to do. + +He did not look out upon the world, now, as a conquering emperor, +confident in his armed strength, might look over the field of a coming +battle. He did not dream, now, of victories, of honors, and renown. He +did not, now, see himself a savior of the world. The world had +stretched this man also upon the cross that it has always ready for +such as he. + +It was not the man's pressing need that hurt him so--gladly he would +have suffered for his dreams. It was not for privation and hardships +that he cared--proudly he would have endured those for his dreams. Nor +was it loneliness and neglect that made him afraid--he was willing to +work out his dreams alone. That which sent him cowering like a +wounded, wild thing to his room was this: he felt that his strength, +his courage, his willingness, his purpose, were as nothing in the +world. That which frightened him with dreadful fear was this: he felt +that his dreams were going from him. That for which he cared was this: +he felt that he was too late. This was the cross upon which the world +stretched him--the cross of enforced idleness--the cross of _nothing +to do_. + +It is not strange that in his lonely suffering the man sought to +escape by the only way open to him--the way that led to his +Yesterdays. There was a welcome for him there. There was a place for +him. He was wanted there. There his life was held of value. It is not +at all strange that he went back. As one flees from a desolate, +burning, desert waste, to a land of shady groves and fruitful gardens, +of cool waters and companionable friends, so this man fled from his +days that were into his days that were gone--so he went back into his +Yesterdays. + +It may have been the soft dusk of the twilight hour that did it: or it +may have been the loneliness of his heart: or, perhaps, it was the +picture he found in his trunk as he searched among his few things +trying to decide what next he should take to the pawn shop. Whatever +it was that brought it about, the man was a boy again in the boyhood +world of his Yesterdays. + +And it happened that the day in his Yesterdays to which the man went +back was one of those days when the boy could find nothing to do. +Every game that he had ever played was played out. Every source of +amusement he had exhausted. There was in all his boyhood world +nothing, nothing, for him to do. + +The orchard was not a trackless forest inhabited by fierce, wild +beasts; nor an enchanted wood with lords and ladies imprisoned in the +trees; it was only an orchard--a commonplace old orchard--nothing +more. Indians and robbers were stupid creatures of no importance +whatever. There were no fairies, no giants, no soldiers left in the +boyhood world. The rail fence war horse refused to charge. The apple +tree ship was a wreck on the rocks of discontent. The hay had all been +cut and stored away in the barn. The excitement and fun of the grain +harvesting was over and the big stacks were waiting the threshers. It +was not time for fall apple picking and the cider mill, nor to gather +the corn, nor to go nutting. There was nothing, nothing, to do. + +The boy's father was busy with some sort of work in the shop and told +his little son not to bother. The hired man was doing something to the +barnyard fence and told the boy to get out of the way. A carpenter was +repairing the roof of the house and the long ladder looked inviting +enough, but, the instant the boy's head appeared above the eaves, the +man shouted for him to get down and to run and play. Even the new red +calf refused to notice him but continued its selfish, absorbing, +occupation with wobbly legs braced wide and tail wagging supreme +indifference. His very dog had deserted him and had gone away +somewhere on business of his own, apparently forgetting the needs of +his master. And mother--mother too was busy, as busy as could be with +sweeping and dusting and baking and mending and no end of things that +must be done. + +But somehow mother's work could always wait. At least it could wait +long enough for her to look lovingly down into the troubled, +discontented, little face while she listened to the plaintive whine: +"There's nothin' at all to do. Mamma, tell me--tell me something to +do." + +Poor little boy in the Yesterdays! Quickly mother's arm went around +him. Lovingly she drew him close. And mother's work waited still as +she considered the serious problem. There was no feeling of not being +wanted in the boy's heart then. As he looked up at her he felt already +renewed hope and quickening interest. + +Then mother's face brightened, in a way that mother faces do, and the +boy's eyes began to shine in eager anticipation. What should he do? +Why mother knew the very thing of course. It was the best--the very +best--the most interesting thing in all the world for a boy to do. He +should build a house for the little girl who lived next door. + +Out under the lilac bushes he should build it, in a pretty corner of +the yard, where mother, from her window, every now and then, could +look out to see how well he was doing and help, perhaps, with careful +suggestions. Mother herself would ask the carpenter man for some +clean, new boards, some shingles and some nails. And it would all be a +secret, between just mother and the boy, until the house was finished +and ready and then he should go and bring the little girl and they +would see how surprised and glad she would be. + +It was wondrous magic those mothers worked in the Yesterdays. In a +twinkle, for the boy who could find nothing to do, the world was +changed. In a twinkle, there was nothing in all the world worth doing +save this one thing--to build a house for the little girl next door. + +With might and main he planned and toiled and toiled and planned; +building and rebuilding and rebuilding yet again. He cut his fingers +and pounded his thumb and stuck his hands full of slivers and minded +it not at all so absorbed was he in this best of all Occupations. + +But keep it secret! First there was father's smiling face close beside +mother's at the window. Then the hired man chanced to pass and paused +a moment to make admiring comment. And, later, the carpenter man came +around the corner of the house and, when he saw, offered a bit of +professional advice and voluntarily contributed another board. Even +the boy's dog, as though he had heard the news that the very birds +were discussing so freely in the tree tops, came hurrying home to +manifest his interest. Keep it secret! How _could_ the boy keep +it secret! But the little girl did not know. Until he was almost ready +to tell her, the little girl did not know. Almost he was ready to tell +her, when--But that belongs to the other part of my story. + +About the man in his bare, lonely, room in the great city, the world +in its madness raged--struggling, pushing, crowding, jostling, +scrambling--a swirling, writhing, mass of life--but the man did not +heed. On every side, this life went rushing, roaring, rumbling, +thundering, whirring, shrieking, clattering by. But the man noticed +the world now no more than it noticed him. In his Yesterdays he had +found something to do. He had found the only thing that a man, who +knows himself to be a man, can do in truth to his manhood. Again, in +his Yesterdays, he was building a house for the little girl who lived +next door--the little girl who did not know. + +Someday this childish old world will grow weary of its games of war +and wealth. Someday it will lose interest in its playthings--banks, +and stocks, and markets. Someday it will lose faith in its fairies of +fame, its giants of position and power. Then will the disconsolate, +forlorn, old world turn to Mother Nature to learn from her that the +only Occupation that is of real and lasting worth is the one +Occupation in which all of Mother Nature's children have +fellowship--the Occupation of home building. + +In meadow and forest and field; in garden and grove and hedge and +bush; in mountain and plain and desert and sea; in hollow logs; amid +swaying branches; in rocky dens and earthy burrows; high among +towering cliffs and mighty crags; low in the marsh grass and among +reeds and rushes; in stone walls; in fence corners; in tufts of grass +and tiny shrubs; among the flowers and swinging vines; +everywhere--everywhere--in all this great, round, world, Mother's +children all are occupied in home building--occupied in this and +nothing more. This is the one thing that Mother's children, in all the +ages since the beginning, have found worth doing. One wayward child +alone is occupied just now, seemingly, with everything _but_ home +building. Man seems to be doing everything these days but the one +thing that must be the foundation work of all. But never +mind--homebuilding will be the world's work at the last. When all the +playthings of childhood and all the childish games of men have failed, +homebuilding will endure. Occupation must in the end mean home +building or it is meaningless. + +And the din, the confusion, the struggle, the turmoil of life--when it +all means to men the building of homes and nothing more; when the +efforts of men, the ambitions of men, the labor and toil of men are +all to make homes for the little girls next door; then, will Mother +Nature smile upon her boys and God, I am sure, will smile upon them, +too. + +The man came back from his Yesterdays with a new heart, with new +courage and determination, and the next day he found something to do. + +I do not know what it was that the man found to do--_that_ is not +my story. + +* * * * * + +It was nearly the time of falling leaves when the woman, who knew +herself to be a woman, knocked at one of those doors, at which she did +not wish to knock, and was admitted. + +It does not matter which of the doors it was. I cannot tell you what +work it was that the woman found to do. What mattered to her--and to +the world if only the world would understand--was this: that she was +forced by the customs of the age and by necessity to enter a life that +her woman heart did not desire. While her dreams were of the life that +lies beyond the old, old, door that has stood open since the +beginning; while she waited on the threshold and longed to go in; she +was forced to turn aside, to seek admittance at one of those other +doors. This it is that matters--matters greatly. Perhaps only God who +made the woman heart and who Himself set that door open wide--perhaps +only God knows how greatly it matters. + +Of course, if the woman had not known herself to be a woman, it would +have made little difference either to her or to the world. + +And the woman when she had joined that great company of women, who, in +these modern days labor behind the doors through which they must go +alone, found them to be good women--good and brave and true. And most +of them, she found, were in that great company of workers just as she +was there--just as every woman who knows her womanhood is +there--through circumstances, the custom of the age, necessity. The +only saving thing about it all is this: their woman hearts are +somewhere else. + +And the woman found also that, while the door opened readily enough to +her knock, she was received without a welcome. Through that other +door, the door that God himself has opened, she would have entered +into a joyous welcome--she would have been received with gladness, +with rejoicing, with holiest love, and highest honor. To her, in the +world that lies beyond the old, old, door, would have been rendered +homage and reverence second only to that given to God Himself. +_There,_ she would have been received as a _woman_ for her +_womanhood;_ she would have been given first place among all +created things. But the world into which she entered alone did not so +receive her. It received her coldly. Its manner said quite plainly: +"Why are you here? What do you want?" It said: "There is no sentiment +here, no love, no reverence, no homage; there is only business here, +only law, only figures and facts." + +This world was not unkind to her, but it did not receive her as a +woman. It could not. It did not value her _womanhood_. Womanhood +has no value there. It valued her clear brain, her physical strength, +her skillful hands, her willing feet, her ready wit: but her womanhood +it ignored. The most priceless gift of the Creator to his +creatures--the one thing without which all human effort would be in +vain, no Christian prayer would be possible; the one thing without +which mankind would perish from the earth--this world, into which the +woman went, rejected. But the things that belonged to her +womanhood--the charm of her manner; the beauty of her face and form; +the appeal of her sex; the quick intuitions of her soul--all these +this world received and upon them put a price. They became not forces +to be used by her in wifehood and motherhood but commercial assets, +valued in dollars, worth a certain price upon the woman labor market +in the business world. + +And the woman's heart, because she knew herself to be a woman, +rebelled at this buying and selling the things of her womanhood. These +things she rightly felt to be above price--far, far, above price. They +were the things of her wifehood and motherhood. They were given her to +be used by her in love, in mating, in bearing and rearing children, in +the giving of life to the world. + +The things of a woman's womanhood are as far above price as life +itself to which they belong. Even as color and perfume belong to the +flowers; even as the music of the birds belongs to the feathery +songsters; even as the blue belongs to the sky, and the light to the +stars; so these graces of a woman belong to her and to the mission of +her womanhood are sacred. They are hers to be used in her holy office +of womanhood; by her alone, without price, for the glory and honor of +life and the future of the race. So the woman's heart rebelled, but +secretly, instinctively, almost unconsciously. Open rebellion would +have made it impossible for her to remain in the world into which she +entered because of her necessity and the custom of the age. + +She found, too, that this world into which she had entered was very +courteous, that it was even considerate and kind--as considerate and +kind as it was possible to be--for it seemed to understand her +position quite as well as she herself understood it. And this world +paid her very well for the services she was asked to render. But it +asked of her no favors. It accorded her no honors. It sought her with +no offering. And, because of this, the woman, in the heart of her +womanhood, felt ashamed and humiliated. + +It is the right of womanhood to bestow favors. It is a woman's right +to be honored above all creatures of earth. Since the beginning of +life itself her sex has been so honored--has received the offerings +from life. Mankind, alone, has at times attempted to change this law +but has never quite succeeded. Mankind never can fully succeed in this +because woman holds life itself in her keeping. So the woman felt that +her womanhood was humiliated and shamed. But she hid this feeling +also, hid it carefully, buried it deeply, because she knew that if she +did not it would betray her and she would not be permitted to remain +in the world into which necessity forced her. To the woman, it seemed +that the world into which she had gone, itself, felt her shame and +humiliation. That, in secret, it desired to ask of her; to accord to +her honors; to seek her with offerings. But this world could not do +these things because it dared not recognize her womanhood. When a +woman goes into that world into which she must go alone, she leaves +her womanhood behind. Her womanhood is not received there. + +But most of all, the thing that troubled the woman was this: the risk +she ran in entering into that life behind the door at which she had +sought admittance. She saw that there was danger there--grave +danger--to her womanhood. In the busy, ceaseless, activity of that +life there would be little time for her waiting beside the old, old, +door. The exacting demands of her work, or profession, or calling, or +business, would leave little leisure for the meditation and reflection +that is so large a part of the preparation necessary for entrance into +that other world of which she had dreamed. Constant contact with the +unemotional facts and figures of that life which sets a market value +upon the sacred things of womanhood would make it ever more difficult +for her to dream of love. There was grave danger that interest and +enthusiasm in other things would supplant her longing for wifehood and +motherhood. She feared that in her Occupation she might not know, when +he came, that one who was to cross the threshold with her into the +life of her dreams--that, indeed, he might come and go again while she +was busy with other things. She feared that she would come to accept +the commercial valuation of the things that belonged to her womanhood +and thus forget their higher, holier, use and that the continued +rejection of her womanhood would, in time, lead her to think of it +lightly, as incidental rather than supreme. There was real danger that +she would lose her desire to be sought, to give, to receive offerings; +that she would cease to rebel secretly; that she would no longer feel +humiliated at her position. She feared in short this danger--the +gravest danger to her womanhood and thus to all that womankind holds +in her keeping--that she would come to feel contented, satisfied, and +happy, in being a part of the world into which she was forced to go by +the custom of the age and by necessity. Because this woman knew +herself to be a woman she feared this. If she had not come to know her +womanhood she would not have feared it. Neither would it have +mattered. + +The woman was thinking of these things that Saturday afternoon as she +walked homeward from her work. She often walked to her home on +Saturday afternoons, when there was time, for she was strong and +vigorous, with an abundance of good red woman blood in her veins, and +loved the free movement in the open air. + +Perhaps, though, it is not exact to say that she was _thinking_ +of these things. The better word would be _feeling_. She was not +thinking of them as I have set them down: but she was feeling them +all. She was conscious of them, just as she was conscious of the dead +brown leaves that drifted across her path, though she was not thinking +of the leaves. She felt them as she felt the breath of fall in the +puff of air that drifted the leaves: but she did not put what she felt +into words. So seldom do the things that women feel get themselves put +into words. + +The young woman had chosen a street that led in the direction of her +home through one of the city's smaller parks, and, as she went, the +people she met turned often to look after her for she was good to look +at. She walked strongly but with a step as light as it was firm and +free; and, breathing deeply with the healthful exercise, her cheeks +were flushed with rosy color, her eyes shone, her countenance--her +every glance and movement--betrayed a strong and perfect womanhood--a +womanhood that, rightly understood, is wealth that the race and age +can ill afford to squander. + +Coming to the park, she walked more slowly and, after a little, seated +herself on a bench to watch the squirrels that were playing nearby. +The foliage had already lost its summer freshness though here and +there a tree or bush made brave attempt to retain its garb of green. +Not a few brown leaves whirled helplessly about--the first of +unnumbered myriads that soon would be offered by the dying summer in +tribute to winter's conquering power. The sun was still warm but the +air had in it a subtle flavor that seemed a blending of the coming +season with the season that was almost gone. + +Near the farther entrance to the little park, a carpenter was +repairing the roof of a house and, from where she sat, the woman could +see the long ladder resting against the eaves. A boy with his shepherd +dog came romping along the walk under the trees as irresponsible as +the drifting leaves. The squirrels scampered away; the boy and dog +whirled on; and the woman, from the world into which she had entered +because she must, went far away into the world of childhood. From her +day of toil in a world that denied her womanhood she went back into +her Yesterdays where womanhood--motherhood--was supreme. Perhaps it +was that subtle flavor in the air that did it; or it may have been the +boy and his dog as they whirled past--care free as the drifting brown +leaves; or perhaps it was the sight of the man repairing the roof of +the house with his long ladder resting against the eaves: the woman +herself could not have told what it was, but, whatever it was, she +slipped away to one of the brightest, happiest, days in all her +Yesterdays. + +But, for a little while, that day was not at all bright and happy. It +started out all right then, little by little, everything went wrong; +and then it changed again and became one of the best of all her +Yesterdays. The day went wrong for a little while at first because +everything in the house was being taken up, or taken down, beaten, +shaken, scrubbed or dusted; everything was being arranged or +disarranged and rearranged again. Surely there was never such +confusion, so it seemed to the little girl, in any home in all the +world. Every time that she would get herself nicely settled with her +dolls she would be forced to move again; until there was in the whole, +busy, bustling place no corner at all where she was not in somebody's +way. When she would have entered into the confusion and helped to +straighten things out, the woman told her, rather sharply, to go away, +and declared that her efforts to help only made things worse. + +Out in the garden, at the opening in the hedge, she called and called +and waited and waited for the boy. But the boy did not answer. He was +too busy, she thought, to care about her. She felt quite sure that he +did not even want her to help in whatever it was that he was doing. +Perhaps, she thought wistfully, peering through the little green +tunnel, perhaps if she could go and find him he might--when he saw how +miserable and lonely she was--he might be kind. But to go through the +hedge was forbidden, except when mother said she might. + +Sorrowfully she turned away to seek the kitchen where the cook was +busy with the week's baking. But the cook, when the little girl +offered to roll the pie crust or stir the frosting for the cake, was +hurried and cross and declared that the little girl could not help but +only hinder and that it would be better for her not to get in the way. + +Once more, in a favorite corner of the big front porch, she was just +beginning to find some comfort with her doll when the woman with the +broom forced her to move again. + +Poor little girl! What could she do under such trying +circumstances--what indeed but go to mother. All the way up the long +stairs she went to where mother was as busy as ever a mother could be +doing something with a lot of things that were piled all over the +room. But mother, when she saw the tear stained little face, +understood in a flash and put aside whatever it was that she was +doing, quickly, and held the little girl, dolly and all, close in her +mother arms until the feeling of being in the way and of not being +wanted was all gone. And, when the tears were quite dry, mother said, +so gently that it did not hurt, "No dearie, I'm afraid you can't help +mother now because mother's girl is too little to understand what it +is that mother is doing. But I'll tell you something that you +_can_ do. Mother will give you some things from the pantry and +you may go over to see the little boy. And I am as sure, as sure can +be, that, when he sees all the nice things you have, he will play +keeping house with you." + +So the little girl in the Yesterdays, with her treasures from mother's +pantry, went out across the garden and through the hedge to find the +boy. Very carefully she went through the opening in the hedge so that +she would lose none of her treasures. And oh, the joy of it! The +splendid wonder of it! She found that the boy had built a house--all +by himself he had built it--with real boards, and had furnished it +with tiny chairs and tables made from boxes. Complete it was, even to +a beautiful strip of carpet on the floor and a shelf on which to put +the dishes. Then, indeed, when the boy told her how he had made the +house for her--just for her--and how it was to have been a surprise; +and that she had come just in time because if she tad come sooner it +would have spoiled the fun--the heart of the little girl overflowed +with gladness. And to think that all the time she was feeling so not +wanted and in the way the boy was doing _this_ and all for her! +Did her mother know? She rather guessed that she did; mothers have +such a marvelous way of knowing everything, particularly the nicest +things. + +So the little girl gave the boy all the treasures that she had brought +so carefully and they had great fun eating them together; and all the +rest of that day they played "keephouse." And this is why that day was +among the best of all the woman's Yesterdays. + +Several men going home from work passed the spot where the young woman +sat. Then a group of shop girls followed; then another group and, in +turn, two women from an office that did not close early on Saturdays. +After them a young girl who looked very tired came walking alone, and +then there were more men and women in a seemingly endless procession. +And so many girls and women there were in the procession that the +woman, as she came back from her Yesterdays, wondered who was left to +make homes for the world. + +The sun was falling now in long bars and shafts of light between the +buildings and the trees, and the windows of the house where the man +had been fixing the roof were blazing as if in flames. The man had +taken down his ladder and gone away. It was time the young woman was +going home. And as she went, joining the procession of laborers, her +heart was filled with longing--with longing and with hope. The boy of +her Yesterdays lived only in those days that were gone. He had no +place in the dreams of her womanhood. He was only the playmate of the +little girl. Even as those years were gone the boy had gone out of her +life. But somewhere, perhaps, that one who was to go with her through +the old, old, open door was even then building for her a home--their +home. Perhaps, some day, an all wise Mother Nature would tell her to +leave the world that gave her no welcome--that could not recognize her +womanhood--that made her heart rebel in humiliation and shame--and go +to do her woman's work. + +Very carefully would she go when the time came, taking all the +treasures of her womanhood. She would go very carefully that none of +her treasures be lost. + + + + + +KNOWLEDGE + +The green of the pastures and the gold of the fields was buried so +deeply under banks of snow that no one could say: "Here the cattle fed +and the buttercups grew; there the grain was harvested; here the corn +stood in shocks; there the daisies and meadow grass sheltered the nest +of the bobo-link." As death calls alike the least and the greatest +back to the dust from which they came, so winter laid over the varied +and changing scenes of summer a cold, white, shroud of wearisome +sameness. The birds were hundreds of miles away in their sunny +southland haunts. The bees, the butterflies, and many of the tiny wood +folk, were all snugly tucked in their winter beds, dreaming, perhaps, +as they slept, of the sunshiny summer days. In the garden the wind had +heaped a great drift high against the hedge on the boy's side, and, on +the little girl's side, the cherry tree in the corner stood shivering +in its nakedness with bare arms uplifted as though praying for mercy +to the stinging cold wind. + +In the city the snow, as fast as it fell, was stained by soot and +grime and lay in the streets a mass of filth. The breath of the +laboring truck horses arose from their wide nostrils like clouds of +steam and, in the icy air, covered their breasts and shoulders and +sides with a coat of white frost. The newsboys and vendors of pencils +and shoestrings shivered in nooks and corners and doorways and, as the +people went with heads bent low before the freezing blast that swirled +through the narrow canyons between the tall buildings, the snowy +pavement squeaked loudly under their feet. + +And the man who had found something to do, from his Occupation, began +to acquire Knowledge. In doing things, he began to know things. + +But the man had to gain first a knowledge of Knowledge. He first had +to learn this: that a man might know all about a thing without ever +knowing the thing itself. He had to understand that Knowledge is not +knowing _about_ a thing but knowing the _thing_. When first +he had dreamed his manhood dreams, before he had found something to +do, the man, quite modestly, thought that he knew a great deal. In his +school days, he had exhausted many text books and had passed many +creditable examinations upon many subjects and so he had thought that +he knew a great deal. And he did. He knew a great deal _about_ +things. But when he had found something to do, and had tried to do it, +he found also very quickly that, although he knew so much about the +thing he had to do, he knew very, very, little of the thing itself and +that only knowledge of the thing itself could ever help him to realize +his dreams. + +From his Occupation, he learned this also: that Knowledge is not what +some other man knows and tells you but what the thing that you have +found to do makes known to you. Knowledge is not told, _cannot_ +be told, to one by another, even though that other has it abundantly +for, to the one to whom it is told, it remains ever what someone else +knows. What the thing that a man finds to do makes known to him, +_that_ is Knowledge. So Knowledge is to be had not from books +alone but rather from Life. So idleness is a vicious ignorance and +those who do the most are wisest. + +Before he had found something to do the man had called himself a +thinker. But when he tried to do the thing that he had found to do, he +quickly realized that he had only thought that he thought. He found +that he was not at all a thinker but a listener--a receiver--a +rememberer. In his school days, the thoughts of others were offered +him and he, because he had accepted them, called them his own. He +came, now, to understand that thinking is not accepting the thoughts +of others but finding thoughts of your own in whatever it is that you +have found to do. + +Thinking the thoughts of others is a delightful pastime and profitable +but it is not really thinking. Also, if one be blessed with a good +memory, he may thus cheaply acquire a reputation for great wisdom; +just as one, if he happens to be born with a nose of uncommon length +or bigness, may attract the attention of the world. But no one should +deceive himself. A man because he is able, better than the multitude, +to repeat the thoughts of other men must not therefore think himself a +better thinker than the crowd. No more should the one with the +uncommon nose flatter himself that he is necessarily handsome or +distinguished in appearance because the people notice him. He who +attracts the attention of the world should inquire most carefully into +the reason for the gathering of the crowd; for a crowd will gather as +readily to listen to a mountebank as to hear an angel from heaven. + +To repeat what others have thought is not at all evidence that he who +remembers is thinking. Great thoughts are often repeated +thoughtlessly. A man's Occupation betrays him or establishes his claim +to Knowledge. That which a man does proclaims that which he thinks or +in his thoughtlessness finds him out. + +Of course, when the man had learned this, he said at first, quite +wrongly, that his school days were wasted. He said that what he had +called his education was all a mistake--that it was vanity only and +wholly worthless. But, as he went on gaining ever more and more +Knowledge from the thing that he was doing, and, through that thing, +of many other things, he came to understand that his school days were +not wasted but very well spent indeed. He came to see that what he had +called education was not a mistake. He came to understand that what +was wrong was this: he had considered his education complete, +finished, when he had only been prepared to begin. He had considered +his schooling as an end to be gained when it was only a means to the +end. He had considered his learning as wealth to hold when it was +capital to invest. He had mistaken the thoughts that he received from +others for Knowledge when they were given him only to inspire and to +help him in acquiring Knowledge. + +And then, of this knowledge of Knowledge gained by the man from his +Occupation, there was born in him a mighty passion, a burning desire. +It was the passion for Knowledge. It was the desire to know. To know +the thing that he had found to do was not enough. He determined to use +that knowledge to gain Knowledge of many other things. He felt within +himself a new strength stirring--the strength of thought. He saw that +knowledge of things led ever to more knowledge, even as link to link +in a golden chain. One end of the chain he held in his Occupation; the +other was somewhere, far beyond his sight, hidden in the mists that +shroud the Infinite Fact, fast to the mighty secret of Life itself. +Link by link, he determined to follow the chain. From knowing things +to knowledge of other things he would go even until he held in his +grip the last link--until he held the key to the riddle--until he knew +the answer to the sum of Life. + +And facts--cold, uncompromising, all powerful, unanswerable +facts--should give him this mastering knowledge of Life. For him there +should be no sentiment to deceive, no illusion to beguile, no fancy to +lead astray. As resistlessly as the winter, with snowflake upon +snowflake, had buried all the delightful vagaries of summer, so this +man, in his passion for Knowledge, would have buried all the charming +inconsistencies, the beautiful inaccuracies, the lovely pretenses of +Life. The illusions, the sentiment, the fancies, the poetry of Life, +he would have buried under the icy sameness of his facts, even as the +flowers and grasses were hidden under winter's shroud of snow. But he +could not. Under the snow, summer still lived. Under the cold facts of +Life, the tender sentiments, the fond fancies, the dear illusions have +strength even as the flowers and grasses. + +I do not know what it was that brought it about. It does not matter +what it was. Perhaps it was the sight of some boys coasting down a +little hill, on a side street, near where the man lived at this time: +perhaps it was a group of children who, on their way home from school, +were waging a merry snow fight: or, perhaps, it was the man's own +effort to acquire Knowledge: or, it may be, that his brain was weary, +that the way of Knowledge seemed over long, that the links in the +golden chain were many and passed all too slowly through his hand--I +do not know--but, whatever it was that did it, the man, as he sat +before his fire that winter evening with a too solid and substantial +book, slipped away from his grown up world of facts back into the no +less real world of childhood, back into his Yesterdays--to a school +day in his Yesterdays. + +Once again he made his way in the morning to the little schoolhouse +that stood half way up a long hill, in the edge of a bit of timber, +nearly two miles from his home. The yard, beaten smooth and hard by +many bare and childish feet, was separated from the timber by a rail +fence but was left open in front to any stray horses or cattle that, +wandering down the road, might be tempted to rest a while in the shade +of a great tree that stood near the center of the little clearing. The +stumps of the other forest beauties that had once, like this tree, +tossed their branches in the sunlight were still holding the places +that God had given them and made fine seats for the girls or bases for +the boys when they played ball at recess or noon. And often, when the +shouting youngsters had been called from their sports by the rapping +of the teacher's ruler at the door and only the busy hum of their +childish voices came floating through the open windows, a venturesome +squirrel or a saucy chipmunk would creep stealthily along the fence, +stopping now and then to sit bolt upright with tail in air to look and +listen. Then suddenly, at sight of a laughing face at the window or +the appearance of some boy who had gained the coveted permission to +get a bucket of water, the little visitor would whisk away again like +a flash and, with a warning chatter to his mate, would seek safety +among the leaves and branches of the forest only to reappear once more +when all was quiet until, at last, made bold by many trials, he would +leap from the fence and scamper across the yard to take possession of +the tallest stump as though he himself were a schoolboy. Sometimes a +crow, after carefully watching the place for a little while from a +safe position on the fence across the road, would fly quietly down to +look for choice bits dropped from the dinner baskets of the children. +Or again, a long, lazy, black snake would crawl across the yard to +search for the little mice that lived in the foundation of the house +and in the corners of the fence. Or, perhaps, a chicken hawk, that had +been sailing on outstretched wings in ever narrowing circles, would +drop from the blue sky to claim his share of the plunder only to be +frightened away again by the sound of the teacher's voice raised in +sharp rebuke of some mischievous urchin. + +The schoolhouse was not a large building nor was it, in the least, +imposing. It was built of wood with a foundation of rough stone and +there were heavy shutters which were always carefully closed at night +to keep out the tramps who might seek a lodging place within. And +there was a woodshed, too, where the boys romped upon rainy days and +where was fought many a schoolboy battle for youthful love and honor. +The building had once been painted white but the storm and sunshine of +many months had worn away the paint, and there remained only the dark, +weather stained, boards save beneath the cornice and the window ledge +where one might still find traces of its former glory. The chimney, +too, was old and some of the bricks had crumbled and fallen from the +top which made it look ragged against the sky. And the steps and +threshold were worn very thin--very, very, thin. + +Wearied with his passion for Knowledge; tired of his cold facts; +hungering in his heart for a bit of wholesome sentiment as one in +winter hungers for the summer flowers; the man who sat before his fire +that night, with a too heavy and substantial book, crossed once more +with childish feet the worn threshold of the old schoolhouse and stood +within the entry where hung the hats and dinner baskets of his mates. +They looked very familiar to him--those hats--and, as he saw them in +his memory, each offered mute testimony to its owner's disposition and +rank in childhood's world. There were broad brimmed straws that +belonged to the patient, plodding, boys and caps that seemed made to +set far back on the heads of the boisterous lads. There was the old +slouch felt of the poor boy who did chores for his board and the +brimless hat of the bully of the school. There were the trim sailors +of the good little boys and the head gear of his own particular chum. +And there--the man who sought Knowledge only in facts smiled at the +fire and a fond light came into his eyes while his too solid and +substantial hook slipped unheeded to the floor--there was a sunbonnet +of blue checkered gingham hanging by its long strings from a hook near +the window. + +With fast beating heart, the boy saw that the next hook was vacant and +placing his own well worn straw beside the bonnet he wondered if she +would know whose hat it was. And then once more, with reluctant hand, +the seeker of Knowledge, in his Yesterdays, pushed open the door +leading to the one room in the building and, with a sigh of regret, +passed from the bright sunlight of boyish freedom to the shadow of his +childish task. + +There were neither tinted walls nor polished woodwork in that hall of +learning. But, thank God, learning does not depend upon tinted walls +or polished woodwork. Indeed it seems that rude rafters and +unplastered ceilings most often covers the head of learning. The +humble cottage of the farmer shelters many a true scholar and +statesmen are bred in log cabins. Neither was there a furnace with +mysterious cranks and chains nor steam pipes nor radiators. But, when +the cold weather came, the room was warmed by an old sheet iron stove +that stood near the center of the building with an armful of wood in a +box nearby and the kindlings for to-morrow's fire drying on the floor +beneath. The desks were of soft pine, without paint or varnish, but +carved with many a quaint and curious figure by jack knives in the +hands of ambitious youngsters. The seats were rude benches worn smooth +and shiny. A water bucket had its place near the door and a rusty tin +dipper that leaked quite badly hung from a nail in the casing. + +And hanging upon the dingy wall were the old maps and charts that, +torn and soiled by long usage, had patiently guided generations of +boys and girls through the mysteries of lands and seas, icebergs, +trade winds, deserts, and plains. Still patiently they marked for the +boy's bewildered brain latitude and longitude, the tropic of cancer, +the arctic circle, and the poles. Were they hanging there still? the +man wondered. Were they still patiently leading the way through a +wilderness of islands and peninsulas, capes and continents, rivers, +lakes, and sounds? Or had they, in the years that had gone since he +looked upon their learned faces, been sunk to oblivion in the depths +of their own oceans by the weight of their own mountain ranges? And, +suddenly, the man who sought Knowledge in facts found himself wishing +in his heart that some gracious being would make for older children +maps and charts that they might know where flow the rivers of +prosperity, where rise the mountains of fame, where ripple the lakes +of love, where sleep the valleys of rest, or where thunders the ocean +of truth. + +At one end of the old schoolroom, behind the teacher's desk, was a +blackboard with its accompanying chalk, erasers, rulers, and bits of +string. To the boy, that blackboard was a trial, a temptation, a +vindication, or a betrayal. Often, as he sat with his class on the +long recitation seat that faced the teacher's desk, with half studied +lesson, but with bright hopes of passing the twenty minutes safely, +before the slow hand of the old clock had marked but half the time, +his hopes would be blasted by a call to the board where he would bring +upon himself the ridicule of his schoolmates, the condemnation of the +teacher, and would take his seat to hear, with burning cheeks, the +awful sentence: "You may study your lesson after school." + +After school--sorrowfully the boy saw the others passing from the +room, leaving him behind. And the last to go, glancing back with tear +dimmed eyes, was the little girl. Sadly he listened to the voices in +the entry and heard their shouts as they burst out doors; +and--suddenly, his heart beat quicker and his cheeks burned--_that_ +was her voice! + +Clear and sweet through the open window of the man's memory it +came--the voice of his little girl mate of the Yesterdays. + +She was standing on the worn threshold of the old schoolhouse, calling +to her friends to wait; and the boy knew that she was lingering there +for him and that she called to her companions loudly so that he would +understand. + +But the teacher knew it too and bade the little girl go home. + +Then, while the boy listened to that sweet voice growing fainter and +fainter in the distance; while he saw her, in his fancy, walking +slowly, lagging behind her companions, looking back for him; the +teacher talked to him very seriously about the value of his +opportunities; told him that to acquire an education was his duty; +sought to impress upon him that the most important thing in life was +Knowledge. + +Of course, thought the boy, teacher must know. And, thinking this, he +felt himself to be a very bad boy, indeed; because, in his heart, he +knew that he would have, that moment, given up every chance of an +education; he would have sacrificed every hope of wisdom; he would +have thrown away all Knowledge and heaven itself just to be walking +down the road with the little girl. And he must have been a little +had--that boy--because also, most ardently, did he wish that he was +big enough to thrash the teacher or whoever it was that invented +blackboards. + +As the man stooped to take up again his too solid and substantial +book, he felt that he was but a schoolboy still. To him, the world had +become but a great blackboard. In his private life or in conversation +with a friend, he might hide his poorly prepared lesson behind a show +of fine talk, a pet quotation, or an air of learning; but when he was +forced to put what he knew where all men might see--when he was made +to write his sentences in books or papers or compelled to do his +problems in the business world--then it was that his lack of +preparation was discovered, and that he brought upon himself the +ridicule or condemnation of his fellows. Unconsciously he listened, +half expecting to hear again the old familiar sentence: "You may study +your lesson after school." After school--would there be any after +school, he wondered. + +"And, after all, was that teacher in his Yesterdays right?" the man +asked himself. "Was Knowledge the most important thing in life? After +all, was that schoolboy of the Yesterdays such a bad schoolboy +because, in his boyish heart, he rebelled against the tasks that kept +him from his schoolmates and from the companionship of the little +girl? Was that boy so bad because he wished that he was big enough to +thrash whoever it was that invented blackboards, to rob schoolboys of +their schoolgirl mates?" + +Suppose--the man asked himself, as he laid aside the too heavy and +substantial book and looked into the fire again--suppose, that, after +a lifetime devoted to the pursuit of Knowledge, there should be no +one, when school time was over, to linger on the worn old threshold +for him? Suppose he should be forced, in the late afternoon, to go +down the homeward road alone? Could it be truly said that his manhood +years had been well spent? Could any number of accumulated facts +satisfy him if the hour was a lonely hour when school closed for the +day? Might it not be that there is a Knowledge to be gained from Life +that is of more value than the wintry Knowledge of facts? + +As the man looked back into his Yesterdays, the blackboard and its +condemnation mattered little to him. It was the going home alone that +mattered. What, he wondered, would matter most when, at last, he could +look back upon his grown up school days--the world blackboard with its +approval or its condemnation, or the going home alone? + +* * * * * + +It was the time of melting snow. The top of the orchard hill was a +faded brown patch as though, on a shoulder of winter's coat, the +season had worn a hole quite through; while the fields of the fall +plowing made spots that looked pitifully thin and threadbare; and the +creek, below the house where the little girl lived, was a long dark +line looking for all the world like a rip where the icy stitching of a +seam in the once proud garment had, at last, given way. But the drift +in the garden on the boy's side of the hedge was still piled high +against the barrier of thickly interwoven branches and twigs and the +cherry tree, in its shivering nakedness, seemed to be pleading, now, +for spring to come quickly. + +The woman who knew herself to be a woman did not attempt to walk home +from her work that Saturday afternoon. The streets were too muddy and +she was later than usual because of some extra work. + +Of her Occupation--of the world into which she had gone--the woman +also was gaining Knowledge. Though, she did not learn from choice but +because she must. And she learned of her work only what was needful +for her to know that she might hold her place. She had no desire to +know more. Because the woman already knew the supreme thing, she had +no desire to learn more of her Occupation than she must. Already she +knew her womanhood, and that, to a woman who knows, is the supreme +thing. For a woman with understanding there is no Knowledge greater +than this: the knowledge of her womanhood. There was born in her no +passion for knowledge of things. She burned with no desire to follow +the golden chain, link by link, to its hidden end. In her womanhood +she held already the answer to the sum of Life. + +The passion of her womanhood was not to _know_ but to _trust_--not +_facts_ but _faith_--not _evidence_ but _belief_--not _reason_ but +_emotion_. Her desire was not to take from the world by the power +of Knowledge but to receive from the world by right of her sex and love. +She did not crave the independence of great learning but longed, rather, +for the prouder dependence of a true womanhood. Out of her woman heart's +fullness she pitied and fed the poor mendicant without inquiring into +the economic condition that made him a beggar. Her situation, she +accepted with secret rebellion, with hidden shame and humiliation +in her heart, but never asked why the age forced her into such a +position. For affection, for sympathy, for confidence, and understanding, +she hungered with a woman hunger; and, through her hunger for these, +from the men and women with whom she labored she gained Knowledge of +Life. Of the lives of her fellow workers--of the women who had entered +that world, even as she had entered it, because they must--of the men +whom she came to know under circumstances that forbade recognition of +her womanhood--she gained Knowledge; and the Knowledge she gained was +this: that the world is a world of hungry hearts. + +I do not know just what the circumstances were under which the woman +learned this. I do not know what her Occupation was nor who her +friends were; nor can I tell in detail of the peculiar incidents that +led to this Knowledge. Such things are not of my story. This, only, +belongs to my story: the woman learned that the world is a world of +hungry hearts. Cold and cruel and calculating and bold, fighting +desperately, merciless, and menacing, the world is but a hungry +hearted world with it all. This, when a woman knows it, is, for her, a +saving Knowledge. Just to the degree that a woman knows this, she is +wise above all men--wise with a wisdom that men cannot attain. Just to +the degree that a woman is ignorant of this, she is unlearned in the +world's best wisdom. + +Long before she knocked at the door of the world into which she had +been admitted, upon condition that she left her womanhood without, the +woman had thought herself wise in knowledge of mankind. In her school +days, text books and lessons had meant little to her beside the +friendship of her schoolmates. At her graduation she had considered +her life education complete. She thought, modestly, that she was +fitted for a woman's place in life. And that which she learned first +from the world into which she had gone was this: that her knowledge of +life was very, very, meager; that there were many, many, things about +men and women that she did not know. + +School could fit her only for the fancy work of Life: plain sewing she +must learn of Life itself. School had made her highly ornamental: Life +must make her useful. School had developed her capacity for pleasure +and enjoyment: not until Life had developed her capacity for sorrow +and pain would her education be complete. School had taught her to +speak, to dress, and to act correctly: Life must teach her to feel. +School had trained her mind to appreciate: Life must teach her to +sympathize. School had made her a lady: Life must make the lady a +woman. + +The woman had known her life schoolmates only in pleasure--in those +hours when they came to her seeking to please or desiring to be +pleased. In her Occupation she was coming to know them in their hours +of toil, when there was no thought of gaining or giving pleasure, but +only of the demands of their existence; when duty, pitiless, stern, +uncompromising, duty held them in its grip; when need, unrelenting, +ever present, dominating need, drove them under its lash. She had +known them only in their hours of leisure--when their minds were free +for the merry jest, the ready laugh, the quick sympathy: now she was +coming to know them in those other hours when their minds were intent +upon the battle they waged--when their thoughts were all of the +attack, the defense, the advance, the retreat, the victory or defeat. +She had known them only in their hours of rest--when their hands were +empty, their nerves and muscles relaxed, their hearts calm and their +brains cool; now she saw them when their hands held the weapons of +their warfare--the tools of their craft--when their nerves and muscles +were braced for the strain of the conflict or tense with the effort of +toil; when their hearts beat high with the zeal of their purpose and +their brains were fired with the excitement of their efforts. She had +known them only in the hours of their dreaming--when, as they looked +out upon life, they talked confidently of the future: she was learning +now to know them when they were working out their dreams; at times +with hopes high and courage strong; at other times discouraged, +frightened, and dismayed. She had known them only as they dreamed of +the past--when they talked in low tones of the days that were gone: +now she saw them as they thought only of the present and the days that +were to come. So this woman, from the world into which she had gone, +gained knowledge of mankind. + +And this is the pity and the danger of it: that the woman gained this +knowledge from a world, that, even as it taught her, denied her +womanhood. The sadness of it all is this: to the world that refused to +recognize her womanhood, it was given to teach her that which would +make her womanhood complete. The knowledge that she must have to +complete her womanhood the woman should have gained only from the life +of her dreams--the life that is beyond that old, old, open door +through which she could not pass alone. In the companionship, +sympathy, strength, protection, and love, of that one who was to cross +with her the threshold of the door that God set open in the beginning, +she should have gained the knowledge of life that would ripen her +girlhood into womanhood. For what else, indeed, has God given love to +men and women? In the strength that would come to her with her +children, the woman should have been privileged to learn sorrow and +pain. In the world that would have honored, above all else, her +womanhood, she should have been permitted to find the knowledge of +life that would perfect and complete her womanhood. + +Fruit, I know, may be picked green from the tree and artificially +forced to a kind of ripeness. But the fruit that matures under +Nature's careful hand; that knows in its ripening the warm sunshine +and the cleansing showers, the cool of the quiet evening and the +freshness of the dewy morn, the strength of the roaring storms and the +softness of the caressing breeze--this fruit alone, I say, has the +flavor that is from heaven. + +It is a trite saying that many a girl of sixteen, these days, knows +more of life than her grandmother knew at sixty. It remains to be +proven that, because of this knowledge, the young woman of to-day is a +better woman than her grandmother was. But, as the only positive proof +would be her children, the case is very likely to be thrown out of +court for lack of evidence for it seems, somehow, that, when women +gain Knowledge from that world into which they go alone, leaving their +womanhood behind, they acquire also a strange pride in being too wise +to mate for love or to bear children. And yet, it is true, that the +knowledge that enables a woman to live happy and contented without +children is a damnable knowledge and a menace to the race. + +Poor old world, you are so "grown up" these days and your palate is so +educated to the artificial flavor that you have forgotten, seemingly, +how peaches taste when ripened on the trees. God pity you, old world, +if you do not soon get back into the orchard before you lose your +taste for fruit altogether. + +The knowledge that the woman gained from her Occupation made her +question, more and more, if that one with whom she could cross the +threshold of the door that led to the life of her dreams, would ever +come. The knowledge she gained made her doubt her courage to enter +that door with him if he should come. In the knowledge she gained of +the world into which she had gone alone, her womanhood's only +salvation was this: that she gained also the knowledge that the world +of men, even as the world of women, is a world of hungry hearts. It +was this that kept her--that made her strong--that saved her. It was +this knowledge that saved her womanhood for herself and for the race. + +The week, for the woman, had been a hard week. The day, for her, had +been a hard day. When she boarded the car to go to her home she was +very tired and she was not quite the picture of perfect woman health +that she had been that other Saturday--the time of falling leaves. + +For some unaccountable reason there was one vacant seat left in the +car and she dropped into it with a little inward sigh of relief. With +weary, unseeing, eyes she stared out of the window at the throng of +people hurrying along through the mud and slush of the streets. Her +tired brain refused to think. Her very soul was faint with loneliness +and the knowledge that she was gaining of life. + +The car stopped again and a party of girls of the high school age, +evidently just from the Saturday matinee, crowded in. Clinging to the +straps and the backs of seats, clutching each other with little gusts +and ripples of laughter, they filled the aisle of the crowded car with +a fresh and joyous life that touched the tired woman like a breath of +spring. In all this work stale, stupidly weary, world there is nothing +so refreshing as the wholesome laugh of a happy, care free, young +girl. The woman whose heart was heavy with knowledge of life would +have liked to take them in her arms. She felt a sense of gratitude as +though she were indebted to them just for their being. And would +these, too--the woman thought--would these, too, be forced by the +custom of the age--by necessity--to go into the world that would not +recognize their womanhood--that would put a price upon the priceless +things of their womanhood--that would teach them hard lessons of life +and, with a too early knowledge, crush out the sweet girlish +naturalness, even as a thoughtless foot crushes a tender flower while +still it is in the bud? + +And thinking thus, perhaps because of her weariness, perhaps because +of some chance word dropped by the girls as they talked of their +school and schoolmates, the woman went back again into her +Yesterdays--to the schoolmates of her Yesterdays. The world in which +she now lived and labored was forgotten. Forgotten were the worries +and troubles of her grown up life--forgotten the trials and +disappointments--forgotten the new friends, the uncongenial +acquaintances, the cruel knowledge, the heartless business--forgotten +everything of the present--all, all, was lost in a golden mist of the +long ago. + +The tall, graceful, girl holding to a strap at the forward end of the +car, in the woman's Yesterdays, lived just beyond the white church at +the corner. The dark haired, dark eyed, round faced one, she knew as +the minister's daughter. While the dainty, doll like, miss clinging to +her sturdier sister, in those days of long ago, was the woman's own +particular chum. And the girl with the yellow curls--the one with the +golden hair--the blue eyed, and the brown--the slender and the +stout--every one--belonged to the tired woman's Yesterdays--every one +she had known in the past and to each she gave a name. + +And then--as the woman, watching the young schoolgirls in the crowded +car, lived once again those days of the old schoolhouse on the hill +where, with her girl companions of the long ago, she sought the +beginnings of Knowledge--the boys came, too. Just as in the Yesterdays +they had come to take their places in the old schoolroom, they came, +now, to take their places in the woman's memory. + +There was the tall, thin, lad whose shoulders seemed, even in his +school days, to find the burden of life too heavy; and who wore always +on his face such a sad and solemn air that one was almost startled +when he laughed as though the parson had cracked a joke at a funeral. +The woman smiled as she remembered how his clothes were never known to +fit him. When his trousers were so short that they barely reached +below his knees his coat sleeves covered his hands and the skirts of +that garment almost swept the ground; but, when the trousers were +rolled up at the bottom and hung over his feet like huge bags, his +long, thin, arms showed, half way to his elbows, in a coat that was +too small to button about even his narrow chest. That boy never missed +his lessons, though, but when he learned them no one ever knew for he +seemed to be always drawing grotesque figures and funny faces on his +slate or whittling slyly on some curious toy when the teacher's back +was turned. He had no particular chum or crony. He was never a leader +but dared to follow the boldest. To the little boys and girls he was a +hero; to the older ones he was--"Slim." + +The woman, by chance, had met this old schoolmate, one day, in her +grown up world. In the editorial rooms of a large city daily he was +the chief, and she noticed that his clothing fitted him a little +better; that he was a little broader in the shoulders; a little larger +around the waist; his face was not quite so solemn and his eyes had a +more knowing look perhaps. But still--still--the woman could see that +he was, after all, the same old "Slim" and she fancied, with another +smile, that he often, still, whittled toys when the teacher's back was +turned. + +Then came the fat boy--"Stuffy." He, too, had another name which does +not matter. Always in the Yesterdays, as in the to-days, there is a +"Stuffy." "Stuffy" was evidently built to roll through life, pushed +gently by that special providence that seems to look after the affairs +of fat people. His teeth were white and even, his eyes of the deepest +blue, and his nose--what there was of it--was almost hidden by cheeks +that were as red and shiny as the apples he always carried in his +pocket. He was very generous with those same apples--was +"Stuffy"--though one was tempted to think that he shared his fruit not +so much from choice but rather because he disliked the hard work that +was sure to follow a refusal of the pressing invitation to "go +halvers." The woman fancied that she could see again the look of +mingled fun and fear, generosity and greed, that went over her +schoolmate's face as he saw the half of his eatable possessions pass +into the keeping of his companions. And then, as he watched the +tempting morsels disappear, the expression on his face would seem to +show a battle royal between his stomach and his heart, in that he +rejoiced to see the happiness of his friends, even while he coveted +that which gave them pleasure. She wondered where was "Stuffy" now? +She felt sure that he must live in a big house, and drive to and from +his place of business in a fine carriage, with fine horses and a +coachman in livery, and dine and wine his friends as often as he chose +with never a fear that he would run short of good things for himself. +She was quite sure, too, that he would suffer with severe attacks of +gout at times and would have four or five half grown daughters and a +wife of great ambition. Does he, she wondered, does he ever--in the +whirl and rush of business or in the excitement and pleasure of his +social life--does he ever go back to those other days? Does the grown +up "Stuffy" remember how once he traded marbles for candy or bought +sweet cakes with toys? + +And then, there was the boy with the freckled face and tangled hair, +whose nose seemed always trying to peep into his own mischief lighted +eyes as though wishing to see what new deviltry was breeding there: +and his crony, who never could learn the multiplication table, who was +forever swearing vengeance on the teacher, whose clothes were always +torn, and who carried frogs and little snakes in his pockets: and the +timid boys who always played in one corner of the yard by themselves +or with the girls or stood by and watched, with mingled admiration and +envy, the games and pranks of the bolder lads: and "Dummy"--poor +"Dummy"--the shining mark for every schoolboy trick and joke; with his +shock of yellow hair, his weak cross eyes, his sharp nose, thin lips, +and shambling, shuffling, shifting manner--poor "Dummy." + +And of course there was a bully, the Ishmael of the school, whom +everybody shunned and nobody liked; who fought the teacher and +frightened the little children; who chewed, and smoked, and swore, and +lied, and did everything bad that a boy could do. He had a few +followers, a very few, who joined him rather through fear than +admiration and not one of whom cared for or trusted him. The woman +remembered how this schoolboy face was sadly hard and cold and cruel, +as though, because he had gotten so little sunshine from life, his +heart was frozen over. She had read of him, in the grown up world, +receiving sentence for a dreadful crime, and, remembering his father +and mother, had wondered if his grandparents were like them and how +many generations before his birth his career of crime began. + +Again and again, the car had stopped to let people off but the woman +had not noticed. The schoolgirls, all but the tall one who had found a +seat, were gone. But the woman had not seen them go. + +And then, as she sat dreaming of the days long gone--as she saw again +the faces of her school day friends, one there was that stood out from +among them all. It was the face of the boy who lived next door--the +boy who had stood with her under the cherry tree; who had put a tiny +play ring of brass upon her finger; and who had kissed her with a kiss +that was somehow different. He was the hero of her Yesterdays as he +was the acknowledged chieftain of the school. No one could run so +fast, swim so far, dive so deep, or climb so high as he. No one could +throw him in wrestling or defeat him in boxing. He was their lord, +their leader, their boyish master and royally he ruled them all--his +willing subjects. He it was who stopped the runaway horse; who killed +the big snake; and who pulled the minister's little daughter from the +pond. It was he who planned the parties and the picnics; the sleigh +rides in winter and the berrying trips in summer. It was he whom the +girls all loved and the boys all worshiped--bold, handsome, daring, +dashing, careless, generous, leader of the Yesterdays. + +Again she saw his face lifted slyly from a spelling book to smile at +her across the aisle. Again she felt the rich, warm, color rush to her +cheeks as he took his seat, beside her on the recitation bench. Again +her eyes were dimmed with tears when he was punished for some broken +rule or shone with gladness when she heard his clear voice laughing +with his friends or calling to his mates and her. + +And once again, in the late afternoon, with him and with the other +boys and girls, she went down the road from the little schoolhouse in +the edge of the timber on the hill; her sunbonnet hanging by its +strings and her dinner basket on her arm. Onward, through the long +shadows that lay across their way, they went together, to pause at +last before the gate of her home, there to linger for a little, while +the others still went on. Farther and farther in the evening they +watched their schoolmates go--up the road past the house where he +lived--past the orchard and over the hill--until, in the distance, +they seemed to vanish into the sunset sky and she was left with him +alone. + +The conductor called the woman's street but she did not heed. The man +in uniform pulled the bell cord and, as the car stopped, called again, +looking toward her expectantly. But she did not notice. With a smile, +the man, who knew her, approached, and: "Beg your pardon Miss, but +here's your street." + +With blushing cheeks and confused manner, she stammered her thanks, +and hurried from the car amid the smiles of the passengers. And the +woman did not know how beautiful she was at that moment. She was +wondering: in the hungry hearted world--under all his ambition, plans, +and labor, with the knowledge that must have come to him also from +life--was his heart ever hungry too? + + + + + +IGNORANCE + +When the man had gained a little knowledge from the thing that he had +found to do and had wearied himself greatly trying to follow the +golden chain, link by link, to the very end, he came, then, to +understand the value of Ignorance. He came to see that success in +working out his dreams depended quite as much upon Ignorance as upon +Knowledge--that, indeed, to know the value of Ignorance is the highest +order of Knowledge. + +There are a great many things about this man's life that I do not +know. But that does not matter because most of the things about any +man's life are of little or no importance. That the man came to know +the value of Ignorance was a thing of vast importance to the man and, +therefore, is of importance to my story. Ignorance also is one of the +Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life but only those who have much +knowledge know its value. + +A wise Ignorance is rich soil from which the seeds of Knowledge will +bring forth fruit, a hundred fold. "I do not know": this is the +beginning and the end of wisdom. One who has never learned to say: "I +do not know," has not the A B C of education. He who professes to be +educated but will not confess Ignorance is intellectually condemned. + +A man who pretends to a knowledge which he has not is like a pygmy +wearing giant's clothing, ridiculous: but he who admits Ignorance is +like a strong knight, clothed in a well fitting suit of mail, ready to +achieve truth. + +When a man declares openly his ignorance concerning things of which he +knows but little, the world listens with increased respect when he +speaks of the thing he knows: but when a man claims knowledge of all +things, the world doubts mightily that he knows much of anything, and +accepts questioningly whatever he says of everything. + +That which a man does not know harms him not at all, neither does it +harm the world; but that which, through a shallow, foolish, +self-conceit, he professes to know, when he has at best only a half +knowledge, or, in a self destructive vanity, deceives himself into +thinking that he knows, betrays him always to the injury of both +himself and others. An honest Ignorance is a golden vessel, empty, +ready to be filled with wealth but a pretentious or arrogant knowledge +is a vessel so filled with worthless trash that there is no room for +that which is of value. + +The world is as full of things to know as it is full of hooks, No man +can hope to read all the books in the world. Selection is enforced by +necessity. So it is in Knowledge. One should not think that, because a +man is ignorant of some things, he is therefore a fool; his ignorance +may be the manifestation of a choice wiser than that of the one who +elects to sit in judgment upon him. + +With the passion to know fully aroused; with his mind fretting to +grapple with the problem of Life; and his purpose fired to solve the +riddle of time; the man succeeded in acquiring this: that he must dare +to know little. He came to understand that, while all knowable things +are for all mankind to know, no man can know them all; and that the +wisest men to whom the world pays highest tribute, are the wisest +because they have not attempted to know all, but, recognizing the +value of Ignorance, have dared to remain ignorant of much. +Intellectual giants they are; intellectual babes they are, also. The +man had thought that there was nothing that these men--these wise +ones--did not know. He came to understand that even _he_ knew +some things of which they were ignorant. So his determination to know +all things passed to a determination to know nothing of many things +that he might know more of the things that were most closely +associated with his life and work. He determined to know the most of +the things that, to him, were most vital. + +He saw also that he must work out his dreams within the circle of his +own limitations; and that his limitations were not the limitations of +his fellow workers; neither were their limitations his. He did not +know yet just where the outmost circle of his limitations lay but he +knew that it was there and that he must make no mistake when he came +to it. And this, too, is true: just to the degree that the man +recognized his limitations, the circle widened. + +Also the man came to understand that there are things knowable and +things unknowable. He came to see that truest wisdom is in this: for +one to spend well his strength on the knowable things and refuse to +dissipate his intellectual vigor upon the unknowable. Not until he +began really to know things was he conscious in any saving degree of +the unknowable. He saw that those who strive always with the +unknowable beat the air in vain and exhaust themselves in their +senseless folly. He saw that to concern oneself wholly with the +unknowable is to rob the world of the things in which are its life. To +meditate much upon the unknowable is an intellectual dissipation that +produces spiritual intoxication and often results in spiritual +delirium tremens. A habitual spiritual drunkard is a nuisance in the +world. The wisdom of Ignorance is in nothing more apparent than in a +clear recognition of the unknowable. + +And then the man came to regret knowing some of the things that he +knew. He came, in some things, to wish with all his heart that he had +Ignorance where he had Knowledge. He found that much of the time and +strength that he desired to spend in acquiring the knowledge that +would help him to work out his dreams, he must spend, instead, in +ridding himself of knowledge that he had already acquired. He learned +that to forget is quite as necessary as to remember and very often +much more difficult. Young he was, and strong he was, but, already, he +felt the dragging power of the things he would have been better for +not knowing--the things he desired to forget. They were very little +things in comparison to the things that in the future he would wish to +forget; but to him, at this time, they did not seem small. So it was +that, in his effort to acquire Knowledge, the man began to strive also +for Ignorance. + +I do not know what it was that the man had learned that he desired to +forget. My story is not the kind of a story that tells those things. I +know, only, that for him to forget was imperative. I know, only, that +had he held fast to Ignorance in some things of which he had gained +knowledge, it would have been better. For him in some things Ignorance +would have been the truest wisdom. Ignorance would have helped him to +work out his dreams when Knowledge only hindered by forcing him to +spend much time striving to forget. Those who know too much of evil +find it extremely difficult to gain knowledge of the good. Those who +know too much of the false find it very hard to recognize the true. A +too great knowledge of things that are wrong makes it almost +impossible for one to believe in that which is right. Ignorance, +rightly understood, is, indeed, one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things +of Life. + +And then this man, in learning the value of Ignorance, came perilously +near believing that no man could _know_ anything. He came +dangerously near the belief that Knowledge is all a mirage toward +which men journey hopelessly; a phantom to be grasped by no hand; a +will-o'-the-wisp to be followed here and there but leading nowhere. +He, for a little, said that Ignorance is the truest wisdom. He +believed, for a time, that to say always: "I do not know," is the +height of all intelligence. One by one, he saw his intellectual idols +fall in the dust of the commonplace. Little by little, he discovered +that the intellectual masters he had served were themselves only +servants. His intellectual Gods, he found to be men like himself. And +so, for a while, he said: "We can know nothing. We can only think that +we know. We can only pretend to know. There _is_ no real +Knowledge but only Ignorance. Ignorance should be exalted. In +Ignorance lies peace, contentment, happiness, and safety." Even of his +work--of his dreams he said this. He said: "It is no use." To the very +edge of this pit he came but he did not fall in. + +To accept the fact of the unknowable without losing his faith in the +knowable: to recognize the unknown without losing in the least his +grip upon the known: to find the Knowledge of Yesterday becoming the +Ignorance of to-day and still hold fast to the Knowledge of the +present; to watch his intellectual leaders dropping to the rear and to +follow as bravely those who were still in the front: to see his +intellectual heroes fall and his intellectual idols crumbling in the +dust and still to keep burning the fire of his enthusiasm: to find +Knowledge so often a curse and Ignorance a blessing and still to +desire Knowledge: all this, the man learned that he must do if he +would work out his dreams. That which saved the man from the pit of +hopeless disbelief in everything and helped him to a clear +understanding of Ignorance, was this: he went back again into his +Yesterdays. + +From sheltered fence corners and hidden woodland hollows, from the lee +of high banks, and along the hedge in the garden, the last worn and +ragged remnant of winter's garment was gone. The brook in the valley, +below the little girl's house, had broken the last of its fetters and +was rejoicing boisterously in its freedom. The meadow and pasture +lands showed the tender green of the first grass life. Pussy willow +buds were swelling and over the orchard and the wood a filmy veil of +summer color was dropped as though by fairy hands. In the cherry tree, +a pair of brown birds, just returning from their southern home, were +discussing the merits of the nearby hedge as a building site: the +madam bird insisting, as women will, that the beautiful traditions of +the spot made it, for home building, peculiarly desirable. It was a +well known fact, said she, that brown birds had builded there for no +one knows how many ages. Even in the far away city, the man felt the +season in the air. The reek of city odors could not altogether drown +the subtle perfume that betrayed the near presence of the spring. As +though the magic of the budding, sprouting, starting, time of the year +placed him under its spell, the man went back to the springtime of his +life--back into his Yesterdays. + +Once again, he walked under the clear skies of childhood. Once again, +he lived in the blessed, blessed, days when he had nothing to +forget--when his mind and life were as a mountain brook that, clear +and pure, from the spring of its birth runs ever onward, outward, +turning never back, pausing never to form stagnant, poisonous, pools. +And there it was--in his Yesterdays--in the pure sunlight of +childhood--that he found new intellectual faith--that he came to a +right understanding of the real wisdom of Ignorance. + +The intellectual giants of his Yesterdays--those wise ones upon whose +learning he looked with childish awe--who were they? Famous scholars +who lectured in caps and gowns and words of many syllables upon themes +of mighty interest to themselves? Students who, in their laboratory +worlds, discovered many wonderful things that were not so and solved +many puzzling problems with solutions that were right and entirely +satisfactory until the next graduating class discovered them to be all +wrong and no solution at all? Great religious leaders who were +supernaturally called, divinely commissioned, and armed with holy +authority to point out the true and only way of life until some other +with the same call, commission, and authority, pointed out a wholly +different true and only way? Great statesmen upon whose knowledge and +leadership the salvation of the nation depended, until the next +election discovered them to be foolish puppets of a dishonest and +corrupt party and put new leaders in their places to save the nation +with a new brand of political salvation, the chief value of which was +its newness? No indeed! Such as these were not the intellectual giants +of the man's Yesterdays. The heights of knowledge in those days were +held by others than these. + +One of the very highest peaks in the whole mountain range of learning, +in the Yesterdays, was held by the hired man. Again, at chore time, +the boy followed this wise one about the stables and the barn, +watching, from a safe position near the door, while the horses were +groomed and bedded down for the night. Again the pungent odors from +the stalls, the scent of the straw and the hay in the loft, the smell +of harness leather damp with sweat was in his nostrils and in his +ears, the soft swish of switching tails, the thud of stamping hoofs, +the contented munching of grain, the rustle of hay, with now and then +a low whinny or an angry squeal. And fearlessly to and fro in this +strange world moved the hired man. In and out among the horses he +passed, perfectly at home in the stalls, seeming to share the most +intimate secrets of the horse life. + +Everything that there was to know about a horse, confidently thought +the little boy, this wonderful man knew. The very language that he +used when talking about horses was a language full of strange, hard, +words, the meaning of which was hidden from the childish worshiper of +wisdom. Such words as "ringbone" and "spavin" and "heaves" and +"stringhalt" and "pastern" and "stifle" and "wethers" and "girth" and +"hock," to the boy, seemed to establish, beyond all question, the +intellectual greatness of the one who used them just as words of many +syllables sometimes fix for older children the position on the +intellectual heights of those who use them. "Chiaroscuro," +"cheiropterous," "eschatology," and the "unearned increment"--who, in +the common, every day, grown up, world, would dare question the +artistic, scientific, religious, or political, knowledge of one who +could talk like that? + +Nor did the intellectual strength of this wise one of the Yesterdays +exhaust itself with the scientific knowledge of horses. He was equally +at home in the co-ordinate sciences of cows and pigs and chickens. +Again the boy stood in the cow shed laboratory and watched, with +childish wonder, the demonstration of the master's superior wisdom as +the white streams poured into the tinkling milk pail. How did he do +it--wondered the boy--where did this wizard in overalls and hickory +shirt and tattered straw hat acquire his marvelous scientific skill? + +In the garden, the orchard, or the field, it was the same. No secret +of nature was hidden from this learned one. He knew whether potatoes +should be planted in the dark or light of the moon: whether next +winter would be "close" or "open": whether the coming season would be +"early" or "late": whether next summer would be "wet" or "dry." Always +he could tell, days ahead, whether it would rain or if the weather +would be fair. With a peach tree twig he could tell where to dig for +water. By many signs he could say whether luck would be good or bad. +Small wonder that the boy felt very ignorant, very humble, in the +presence of this wise one! + +Then, one day, the boy, to his amazement, learned that this wizard of +the barnyard knew nothing at all about fairies. Common, every day, +knowledge was this knowledge of fairies to the boy: but the wise one +knew nothing about them. So dense was his ignorance that he even +seemed to doubt and smiled an incredulous smile when the boy tried to +enlighten him. + +It was a great day in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that the +hired man did not know about fairies. + +As the years passed and the time approached when the boy was to become +a man, he learned the meaning of many words that were as strange to +the intellectual hero of his childhood as the language of that +companion of horses had once been strange to him. In time, much of the +knowledge of that barnyard sage became, to the boy, even as the boy's +knowledge of fairies had been to the man. Still--still--it was a great +day in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that the hired man did +not know about fairies. Perhaps, though, it was just as well that the +hired man did not know. If he had become too familiar with the +fairies, his potatoes might not have been planted either in the light +or the dark of the moon and the world's potatoes must be planted +somehow. + +Equally great in his special field of knowledge was the old, white +haired, negro who lived in a tiny cabin just a little way over the +hill. Strange and awful were the things that _he_ knew about the +fearsome, supernatural, creatures, that lived and moved in the unseen +world. Of "hants" and "spirits" and "witches" and "hoodoos" he told the +boy with such earnest confidence and so convincing a manner that to +doubt was impossible. In the unknowable world, the old negro moved +with authority unquestioned, with piety above criticism, with a +religious zeal of such warmth that the boy was often moved by the old +man's wisdom and goodness to go to him with offerings from mother's +pantry. + +And then, one day, the boy discovered that this wonderfully wise one +could neither read nor write. Everybody that the boy knew, in the +grown up world, could read and write. The boy himself could even read +"cat" and "rat" and "dog." Vaguely the boy wondered, even then, if the +old black saint's lack of those commonplace accomplishments accounted, +in any way, for his marvelous knowledge of the unseen world. + +And father--father--was the greatest, the wisest, and the best man +that ever lived. The boy wondered, sometimes, why the Bible did not +tell about his father. Surely, in all the world, there was no other +man so good as he. And, as for wisdom! There was nothing--nothing-- +that father did not know! Always, when other men came to see them, +there was talk of such strange things as "government" and "party" +and "campaigns" and "senators" and "congressmen"--things that the boy +did not in the least know about--but he knew that his father knew, +which was quite enough, indeed, for a boy of his age to know. + +The boy, in his Yesterdays, wondered greatly when he heard his father +sometimes wish that he could be a boy again. To him, in the ignorance +of his childhood, such a wish was very strange. Not until the boy had +himself become a man and had learned to rightly value Ignorance did he +understand his father's wish and in his heart repeat it. + +But there was one in those Yesterdays, upon whose knowledge the boy +looked in admiring awe, who taught him that which he could never +outgrow. Very different from the wisdom of the hired man was the +wisdom of this one. Very different was his knowledge from the +knowledge of the old negro. Nor was his learning like, in any way, to +the learning that made the boy's father so good and so wise among men. + +But this leader did not often come openly to the boy's home. Always, +when his mother saw the boy in the company of this one, she called him +into the house, and often she explained to him that the one whom he so +admired was a bad boy and that she did not wish her little son to play +with him. So this intellectual leader of the Yesterdays was forced to +come, stealthily, through the orchard, dodging from tree to tree, +until, from behind the woodshed, he could, with a low whistle, attract +the attention of his admiring disciple and beckon him to his side. +Then the two would slip away over the brow of the hill or down behind +the barn where, safe from mother's watchful eye, the boy could enjoy +the companionship of this one whom Knowledge had so distinguished. + +And often the older boy laughed at the Ignorance of his younger +companion--laughed and sneered at him in the pride of superior +learning--while the little boy felt ashamed and, filled with +admiration for his forbidden friend, wondered if he would ever grow to +be as wise. Scarcely could he hope, for instance, to be able, ever, to +smoke and chew and swear in so masterful a way. And the little +learner's face would beam with timid adoration and envy as he listened +to the tales of wicked adventures so boastfully related by his +teacher. Would he, could he, ever be so bold, so wise in knowledge of +the world? + +Poor little boy in the Yesterdays who knew nothing of the value of +Ignorance! Poor boys in the grown up world--admiring and envying those +who know more of evil than themselves! + +So, always, secretly, the boy, as the years passed, gained the +knowledge that makes men wish that they could be boys again. So, +always, do men learn the value of Ignorance too late. + +And then, as the man lived again in his Yesterdays, and, realizing in +his manhood the value of Ignorance, wished that he could be a boy +again, the little girl came to take her place in his intellectual life +even as she took her place in all the life of his boyhood. Again he +saw her wondering eyes as she stood with him in the stable door to +watch the hired man among the horses. Again he felt her timid hand in +his as he led her to a place where, safe from horns and heels, they +could observe, together, the fascinating operation of milking. +Together they listened to the words of strange wisdom and marveled at +the knowledge of the barnyard scientist. + +All that the boy learned from the old negro, of the fearsome creatures +that inhabit the unseen world, he, in turn, gave to the little girl. +And sometimes she even went with him on a pilgrimage to the cabin over +the hill; there to gaze, half frightened, at the black-faced seer who +had such store of awful wisdom. + +The boy's pride in his father's superior goodness and wisdom she +shared fully--because he was the father of the boy. + +All the sweet lore of childhood was theirs in common. All the wise +Ignorance of his Yesterdays she shared. + +Only in the boy's forbidden friendship with that one who had such +knowledge of evil the little girl did not share. This knowledge--the +knowledge that was to go with him, even in his manhood years, and +which, at last, would teach him the real value of Ignorance--the boy +gained alone. Sadly, the man remembered how, sometimes, when the boy +had stolen away to drink at that first muddy fountain of evil, he +would hear her calling and would be held from answering by the jeers +of his wicked teacher. But never when he was playing with the little +girl did the boy answer the signal whistle of that one whose knowledge +he envied but of whose friendship he was ashamed. + +In his Yesterdays, the ignorance of his little girl mate was an anchor +that held the boy from drifting too far in the current of evil. In his +Yesterdays, the goodness and wisdom of his father was not a +will-o'-the-wisp but, to the boy, a steady guiding light. What +mattered, then, if the knowledge of the old negro _was_ but a +foolish mirage? What mattered if the hired man did _not_ know +about fairies or if he _did_ know so many things that were not +so? So it was that the man came to know the value of Ignorance. So it +was that the man did not fall into the pit of saying: "There is only +Ignorance." + +And so it was, as he returned again from his Yesterdays, that day when +even the reeking atmosphere of the city could not hide, altogether, +the sweetness of the spring, that the memory of the little girl was +with him even as the perfume of the season was in the air. + +* * * * * + +It was the time of the first flowers. + +The woman had been out, somewhere, on a business errand and was +returning to the place where she worked. A crowd had gathered, +blocking the sidewalk, and she was forced to stop. Quickly, as if by +magic, the people came running from all directions. The woman was +annoyed. Her destination was only a few doors away and she had much +work, still, to do before the remaining hours of the afternoon should +be gone. She could not cross the street without going back for the +traffic was very heavy. She faced about as if to retrace her steps, +then, paused and turned again. The street would be open in a moment. +It would be better to wait. Above the heads of the people she could +see, already, the helmets of the police clearing the sidewalk. Pushing +into the jam, she worked slowly forward. + +Clang, clang, clang, with a rattle and clatter and crash, a patrol +wagon swung up to the curb--so close that a spatter of mud from the +gutter fell on the woman's skirt. The wagon wheeled and backed. The +police formed a quick lane across the sidewalk. The crowd surged +forward and carried the woman close against the blue coated barrier. +Down the lane held by the officers of the law, so close to the woman +that she could have touched them, came two poor creatures who were not +ignorant of what is commonly called the world. They had seen life--so +the world would have said. They were wise. They had knowledge of many +things of which the woman, who shrank back from them in horror, knew +nothing. Their haggard, painted, faces, their disheveled hair, their +tawdry clothing, false jewels, and drunken blasphemies, drew a laugh +from the crowd. + +Upon the soul of the woman the laughter of the crowd fell like a demon +laugh from the depths of hell. Almost she shrieked aloud her protest. +Because she knew herself to be a woman, she almost shrieked aloud. + +It was over in an instant. The patrol wagon rumbled away with its +burden of woe. The crowd melted as magically as it had gathered. At +the entrance of the building where she worked, the woman turned to +look back, as though fascinated by the horror of that which she had +seen. But, upon the surface of that sea of life, there was not the +faintest ripple to mark the spot of the tragedy. + +And the crowd had laughed. + +The woman knew the character of that place so near the building in +which she worked. Several times, each day, she passed the swinging +doors of the saloon below and, always, she saw men going in and out. +Many times she had caught glimpses of the faces of those who occupied +the rooms above as they watched at the windows. When first she went to +work she had known little of such things, but she was learning. Not +because she wished to learn but because she could not help it. But the +knowledge of such things had come to her so gradually that she had +grown accustomed to knowing even as she came to know. She had become +familiar with the fact without being forced to feel. + +Perhaps, if the incident had occurred a few years later, when the +woman's knowledge was more complete, she, herself, might have been +able to laugh with the crowd. This knowledge that enables one so to +laugh is, seemingly, much prized these days among those who have not +the wisdom to value Ignorance. + +The afternoon passed, as such afternoons must, and the woman did her +work. What mattered the work that was being wrought in the soul of her +womanhood--the work committed to her hands--the work that refused to +recognize her womanhood--_that_ work was done--and that is all +that seems to matter. And, when her day's work was done, the woman +boarded a car for her home. + +It was an hour when many hundreds of toilers were going from their +labor. So many hundreds there were that the cars could scarcely hold +them and there were seats for only a few. Among those hundreds there +were many who were proud of their knowledge of life. There were not +many who knew the value of Ignorance. The woman who knew that she was +a woman was crowded in a car where there was scarcely room for her to +stand. She felt the rude touch of strangers--felt the bodies of +strange men forced against her body--felt their limbs crushed against +her limbs--felt their breath in her face--felt and trembled in +frightened shame. In that car, crowded close against the woman, there +were men whose knowledge of life was very great. By going to the +lowest depths of the city's shame, where the foulest dregs of humanity +settle, they had acquired that knowledge. + +At first the woman had dreaded those evening trips from work in the +crowded cars. But it was an everyday experience and she was becoming +accustomed to it. She was learning not to mind. That is the horror of +it--_she was learning not to mind._ + +But this night it was different. The heart of her womanhood shrank +within her trembling and afraid--cried out within her in protest at +the outrage. In the fetid atmosphere of the crowded car; in the rough +touch of the crushing bodies of sweating humanity; in the coarse, low, +jest; she felt again the demon that she had heard in the laughter of +the crowd. She saw again the horror of that which had leered at her +from out the disfigured, drunken, faces of the poor creatures taken by +the police. + +Must she--must she learn to laugh that laugh with the crowd? Must she +gain knowledge of the unclean, the vicious, the degrading things of +life by actual contact? Was it not enough for her to know that those +things were in the world as she knew that there was fever in the marsh +lands; or must she go in person into the muck and mire of the swamps? + +So it was that this woman, who knew herself to be a woman, did not +crave Knowledge, but Ignorance. She prayed to be kept from knowing too +much. And it was well for her so to pray. It was the highest wisdom. +Because she knew her womanhood, she was afraid. She feared for her +dream life that was to be beyond the old, old, door. She feared for +that one who, perhaps, would come to cross with her the threshold for +it was given this woman to know that only with one in whose purity of +life she believed could she ever enter into the life of her dreams. +The Master of Life, in His infinite wisdom, made the heart of +womanhood divinely selfish. This woman knew that her dreams could +never be for her save through her belief in the one who should ask her +to go with him through that old, old, door. And the things that the +woman found herself learning made it hard for her to believe in any +man. The knowledge that was forced upon her was breeding doubt and +distrust and denial of good. The realization of her womanhood's +beautiful dream was possible only through wise Ignorance. She must +fight to keep from learning too much. + +And in the woman's fight there was this to help her: in the crowd that +had laughed, her startled eyes had seen one or two who did not +laugh--one or two there were whose faces were filled with pity and +with shame. Always, in the crowded cars, there was some one who tried +quietly to shield her from the press--some one who seemed to +understand. It was this that helped. These men who knew the value of +Ignorance kept the spark of her faith in men alive. The faith, without +which her dreams would be idle dreams, impossible of fulfillment, was +kept for her by those men who knew the value of Ignorance. + +The woman went to her work the next morning with a heart that was +heavy with dread and nerves that were quivering with fear. The +brightness, the beauty, and the joy, of her womanhood, she felt to be +going from her as the sunshine goes under threatening clouds. The +blackness, the ugliness, and the sorrow, of life, she felt coming over +her as fog rolls in from the sea. The faith, trust, and hope, that is +the soul of womanhood was threatened by doubt, distrust, and despair. +The gentleness, sensitiveness, and delicacy, that is the heart of +womanhood was beset by coarseness, vulgarity, and rudeness. Could she +harden her woman heart, steel her woman nerves, and make coarse her +woman soul to withstand the things that she was forced to meet and +know? And if she could--what then--would she gain or lose thereby? For +the life of which she had dreamed, would she gain or lose? + +It was nearly noon when a voice at her side said: "You are ill!" + +It was a voice of authority but it was not at all unkind. + +Turning, she looked up into his face and stammered a feeble denial. +No, she was not ill. + +But the kind eyes looked down at her so searchingly, so gravely, that +her own eyes filled with tears. + +"Come, come," said the voice, "this won't do at all. You must not lose +your grip, you know. It will be all right to-morrow. Take the +afternoon off and get out into the fresh air." + +And something in his voice--something in his grave, steady, eyes--told +her--made her feel that he understood. It helped her to know that this +man of large affairs, of power and authority, understood. + +So, for that afternoon, she went to a park in a distant part of the +city to escape, for a few hours, the things that were crowding her too +closely. Near the entrance of the park, she met a gray haired +policeman who, looking at her keenly, smiled kindly and touched his +hat; then, before she had passed from sight, he turned to follow +leisurely the path that she had taken. Finding a quiet nook on the +bank of a little stream that was permitted to run undisturbed by the +wise makers of the park, the woman seated herself, while the +policeman, unobserved by her, paused not far away to watch a group of +children at play. + +[Illustration: The life that crowded her so closely drifted far, far +away.] + +Perhaps it was the blue sky, unstained by the city smoke: perhaps it +was the sunbeams that filtered through the leafy net-work of the trees +to fall in golden flakes and patches on the soft green: perhaps it was +the song that the little brook was singing as it went its merry way: +perhaps it was the twittering, chirping, presence of the feathery folk +who hopped and flitted so cheerily in and out among the shrubs and +flowers--whatever it was that brought it about, the life that crowded +her so closely drifted far, far, away. The city with its noisy clamor, +with its mad rush and unceasing turmoil, was gone. The world of +danger, and doubt, and fear, was forgotten. The woman lived again the +days that were gone. The sky so blue above her head was the sky that +arched her days of long ago. The sunshine that filtered through the +trees was the same golden wealth that enriched the days of her +childhood. The twittering, chirping, feathery, folk were telling the +same old stories. The little brook that went so merrily on its way was +singing a song of the Yesterdays. + +They were free days--those Yesterdays--free as the days of the +feathery folk who lived among the shrubs and flowers. There was none +of the knowledge that, with distrust and doubt and despair, shuts in +the soul. They were bright days--those Yesterdays--as bright as the +sunlight that out of a clear sky comes to glorify the world. There was +none of that dark and dreadful knowledge that shrouds the soul in +gloom. And they were glad days--those Yesterdays--glad with the +gladness of the singing brook. There was none of that knowledge that +stains and saddens the heart. + +The woman, sitting there so still by the little brook, did not notice +a well dressed man who was strolling slowly through the park. A little +way down the walk, the man turned, and again went slowly past the +place where the woman sat. Once more he turned and this time seated +himself where he could watch her. The man's face was not a good face. +For a little while he watched the woman, then rising, was starting +leisurely toward her when the gray haired policeman came suddenly into +view around a turn in the path. The officer did not hesitate; nor was +he smiling, now, as he stepped in front of the man. A few crisp words +he spoke, in a low tone, and pointed with his stick. There was no +reply. The fellow turned and slunk away while the guardian of the law, +with angry eyes, watched him out of sight, then turned to look toward +the woman. She had not noticed. The officer smiled and quietly +strolled on down the path. + +The woman had noticed neither the man nor her protector because she +was far, far, away in her Yesterdays. She did not heed the incident +because she was a little girl again, playing beside the brook that +came across the road and made its winding way through the field just +below the house. It was only a little brook, but beautifully clear and +fresh, for it had come only a short distance from its birth place in a +glen under the hill that she could see from her window. In some +places, the long meadow grass, growing close down to the edge, almost +touched above, making a cool, green, cradle arch through which the +pure waters flowed with soft whispers as though the baby stream were +crooning to itself a lullaby. In other stretches, the green willows +bent far over to dip their long, slim, fingers in the slow current +that crept so lazily through the flickering light and shade that it +seemed scarce to move at all. And other places there were, where the +streamlet chuckled and laughed over tiny pebbly bars in the sunlight +or gurgled past where flags and rushes grew. + +Again, with her dolls, the little girl played on the grassy bank; +washing their tiny garments in the clear water and hanging them on the +flags or willows to dry; resting often to listen to the fairy song the +water sang; or to whisper to the brook the secrets of her childhood +dreams. The drowsy air was full of the sweet, grassy, smell mingled +with the odor of mint and the perfume of the willows and flags and +warm moist earth. Gorgeous winged butterflies zigzagged here and there +from flower to flower--now near for a little--then far away. Honeybees +droned their hymns of industry the while they searched for sweet +treasures. And now and then a tiny green frog would come out of a +shadowy nook in the bank of the stream to see what the little girl was +doing; or a bird would drop from out the blue sky for a drink or a +bath in the pebbly shallows. And not far away--easily within +call--mother sat on the shady porch, with her sewing, where she could +watch over her little girl. + +Dear, innocent, sheltered, protected, Yesterdays--when mother told her +child all that was needful for her to know, and told her in a most +tender, beautiful, way. Dear, blessed, Yesterdays--when love did not +leave vice to teach the sacred truths of love--days that were days of +blissful Ignorance--not vicious Ignorance but ignorance of the +vicious. There was a wealth of Ignorance in those Yesterdays that is +of more worth to womanhood, by far, than much knowledge of the world. + +And often the boy would come, too, and, together, they would wade hand +in hand in the clear flood, mingling their shouts and laughter with +the music of their playmate brook, while the minnows darted to and fro +about their bare legs; or, they would build brave dams and bridges and +harbors with the bright stones; or, best of all, fashion and launch +the ships of childhood. + +Oh, childish ships of the Yesterdays! What precious cargoes they +carried! What priceless treasures they bore to the far away port of +dreams! + +The little brook was a safe stream for the boy and the girl to play +beside. Nor did they know, then, that their streamlet flowed on and on +until it joined the river; and that the river, in its course, led it +past great cities that poured into it the poisons and the filth of +their sewers, fouling its bright waters, until it was unfit for +children to play beside. + +They did not know, _then_--but the woman knew, _now_. + +And what--she thought as she came back from her Yesterdays--what of +the boy who had played with her beside the brook? He, too, must have +learned what happened to their brook. In learning, what had happened +to him--she wondered--and wondering, she was afraid. + +Because she was no longer ignorant, she was afraid for the mate of her +Yesterdays. Not that she thought over to meet him again. She did not +wish, now, to meet him for she was afraid. She would rather have him +as he was in her Yesterdays. + +Slowly the woman turned away from the quiet seat beside the brook. It +was time for her to go. + +Not far away, she passed the gray haired policeman, who again smiled +and touched his hat. + +Smiling in return she bade him: "Good afternoon." + +"Good afternoon, Miss," he said, still smiling gravely. "Come again, +Miss, when ye's want a breath of air that's pure and clean." + +May heaven bless, for the sweet sake of womanhood, all men who +understand. + + + + + +RELIGION + +It was springtime--blossoming time--mating time. The world was a riot +of color and perfume and song. + +Every twig that a few weeks before had been a bare, unsightly stick +was now a miracle of dainty beauty. From the creek, below the little +girl's house, the orchard hill appeared against the soft, blue, sky a +wonderous, cumulus, cloud of fleecy whiteness flushed with a glow of +delicate pink. The meadows and pastures were studded with stars of +gold and pearl, of ruby and amethyst and silver. The fairy hands that +had thrown over the wood a filmy veil of dainty color now dressed each +tree and bush in robes of royal fabric woven from many tints of +shimmering, shining, green. + +Through the amber light above new turned furrows; amid the jewel glint +of water in the sun; in the diamond sparkle of the morning; against +the changing opal skies of evening; the bees and all their winged kin +floated and darted, flashed and danced, and whirled, from flower to +flower and field to field, from blossom to blossom and tree to tree, +bearing their pollen messages of love and life while sweet voiced +birds, in their brightest plumage, burdened the perfumed air with the +passionate melody of their mating time. + +All nature seemed bursting with eager desire to evidence a Creator's +power. Every tint and color, every breath of perfume, every note of +music, every darting flight or whirling dance, was a call to life--a +challenge to love--an invitation to mate--a declaration of God. The +world throbbed and exulted with the passion of the Giver of Life. + +Life itself begat Religion. + +Not the least of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life is Religion. +Religion is an exaltation of Life or it is nothing. To exalt Life +truly is to be most truly religious. + +But the man, when he first awoke that morning, did not think of +Religion. His first thought was a thought of lazy gratitude that he +need not get up. It was Sunday. With a long sigh of sleepy content, he +turned toward the wall to escape the too bright light that, from the +open window, had awakened him and dozed again. + +It was Sunday. + +There are bitter cold, icy, snowy, Sundays in mid-winter when one hugs +the cheerless radiator and, shivering in chilly discomfort, wishes +that Sundays were months instead of days apart. There are stifling, +sticky, sweltering. Sundays in midsummer when one prays, if he can +pray at all, for the night to come. And there are blustering, rainy, +sleety, dismal, Sundays in the fall when the dead hours go in funeral +procession by and the world seems a gloomy tomb. But a Sunday in +blossoming time! That is different! The very milk wagons, as they +clattered, belated, down the street rattled a cheery note of +fellowship and good will. The long drawn call of the paper boy had in +it a hint of the joy of living. And the rumble of an occasional +passing cab came like a deep undertone of peace. + +The streets were nearly empty. The stores and offices, with closed +doors, were deserted and still. A solitary policeman on the corner +appeared to be meditating, indifferent to his surroundings. The few +pedestrians to be seen moved leisurely and appeared as though in a +mood for reflective thought and quiet interest in the welfare of their +fellows. The hurrying, scrambling, jostling, rushing crowd; the +clanging, crashing, roaring turmoil; the racking madness, the fierce +confusion, the cruel selfishness of the week day world was as a +dreadful dream in the night. In the hard fought battle of life, the +world had called a truce, testifying thus to the place and power of +Religion. + +This is not to say that the world professes Religion; but it _is_ +to say that Religion possesses the world. In a thousand, thousand, +forms, Religion possesses the world. In thoughts, in deeds, in +words--in song and picture and story--in customs and laws and +industries--in society, state, and school--in all of the Thirteen +Truly Great Things of Life, Religion makes itself manifest and +declares its power over men. If one proclaim himself without Religion +then is its power made known in that one's peculiarity. If Religion +did not possess the world, to scorn it would mark no one as different +from his fellows, And this, too, is true: so imperial is the fact of +Religion, that he who would deny it is forced to believe so firmly in +his disbelief that he accepts the very thing he rejects, disguised in +a dress of his own making, and thus bows down in worship before a God +of his own creation. + +To many, Sunday is a day of labor. To many others, it is a day of +roistering and debauch. To some, it is a day of idleness and +thoughtless pleasure. To some, it is a day of devotion and worship. +But still, I say, that, whatever men, as individuals, may do with the +day, the deserted streets, the silent stores, the closed banks, the +empty offices, evidence that, to the world, this day is not as other +days and give recognition--not to creeds and doctrines of warring +sects indeed--but, to Religion. + +Again the man awoke. Coming slowly out of his sleep and turning +leisurely in his bed he looked through the open window at the day. And +still he did not think of Religion. + +Leisurely he arose and, after his bath, shaved himself with particular +care. With particular care he dressed, not in the garb of every day, +but in fresher, newer, raiment. Thus did he, even as the world, give +unthinking testimony to the power and place of Religion. + +Later, when the church bells sent their sweet voiced invitations +ringing over the city, the man went to church. He did not go to church +because he was a religious man nor because he was in a religious mood; +he went because it was his habit to go occasionally. Even as most men +sometimes go to church, so this man went. Nor did he, as a member of +any religious organization, feel it his duty to go. He went as he had +always gone--as thousands of others who, like himself, in habit of +dress and manner were giving unconscious testimony to the power of +Religion in the world, went, that day, to some place of public +worship. + +The streets of the city were now well filled with people. Yesterday, +these same people, in the same streets, had rushed along with anxious, +eager, strained, expressions upon their faces that told of nerves +tense, minds intent, and bodies alert, in the battle they waged for +daily bread, for gain, and for all the things that are held by men to +be worth the struggle. To-morrow, these same people would again lose +themselves in the fierce and strenuous effort of their lives. But +to-day, they walked leisurely; they spoke calmly; they thought coolly; +they had time to notice each other; to greet each other, to smile, to +shake each others' hands. There were many children, too, who, dressed +in their Sunday clothes, with clean faces and subdued manners, even as +their parents, evidenced the power of Religion in the life of +humankind. And, even as their parents, the children knew it not. They +did not recognize the power of Religion in their lives. + +The man did not think of the meaning of these things; though he felt +it, perhaps, somewhat as he felt the warm life of the sun filled air: +he sensed it, perhaps, as he sensed the beauty of the morning. He did +not realize, then, how, in his Dreams, Religion had subtly manifested +itself. He did not realize, that, in his Occupation, he was, every +day, revealing the influence of Religion in his life. He had seen +Religion but dimly when he had thought to follow the golden chain of +Knowledge, link by link, to its hidden end. Dimly had he seen it when +he was learning the value of Ignorance. And yet, in all of these +things it had been even as it would be in all the things that were yet +to come. No man can escape Religion. Man may escape particular forms +of Religion, indeed, but Religion itself he cannot escape. + +With many others the man entered a church. An usher gravely led him to +a seat. I do not know what church it was to which the man went that +morning nor does it, for my story, matter that I do not know. My story +is not of churches nor of sects nor of creeds. This is my story: that +the man came to realize in his life the power of Religion. + +It may have been the beauty of the morning that did it; it may have +been that the week just past was unusually hard and trying and that +the day of rest, therefore, was more than usual, needed: or, perhaps, +it was because the man had learned that he could never follow the +golden chain of Knowledge to its hidden end and had come to know the +value of Ignorance for Religion walks ever close to both Knowledge and +Ignorance, hand in hand with each; whatever it was that brought it +about, the man, that Sunday, came to realize the power of Religion in +the world and in his own manhood life. + +It was very quiet in the church but it was not a sad quietness. The +people moved softly and, when they spoke at all, spoke in whispers but +there was no feeling of death in the air; rather was there a feeling +of life--a feeling of life, too, that was very unlike the feeling of +life in a crowded place of business or amusement. The sweet, +plaintively pleading, tones of the organ trembled in the air. The +glorious sunshine came through the stained glass windows softened and +subdued. Here and there heads were bowed. The people became very +still. And, in the stillness, the man felt strongly the spirit of the +day and place. The organ tones increased in volume. The choir filed +in. The preacher entered. The congregation arose to sing an old +triumphant hymn. + +The man did not sing, but, as he listened to the music and followed +the words of the hymn, he smiled. The people were singing about +unknowable things--of streets of gold and gates of pearl--of crowns +and harps and the throne of God. + +All his life, the man had known that hymn but he had never before +thought of it just as he thought of it that morning. He looked about +at the people who were singing. Who were they? Uneducated, +irresponsible, fanatical dreamers of no place or importance in the +week day world? No indeed! They were educated, responsible, practical, +hard headed, clear brained, people of power and influence--and--the +man smiled again--they were singing about unknowable things. For the +first time in his life, the man wondered at the strangeness of it all. + +When the minister prayed, the man listened as he had never listened to +a prayer before. He felt baffled and bewildered as though he had +wandered into a strange land, among strange people, of whose customs +he was ignorant, and whose language he could neither speak nor +understand. Who was this man who seemed on such familiar terms with +the Infinite? Upon what did he base his assurance that the wealth of +blessings he asked for himself and his people would be granted or even +heard? Had he more than finite mind that he could know the Infinite? + +The sermon that followed was largely a sermon about unknowable things. +It was full of beautiful, helpful, thoughts about things that it was +impossible for anyone to really know anything about. Very familiar +were the things that the minister said that morning. Since his +childhood, the man had heard them over and over many times; but he had +never before thought of them in just that way. + +The sermon was finished and the beautifully mysterious and impressive +words of the benediction were spoken as the people stood with bowed +heads, hushed and still. Again the deep tones of the organ trembled in +the air as the crowd poured forth from the building into the street. + +The man was thoughtful and troubled. He felt as one, who, meeting an +old friend after many years, finds him changed beyond recognition. He +was as one visiting, after years of absence, his old home to find the +familiar landmarks all gone with the years. He was sadly conscious +that something had gone out of his life--that something exceedingly +precious had been taken away from him and that it could never be +replaced. + +Seriously, sadly, the man asked himself: must his belief in Religion +go as his faith in fairies had gone? Was Religion, after all, but a +beautiful game played by the grown up world, even as children play? +And if, indeed, his faith must go because songs and prayers and +sermons have to do so largely with unknowable things, what of the +spirit of the world expressed in the day that is so set apart from all +other days? Sunday is a fact knowable enough. And the atmosphere of +the church is another fact as knowable as the atmosphere of a race +track, a foundry, or a political convention. And the fruits of +Religion in the lives of men--these are as clearly knowable as the +fruits of drunkenness, or gambling, or licentiousness. The man was as +sure of the fruits of Religion as he was sure that the sun was +shining--that the day, so warm and bright, was unlike the cold, hard, +stormy, days of winter. And still--and still--the songs and prayers +and sermons about unknowable things--must his belief in Religion go as +his faith in fairies had gone? + +Unknowable things? Yes--as unknowable as that mysterious something +that colors the trees and plants and flowers with tints of infinite +shadings--as unknowable as that which puts the flavor in the peach, +the strength in the corn, the perfume in the rose--as unknowable as +the awful force that reveals itself in the lightning flash or speaks +in the rolling thunder--as unknowable as the mysterious hand that +holds the compass needle to the north and swings the star worlds far +beyond the farthest reach of the boasting eye of Science. Unknowable? +Yes--as unknowable as that which lies safe hidden behind the most +commonplace facts of life--as unknowable indeed, as Life itself. + +"Nature," said the man, in answer to himself, and smiled at the +foolishness of his own answer. Is nature then so knowable? Are all her +laws revealed; all her secrets known; all her ways understood; all her +mysteries made clear? Do the wise men, after all, know more of nature +than they do of God? Do they know more of earth than of heaven? Do +they know more of a man's mind than they do of his soul? And yet--and +yet--does one refuse to live because he cannot understand the mystery +of life? Does one deny the earth because the secrets of Mature are +unknowable? Does one refuse to think because thoughts are not material +things--because no one has ever seen a thought to say from whence it +came or whither it went? + +Disbelief demands a knowledge as exact as that demanded by belief. To +deny the unknowable is as impossible as to affirm it. If it be true +that man knows too much to believe in miracles these days, it is just +as true that he does not know enough to disbelieve in them. And, after +all, there is no reason why anyone should believe in miracles; neither +is there any reason why one should disbelieve in them. + +Every altar is an altar to an unknown God. But man does not refuse to +believe in bread because he cannot understand the mystery of the wheat +field. One believes in a garden, not because he knows how, from the +same soil, water, and air, Nature produces strawberries, potatoes, +sweet corn, tomatoes, or lettuce, but because fresh vegetables are +good. The hungry man neither believes nor disbelieves but sits down to +the table and, if he be a right minded man, gives thanks to the God of +gardens who, in ways so unknowable, gives such knowable gifts to man. + +Nor was the man, at this time, able to distinguish clearly between +Religion and the things that men have piled about and hung upon +Religion. Therefore was he troubled about his waning belief and +worried because of his growing doubt. He did not wish to doubt; he +wished to believe. + +In all these many years, through intellectual pride or selfish +ambition, because of an earnest but mistaken purpose to make clear, or +in a pious zeal to emphasize, men have been piling things about and +hanging things upon Religion; and, always, they have insisted that +this vast accumulation of things _is_ Religion. + +These things that men have hung upon Religion are no more a part of +Religion than the ivy that grows upon the stone wall of a fortress is +a part of the nation's defensive strength. These things that men have +piled about Religion belong to it no more than a pile of trash dumped +at the foot of a cliff belongs to the everlasting hills. But these +traditions and customs of men, with their ever multiplying confusions +of doctrines and creeds and sects, beautiful as they are, hide +Religion even as the ivy hides the wall. Even as the accumulated trash +of the ages piled at the foot of the cliff is of interest to the +archaeologist and the seeker after curious junk, so these things that +men have piled about Religion are of interest. But the observer, in +admiration of the ivy, is in danger of ignoring the stern reality of +the fortress. The curious digger in the pile of trash, if his interest +be great, heeds not the grandeur of the cliff that towers above his +head. + +That afternoon the man went for a long walk. He wished to think out, +if he could, the things that troubled him. + +Without plan on his part, his walk led toward a quarter of the city +where he had never been before and where he came at last to an old +cemetery. The ancient iron gates, between their vine clad columns of +stone, were invitingly open and within the enclosure were great trees +that locked their green arms above the silent, grass grown, graves as +though in sheltering kindness for the dead. Tempted by the beauty of +the place the man entered, and, in the deep shade of the old trees, +screened from the road by their mossy trunks, found a seat. Here and +there, among the old graves under the trees, a few people moved +slowly; pausing often to decipher the inscriptions upon the leaning +and fallen tombstones. So old was that ancient burying place that +there was left among the living no one to keep the flowers upon the +graves and visitors came only from idle curiosity. + +And it was so, that, as the man sat there under the quiet old trees, +the graves with their leaning and fallen tombstones, or, perhaps, the +day itself, led his mind back to those companion graves that marked +the passing of his boyhood--back to father and mother and to their +religion--back to the religion of his Yesterdays. And the week of toil +and strife, of struggle and of storm, slipped far, far, away. The +disturbing questions, the doubt and the uncertainty of the morning, +raised as the fogs lift to leave the landscape clear. + +It was such a little way from the boy's home to the church that, when +the weather was fine, they always walked. And surely no day could have +been finer than that Sunday to which the man went back. As the boy, +all washed and combed and dressed in his Sunday best, sat on the big +gate post waiting for his father and mother, it seemed to him that +every living thing about the place knew what day it was. In the +pasture across the road, the horses, leisurely cropping the new grass, +paused often to lift their heads and look about with an air of kindly +interest in things to which they would have given no heed at all had +they been in week day harness. And one old gray, finding an inviting +spot, lay down to roll--got up--and, because it felt so good, lay down +again upon his other side; and then, as if regretting that he had no +more sides to rub, stretched himself out with such a huge sigh of +content that the boy on the gate post laughed; whereat the horse +raised his head and looked at him as though to say: "Little boy, don't +you know that it is Sunday?" Under the big elm, in the corner of the +pasture, the cows stood, with half closed eyes, chewing their cuds +with an air of pious meditation. The hens strolled sedately about +singing solemnly: ca-w-w, ca-w-w, ca-w-w, and the old red rooster, +standing on tiptoe, flapped his wings as if to crow then checked +himself suddenly and looked around as if to say: "Bless me, I nearly +forgot what day it is!" Then the clear, mellow, tones of the church +bell floated across the little valley and the boy's parents came out +of the house. The dog, stretched at full length on the porch, lifted +his head but did not offer to follow. He, too, seemed to know, thought +the boy as he climbed down from the post to walk soberly away with his +parents. + +Before they reached the lower end of the garden, the little girl with +her mother and uncle came out of their house and, at the gate, waited +for them while the little girl waved her hand in greeting. Then the +two men and the two women walked on ahead and, as the boy and girl +followed, the boy, looking shyly at his companion, saw the sunlight on +her soft, brown, hair that was so prettily arranged with a blue +ribbon--saw the merry eyes under the broad brim of her best hat--saw +the flushed, softly rounded, cheek with the dimple, the curve of the +red lips, and the dainty chin--saw her dress so clean and white and +starched--saw and wondered if the angels in heaven could be more +beautiful than this little girl. + +So they went, that Sunday, down the hill, across the creek, and up the +gentle slope beyond, until they came to the cross roads where the +white church stood under the old elm and maple trees. Already there +were many teams standing under the sheds or tied to the hitch racks +along the side of the road. And by the roads that led away in four +directions, through the fields and meadows and pastures of the farms, +other country folk were coming from their homes and their labors to +worship the God of seedtime and harvest. + +There were no ushers in that church of the Yesterdays for there would +be no strangers save those who would come with their friends; but the +preacher himself was at the door to greet his people or was moving +here and there among them, asking with care for the absent ones. +Neither was there a great organ to fill the air with its trembling +tones; but, at the humble instrument that served as well, the mother +of the little girl presided, while the boy's father led the country +choir. And the sunlight of that Sunday streamed through the open +windows, softened only by the delicate traceries of gently waving +branches and softly rustling leaves. + +And in the songs and prayers and sermons of that worship in the +Yesterdays, the boy heard the same unknowable things that the man had +heard that morning in the city church. Among those people, the boy +felt stirring the same spirit that had moved the man. The old preacher +was long ago resting in the cemetery on the hill, with the boy's +parents, the mother of the little girl, and many, many, others of his +flock. A new and more modern minister would be giving, now, to the +children of that old congregation, the newest and most modern things +that theologians do not know about Religion. But the same old spirit +would he there still; doing the same work for the glory of the race. +And the boy in the Yesterdays, as he listened to the songs and prayers +and sermons, had wondered in his heart about the things he heard--even +as the man, he had asked himself many unanswerable questions... But +there had been no doubt in the questions of the boy. There had been no +disbelief in his wonder. Because the girl's mother played the +organ--because the boy's father sang in the choir--because his mother +and the little girl were there beside him--the boy believed that which +he could not understand. + +"By their fruits"--it is a text as good for grown up children as for +boys and girls. + +What the preachers say about Religion matters little after all. It is +the fathers and mothers and the little girls who keep the faith of the +world alive. The _words_ of those sermons and prayers and songs +in his Yesterdays would go with the boy no farther than the church +door; but that which was in the hearts of those who sang and preached +and prayed--that which song and sermon and prayer attempted but could +not express--_that_ would go with the boy through all the years +of his life. From _that_ the man could never get wholly away. It +became as much a part of him as his love for his parents was a part. + +When church and Sunday school were over the boy went home to the +miracle of the Sunday dinner. And, even as the unknowable things upon +the Sunday dinner table contributed to his manhood's physical strength +and health, so the things expressed by the day that is set apart from +all other days contributed to that strength of manhood that is more +vital than the strength of bone and muscle and nerve and sinew. In the +book wherein it is written: "Man shall not live by bread alone," it is +written, also: "Except ye become as little children." + +Slowly the man arose. Slowly and regretfully he turned to leave his +place under the great trees that, in the solemn, quiet, twilight of +the old cemetery, locked their arms protectingly above the dead. + +"Except ye become as little children." + +Must men in Religion be always trying to grow up? Are the wisest and +the greatest among scholars nearer the secrets of the unknowable +power, that, through Religion, possesses the world, than the +unthinking children are? As the man in the late afternoon went out +through the ancient iron gates, between the vine covered columns of +stone, he knew that his belief in Religion would not go as his faith +in fairies had gone. Because of those companion graves and all that +they meant to him--because of the little girl in his Yesterdays--his +faith in Religion would not go. + +* * * * * + +The woman, alone in her room, sat at the open window looking out over +the city. The long, spring, Sunday was drawing to its close. Above the +roofs of the houses across the street, above the towering stories of +the buildings in the down town districts, above factory chimneys, +church steeples, temple dome, and cathedral spire, she saw the evening +sky light with the glory of the passing day. Over a triumphant arch in +the west, through which the sun had gone, a mighty cloud curtain of +purple was draped, fold on fold, all laced and looped with silver and +edged with scarlet flame. Above the curtain, far flung across the wide +sky, banners of rose and crimson and gold flashed and gleamed; while, +marching in serried ranks, following the pathway of the sun, went +innumerable thousands of cloud soldiers in their uniforms of light. +Slowly the procession passed--the gleaming banners vanished--the +marching armies disappeared--the curtain in the west was drawn close. +The woman at the window watched until the last of the light was gone +and, in the still sky above, the stars hung motionless. Like a +benediction, the sweet mystery of twilight had come upon the land. +Like a softly breathed blessing from heaven, the night had come. + +Because of the experience through which she had passed in the week +just gone, that day, dedicated to Religion, had held for the woman a +new meaning. + +Looking into the darkness that hid the city from her eyes she +shuddered. There were so many there to whom the night came not as a +blessing, but as a curse. Out there, in the soft darkness into which +the woman looked, dreadful crimes were being committed, horrid deeds +were being planned. Out there, in the quiet night, wretched poverty, +gaunt pain, and loathsome disease were pulling down their victims. Out +there, in the blackness, hideous licentiousness, beastly passion, +debasing pleasure were stalking their prey. Out there, murderers of +souls were lying in wait; robbers of hearts were creeping stealthily; +slayers of purity were watching; killers of innocence were lurking. To +the woman at the window, that night, the twinkling lights of the city +were as beacon fires on the outskirts of hell. + +And to-morrow--to-morrow--she must go down into that hell. All that +was there in the darkness, she must see, she must know, she must feel. +All those things of evil would be watching her, crowding her, touching +her, hungering for her; placing pitfalls in her way; longing for her +to slip; waiting for her to fall; testing her, trying her, always +ready with a damnable readiness; always hoping with a hellish hope. +Into that she must go--even into that--this woman, who knew herself to +be a woman, must go. + +And what--what--of her dreams? Could she, she asked herself that +night, could she go into that life, day after day, and still have a +heart left for dreaming? Against the unclean strength that threatened +her, where would she find the strength to keep her womanhood pure and +strong for the holy mission of womanhood? + +Clear and sweet from out the darkness of the night came the sound of a +bell. Then another, and another, and another, until, from every +quarter of the city, their music came, as though in answer to her +question. Some, near at hand, rang loud, triumphant, peals as though +rejoicing over victories already won; others, farther away, in softer +tones, seemed to promise strength for present need; while still +others, in more distant places, sounding soft and far away, seemed to +gently warn, to beckon, to call, to plead. Lifting her tear filled +eyes from the lights of the streets the woman looked at the stars, +and, so looking, saw, lifting into the sky, the church spires of the +city. + +In a little, the music of the bells ceased. But the woman, at the +window, sat still with her face upturned to the stars. + +Gone, now, were the city lights that to her had seemed as beacon fires +on the outskirts of hell. Gone, now, the horrors of that life to which +night comes not as a benediction. Gone, now, her fears for her dreams. +The woman lived again a Sunday evening in her Yesterdays. + +It may have been the flaming glory of the sky; it may have been the +music of the bells; it may have been the stars--whatever it was--the +woman went again into the long ago. Once again she went back into her +Yesterdays--to a Sunday evening in her Yesterdays. + +The little girl was on the front porch of her home with mother. The +sun was going down behind the great trees in the old churchyard at the +cross roads while, across the valley, the voice of the bell was +calling the people to evening worship. And, with the ringing of the +bell, the boy and his mother came to sit with them while the men were +gone to church. + +Then, while the mothers, seated in their easy chairs, talked in low +tones, the boy and the girl, side by side, on the steps of the porch, +watched the light go out of the sky and tried to count the stars as +they came. As the twilight deepened, the elms in the pasture across +the road, the maples along the drive, and the willows down by the +creek, became shadowy and indistinct. From the orchard, an owl sent +forth his quavering call and was answered by his mate from the roof of +the barn. Down in the shadow of the little valley, a whip-poor-will +cried plaintively, and, now and then, a bat came darting out of the +dusk on swift and silent wings. And there, in the darkness across the +valley, shone the single light of the church. The children gave up +trying to count the stars and grew very still, as, together, they +watched the lights of the church. Then one of the mothers laughed, a +low happy laugh, and the children began telling each other about God. + +Many things the boy and the girl told each other about God. And who is +there to say that the things they told were not just as true as many +things that older children tell? Though, I suppose, as the boy and +girl did not quarrel or become angry with each other that Sunday +evening, their talk about God could scarcely be considered orthodox. +Their service under the stars was not at all regular, I know. With +childish awe and reverence--with hushed voices--they only told each +other about God. They did not discuss theology--they were not church +members--they were only children. + +Then, by and by, the father and uncle came, and, with his parents, the +boy went home, calling through the dark, as he went, many good +nights--each call sounding fainter and farther away. And, when she +could neither hear nor make him hear more, the little girl went with +her mother into the house, where, when she was ready for bed, she +knelt to pray that old familiar prayer of the Yesterdays--forgetting +not in her prayer to ask God to bless and keep the boy. + +Oh, childish prayers of the Yesterdays! Made in the strength of a +childish faith, what power divine is in them to keep the race from +death! Oh, childish understanding of God, deep grounded in that wisdom +to which scholars can never attain! Does the Master of Life still set +little children among His disciples in vain? + +The woman no longer feared that which lay in the darkness of the city. +She knew, now, that she would have strength to keep the treasures of +her womanhood safe for him should he come to lead her into the life of +her dreams. She knew, now, what it was that would help her--that would +enable her to keep that which Life had committed to her. + +As she turned from the window, strength and peace were in her heart. +As she knelt beside her bed to pray, her prayer was that prayer of her +Yesterdays. The prayer of a child it was--the prayer of a woman who +knows that she is a woman it was also. + + + + + +TRADITION + +It was summer time--growing time. + +The children of the little brown birds that had nested in the hedge +near the cherry tree, that year, were flying now, quite easily, away +from their little brown mother's counsel and advice. Even to the top +of the orchard hill, they went in search of brave adventure, rejoicing +recklessly in their freedom. But, for the parent birds, the ties of +the home in the hedge were still strong. And, every day, they examined +with experienced eyes the cherries, that, on the near by tree, were +fast nearing ripening time. + +With every gesture expressing more clearly than any spoken word his +state of mind, the man jerked down the top of his desk, slammed the +door, jabbed the elevator bell, and strode grimly out of the building. + +The man's anger was not one of those flash like bursts of wrath, that, +passing as quickly as they come, leave the sky as clear as though no +storm had crossed it. Nor was it the slow kindling, determined, anger, +that, directed against a definite object, burns with steady purpose. +It was rather that sullen, hopeless, helpless rage, that, finding +nothing to vent itself upon, endures even while recognizing that its +endurance is in vain. It was the anger of a captive, wild thing +against the steel bars of its cage, which, after months of effort, it +has found too strong. It was the anger of an explorer against the +impassable crags and cliffs of a mountain range that bars his path. It +was the anger of a blind man against the darkness that will not lift. + +The man's work demanded freedom and the man was not free. In his +dreams, at the beginning of his manhood, he had thought himself free +to work out his dreams. He had said to himself: "Alone, in my own +strength, I will work. Depending upon no man, I will be independent. +Limited only by myself, I will be free." He said this because he did +not, then, know the strength of the bars. He had not, at that time, +seen the mountain range. He had not faced the darkness that would not +lift. Difficulties, hardships, obstacles, dangers, he had expected to +face, and, in his strength, to overcome. But the greatest difficulty, +the severest hardship, the most trying obstacle, the gravest danger, +he had not foreseen. + +Little by little, as the days and months had passed and the man had +made progress in his work, this thing had made itself felt. Little by +little, this thing had forced itself upon him until, at last, he was +made to realize the fact that he was not independent of but dependent +upon all men. He found that he was limited not alone by himself but by +others. He understood, now, that he was not free to work out his +dreams. He saw, now, that the thing most difficult to overcome--the +thing that forbade his progress and refused him freedom--was +Tradition. On every side he met this: "It has never been done; it, +therefore, can never be done. The fathers of our fathers believed +this, therefore we must believe it. This has always been, therefore +this must always be. Others do this, think this, believe this, +therefore you must so do and think and believe." The man found, that, +beyond a point which others could see, others denied him the right to +go. The established customs and habits of others fixed the limit of +the progress he could make with the approval of the world. + +At first he had laughed--secure in his own strength, he had laughed +contemptuously. But that was because he did not then realize the power +of this thing. Later he did not laugh. He became angry with a sullen, +hopeless, helpless, rage that accomplished nothing--that could +accomplish nothing--but only weakened the man himself. As one shut in +a cell exhausts himself beating against the walls, so he wearied +himself. + +Not until he was in the full swing of his work had this thing come +upon him in force. At the beginning of his manhood life, when, in the +strength of his first manhood dreams he had looked out upon the world +as a conquering emperor upon the field of a coming battle, he had not +seen this thing. When he was crying out to the world for something to +do this thing had not made itself felt. Not until he had made +noticeable progress--not until he was in the full swing of his +work--did he find himself forced to reckon with what others had done +or said or thought or believed. + +And never had the man felt his own strength as he felt it now when +face to face with this thing against which his strength seemed so +helpless. If only he could have freedom! He asked nothing but that. As +in the beginning he had asked of the world only room and something to +do, he asked now only for freedom to do. And the world granted him the +freedom of the child who is permitted to play in the yard but must not +go outside the fence. He was free to do his work--to play out his +dreams--only so far as the established customs and fixed +habits--Tradition--willed. "Beyond the fence that shuts in the +familiar home ground," said the world, "you must not go. If you dare +climb over the fence--if you dare go out of the yard," said the world, +"I will punish you--I will ridicule you, condemn you, persecute you, +ostracize you. I will brand you false, a self-seeker, a pretender, a +charlatan, a trickster, a rogue. I will cry you unsafe, dangerous, a +menace to society and the race, an evil to all that is good, an +unspeakable fool. Stay in the yard," said the world, "and you may do +what you like." + +Even in matters of personal habits and taste, the man found that he +was not free. In his dress; in the things he ate and drank; in his +pleasures; in the books he read, the plays he attended, the pictures +he saw, the music he heard, he found that he was expected to obey the +mandates of the world--he found that he was expected to conform to +Tradition--to the established customs and habits of others. In +religion, in politics, in society, in literature, in art--as in his +work--the world said: "Don't go outside the yard." + +I do not know what work it was that the man was trying to do. It does +not matter what his work was. But this I know: in every work that man, +since the beginning, has tried to do, man has been hindered as this +man was hindered--man has been denied as this man was denied, freedom. +Tradition has always blocked the wheels of progress. The world has +moved ahead always in spite of the world. Just as the world has always +crucified its saviors, so, always, it has hindered and held back its +leaders. + +And this, too, I know: after the savior is crucified, those who nail +him to the cross accept his teaching. While the world hinders and +holds back its leaders, it always follows them. + +But the man did not think of this that day when he left the scene of +his labor in such anger. He thought only of that which he was trying +to do. When he went back to his work, the next day, he was still angry +and with his anger, now, came discontent, doubt, and fear, to cloud +his vision, to clog his brain and weaken his heart. + +A friend, at lunch, said: "You look fagged, knocked out, done up, old +man. You've been pegging away too long and too steadily. Why don't you +let up for awhile? Lay off for a week or two. Take a vacation." + +Again and again, that hot, weary, afternoon, the words of the man's +friend came back to him until, by evening, he was considering the +suggestion seriously. "Why not?" he asked himself. He was +accomplishing little or nothing in his present mood. Why not accept +the friendly advice? Perhaps--when he came back--perhaps, he could +again laugh at the world that denied him freedom. + +So he came to considering places and plans. And, as he considered, +there was before him, growing always clearer as he looked, the scenes +of his boyhood--the old home of his childhood--the place of his +Yesterdays. There were many places of interest and pleasure to which +the man might go, but, among them all, there was no place so +attractive as the place of his Yesterdays. There was nothing he so +wished to do as this: to go back to the old home and there to be, for +a little while, as nearly as a man could be, a boy again. + +If the man had thought about it, he would have seen in this desire to +spend his vacation at the old home something of the same force that so +angered him by hindering his work. But the man did not think about it. +He wrote a letter to see if he might spend two weeks with the people +who were living in the house where he was born and, when the answer +came assuring him a welcome, quickly made his arrangements to go. + +With boyish eagerness, he was at the depot a full half hour before the +time for his train. While he waited, he watched the crowd, feeling an +interest in the people who came and went in the never ending +profession that he had not felt since that day when he had first come +to the city to work out his dreams among men. In the human tide that +ebbed and flowed through this world gateway, he saw men of wealth and +men of poverty--people of culture and position who had come or were +going in Pullman or private cars and illiterate, stupid, animal +looking, emigrants who were crowded, much like cattle, in the lowest +class. There were business men of large affairs; countrymen with +wondering faces; shallow, pleasure seekers; artists and scholars; idle +fools; vicious sharks watching for victims; mothers with flocks of +children clinging to their skirts; working girls and business women; +chattering, laughing, schoolgirls; and wretched creatures of the +outcast life--all these and many more. + +And, as he watched, perhaps because he was on his vacation, perhaps +because of something in his heart awakened by the fact that he was +going to his boyhood home, the man felt, as he had never felt before, +his kinship with them all. With wealth and poverty, with culture and +illiteracy, with pleasure and crime, with sadness and joy, as +evidenced in the lives of those who passed in the crowd, the man felt +a sympathy and understanding that was strangely new. And, more than +this, he saw that each was kin to the other. He saw that, in spite of +the wide gulf that separated the individuals in the throng, there was +a something that held them all together--there was a force that +influenced all alike--there was a something common to all. In spite of +the warring elements of society; in spite of the clashing forces of +business; in spite of the conflicting claims of industry represented +in the throng; the man recognized a brotherhood, a oneness, a kinship, +that held all together. And he felt this with a strange feeling that +he had always known that it was there but had never recognized it +before. + +The man did not realize that this was so because he was not thinking +of the people in their relation to his work. He did not know, that, +because his heart and mind were intent upon the things of his +Yesterdays, he saw the world in this new light. He did not, then, +understand that the force which hindered and hampered him in his +work--that denied him the full freedom he demanded--was the same force +that he now felt holding the people together. Even as they all, +whether traveling in Pullman, private car, or emigrant train, passed +over the same rails, so they all, in whatever class they traveled on +the road of Life, were guided by the Traditions--the established +customs--the fixed habits--that are common to their race or nation. +And the strength of a people, as a people, is in this oneness--this +force that makes them one--the Traditions and customs and habits of +life that are common to all. It is the fences of the family dooryards +that hold the children of men together and make the people of a race +or nation one. + +So it was that the man, knowing it not, left his work behind and went, +for strength and rest, back to the scenes of his Yesterdays in +obedience to the command of the very thing that, in his work, had +stirred him to such rage. For what, after all, are Traditions and +customs and habits but a going back into the Yesterdays. + +As the train left the city farther and farther behind, the man's +thoughts kept pace with the fast flying wheels that were bearing him +back to the scenes of his childhood. From the present, he retraced his +steps to that day when he had dreamed his first manhood dreams and to +those hard days when he was asking of the world only something to do. +As, step by step, he followed his way back, incidents, events, +experiences, people, appeared, even as from the car window he caught +glimpses of the whirling landscape, until at last he saw, across the +fields and meadows familiar to his childhood, the buildings of the old +home, the house where the little girl had lived, the old church, and +the orchard hill where he had sat that day when the smoke of a distant +train moving toward the city became to him a banner leading to the +battle front. Then the long whistle announced the station. Eagerly the +man collected his things and, before the train had come to a full +stop, swung himself to the depot platform where he was met by his +kindly host. + +As they drove past the fields and pastures, so quiet after the noisy +city, the man grew very still. Past the little white church among its +old trees at the cross roads; down the hill and across the creek; and +slowly up the other side of the valley they went: then past the house +where the little girl had lived; and so turned in, at last, to the +home of that boy in the Yesterdays. And surely it was no discredit to +the man that, when they left him alone in his old room to prepare for +the evening meal, he scarce could see for tears. + +Scenes of childhood! Memories of the old home! Recollections of the +dear ones that are gone! No more can man escape these things of the +Yesterdays than he can avoid the things of to-day. No more can man +deny the past than he can deny the present. Tradition is to men as a +governor to an engine; without its controlling power the race would +speed quickly to its own destruction. One of the Thirteen Truly Great +Things of Life is Tradition. + +For two happy, healthful, restful, strengthening, inspiring weeks, the +man lived, so far as a man can live, in his Yesterdays. In the cool +shade of the orchard that once was an enchanted wood; under the old +apple tree ship beside the meadow sea; on the hill where, astride his +rail fence war horse, the boy had directed the battle and led the +desperate charge and where the man had dreamed the first of his +manhood dreams; in the garden where the castaway had lived on his +desert island; in the yard near mother's window where the boy had +builded the brave play house for the little girl next door; in the +valley, below where the little girl lived, beside the brook that in +its young life ran so pure and clear; at the old school house in the +edge of the timber; in the ancient cemetery, beside the companion +graves; through the woods and fields and pastures; beside the old mill +pond with its covered bridge; the man lived again those days of the +long ago. + +But, in the places of his Yesterdays, the man found, already, many +changes. The houses and buildings were a little more weather-beaten, +with many of the boards in the porch floors and steps showing decay. +The trees in the orchard were older and more gnarled with here and +there gaps in their ranks. The fences showed many repairs. The little +schoolhouse was almost shabby and, with the wood cleared away, looked +naked and alone. The church, too, was in need of a fresh coat of +white. And there were many new graves in the cemetery on the hill. As +time had wrought changes in the man himself, even so had it altered +the scenes of his boyhood. Always, in men and in things, time works +changes. + +But it is not the changes wrought by time that harms. These come as +the ripening of the fruit upon the tree. It is the sudden, violent, +transformations that men are ever seeking to make, both in things and +in themselves, that menace the ripening life of the race. It is well, +indeed, for the world to hold fast to its Traditions. It is well to +cling wisely to the past. + +Nor did the man live again in his Yesterdays alone. He could not. +Always, she was there--his boyhood mate--the little girl who lived +next door. + +But the opening in the hedge that, at the lower end of the garden, +separated the boy's home from the home of the little girl, was closed. +Long and carefully the man searched; smiling, the while, at a foolish +wish in his heart that time would leave that little gate of the +Yesterdays always open. But the ever growing branches had woven a +thick barrier across the green archway hiding it so securely that, to +the man, no sign was left to mark where it had been. + +With that foolish regret still in his heart, the man asked, quite +casually, of the people who were living in the house if they knew +aught about his playmate of the Yesterdays. + +They could tell him very little; only that she lived in a city some +distance from his present home. What she was doing; whether married or +alone; they could not say. + +And the man, as he stood, with bared head, under the cherry tree in +the corner near the hedge, told himself that he was glad that the +people could tell him nothing. In his busy, grown up, life there was +no room for a woman. In his battle with the things that challenged his +advance, he must be free to fight. It was better for him that the +little girl lived only in his Yesterdays. The little girl who had +helped him play out his boyhood dreams must not hinder him while he +worked out the dreams of his manhood. That is what the man told +himself as he stood, with bared head, under the cherry tree. With the +memory of that play wedding and that kiss in his heart, he told +himself _that_! + +I wonder, sometimes, what would happen if men should chance to +discover how foolish they really are. + +No doubt, the man reflected--watching the pair of brown birds as they +inspected the ripening cherries--no doubt she has long ago forgotten +those childish vows. Perhaps, in the grown up world, she has even +taken new and more binding vows. Would he ever, he wondered, meet one +with whom he could make those vows again? Once he had met one with +whom he thought he wished to make them but he knew, now, that he had +been mistaken. And he knew, too, that it was well that he had found +his mistake in time. Somehow, as he stood there again under the cherry +tree, the making of such vows seemed to the man more holy, more +sacred, than they had ever seemed before. Would he dare--He wondered. +Was there, in all the world, a woman with whom he could--The man +shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Yes, indeed, it was much +better that she lived only in his Yesterdays. And still--still--in the +man's heart there was regret that Time had closed that gateway of his +Yesterdays. + +And often, in the twilight of those evenings, after a day of wandering +about the place, visiting old scenes, or talking with the long time +friends of his people, the man would recall the traditions of his +family; hearing again the tales his father would tell by the winter +fireside or listening to the stories that his mother would relate on a +Sunday or a stormy afternoon. Brave tales they were--brave tales and +true stories of the man's forbears who had lived when the country was +young and who had played no small part in the nation's building. And, +as he recalled these traditions of his people, the man's heart +thrilled with loyal pride while he determined strongly to keep the +splendid record clean. As a sacred heritage, he would receive these +traditions. As a holy duty he would be true to that which had been. + +Reluctantly, but with renewed strength and courage, when the time came +for his going, the man set his face away from his Yesterdays--set it +again toward his work--toward the working out of his dreams. And, as +he went, there was for the thing that checked his progress something +more than anger--for the thing that forced him to go slowly there was +patience. + +Standing on the rear platform, as his train moved slowly away past an +incoming train that had just pulled onto a siding, the man saw the +neighbor who lived next door to his old home drive hurriedly up. The +man in the carriage waved his hand and the man on the moving train, +answering in like manner, wondered idly what had brought the neighbor +there. Surely he had not come to bid one who was almost a stranger +good-bye. And, strangely enough, as the man watched from the window +for a last view of the scenes of his Yesterdays, there was in his +heart, again, regret that the little opening in the hedge was closed. + +* * * * * + +The city was sweltering in a summer heat wave. The sun shone through a +dingy pall of vile smoke with a sickly, yellow, glare. From the +pavement and gutter, wet by the sprinkling wagons, in a vain effort to +lay the dust, a sticky, stinking, steam lifted, filling the nostrils +and laving the face with a combination of every filthy odor. The +atmosphere fairly reeked with the smell of sweating animals, +perspiring humanity, rotting garbage, and vile sewage. And, in the +midst of the hot filth, the people moved with languid, feeble manner; +their faces worn and pallid; their eyes dull and weary; their voices +thin and fretful. + +The woman's heart was faint with the weight of suffering that she was +helpless to relieve. Her quivering nerves shrieked with the horror of +conditions that she could not change. Her brain ached with +contemplation of the cruel necessity that tortured humankind. Her very +soul was sick with the hopelessness of the gasping, choking, +struggling, multitude who, in their poverty and blindness, toiled to +preserve their lives of sorrow and pain and sought relief from their +labors in pleasures more horrible and destructive, by far, than the +slavery to which they gave themselves for the means to pay. + +The woman was tired--very tired. Heart and nerves and brain and soul +and body were tired with a weariness that, it seemed to her, would +never pass. She was tired of the life into which she had gone because +it was the custom of the age and because of her necessity--the life +into which she had not wished to go because it denied her womanhood. +Because she knew herself to be a woman, she felt that she was being +robbed of the things of her womanhood. The brightness and beauty, the +strength and joyousness of her womanhood were, by her, held as sacred +trusts to be kept for her children and, through them, for the race. +She wearied of the struggle to keep the things of her womanhood from +the world that was taking them from her--that put a price upon +them--that used them as thoughtlessly as it uses the stone and metal +and wood that it takes from the earth. She was tired of the horrid +life that crowded her so closely--that crushed itself against her in +the crowded cars--that leered into her face on the street--that +reached out for her from every side--that hungered for her with a +fierce hunger and longed for her with a damnable, fiendish, longing. +She was faint and weak from contact with the loathsome things that she +was forced to know and that would leave their mark upon her womanhood +as surely as the touch of pitch defiles. And she was weary, so weary, +waiting for that one with whom she could cross the threshold of the +old, old, open door. + +Little time was left to her, now, for thought and preparation for the +life of which she had dreamed. Little heart was left to her, now, for +dreaming. Little courage was left for hope. But still her dreams +lived. Still she waited. Still, at times, she hoped. + +But the thing that most of all wearied the woman, who knew that she +was a woman, was this: the restless, discontented, dissatisfied, +uneasy, spirit of the age that, scorning Tradition in a shallow, silly +pride, struggles for and seems to value only that which is new +regardless of the value of the thing itself. The new in dress, +regardless of beauty or fitness in the costume--the new in thought, +regardless of the saneness of the thinking--the new in customs and +manner of living--the new in the home, in marriage relation, in the +education and rearing of children--new philosophy, new science, new +religion, new art, new music, new books, new cooking, new women--it +sometimes appears that the crime of crimes, the most degrading +disgrace, these days, is to be held old-fashioned, behind-the-times, +out-of-date, and that everything, _everything_, not new is +old-fashioned--everything not of the times is behind-the-times-- +everything not down-to-date is out-of-date. + +Patriotism, love of country, is old, very old, and is also--or +therefore--quite out-of-date. To speak or write of patriotism, +seriously, or to consider it a factor in life--to live it, depend upon +it, or appeal to it, is to be considered very strange and sadly +old-fashioned. The modern, down-to-date, age considers seriously not +patriotism but "graft" and "price" and "boodle." These are the modern +forces by which the nation is said to be governed; these are the means +by which the nation strives to go ahead. To talk only of these things, +to believe only in these things, to live only these things, is to be +modern and down--low down--to-date. To work from any motive but the +making of money is to be queerly behind-the-times. To write a book or +paint a picture or sing a song, to preach a sermon, to do anything for +any reason under heaven but for cash marks you a fanatic and a fool. +To believe, even, that anyone does anything save for the money there +is in it stamps you simple and unsophisticated, indeed. To profess +such belief, save you put your tongue in your cheek, marks you +peculiar. + +Long, long, ago mankind put its best strength, its best thought, its +best life, into its works, without regard for the price, simply +because it was its work. And the work so wrought in those queer +old-fashioned days has most curiously endured. There is little danger +that much of our modern, down-to-date work will endure for the very +simple reason that we do not want it to endure. "The world wants +something new." Down-to-date-ism does not want its work to last longer +than the dollar it brings. Never fear, the world is getting something +new! But, though we have grown so bravely away from those queer, +old-fashioned days we have not succeeded yet in growing altogether +away from the works that those old-fashioned days produced. But, +patience, old world--patience--down-to-date-ism may, in time, +accomplish even this. + +In those old, old, times, too, it was the fashion for men and women to +mate in love. In love, they planned and builded their homes. In love, +they brought forth children and reared them, with queer, old-fashioned +notions about marriage, to serve the race. In those times, now so +sadly old and out-of-date, men planned and labored for homes and +children and women were home makers and mothers. But the world is now +far from those ancient ways and out-of-date ideals. Marriage has +little to do with home making these modern days. It has almost nothing +to do with children. We have, in our down-to-date-ism, come to be a +nation of childless wives and homeless husbands. We are dwellers in +flats, apartments, hotels, where children would be in the way but dogs +are welcome if only they be useless dogs. We live in houses that are +always for sale or rent. It is our proud boast that we possess nothing +that is not on the market for a price. The thought of selling a home +is not painful for we do not know, the value of a home. We have, for +convenience, to gratify our modern, down-to-date, ever changing +tastes, popularized the divorce court as though a husband or wife of +more than three seasons is old-fashioned and should be discarded for +one of a newer pattern, more in harmony with our modern ideals of +marriage. + +From the down-to-date--the all-the-way-down-to-date woman, I mean--one +gains new and modern ideas of the service that womankind is to render +to the race. Almost it is as though God did not know what he was about +when he made woman. To place a home above a club; a nursery above the +public platform; a fireside above politics; the prattle of children +above newspaper notoriety; the love of boys and girls above the +excitement of social conquest; the work of bearing strong men and true +women for the glory of the race above the near intellectual pursuits +and the attainments of a shallow thinking; all this is to be sadly +old-fashioned. All this is so behind-the-times that one must confess +such shocking taste with all humiliation. + +I hereby beg pardon of the down-to-date powers that be, and most +humbly pray that they will graciously forgive my boorishness. I assure +you that, after all, I am not so benighted that I do not realize how +seriously babies would interfere in the affairs of those down-to-date +women who are elevating the race. By all means let the race be +elevated though it perish, childless, in the process. Very soon, now, +womanhood itself will be out-of-date for the world, in this also, +seems to be evolving something new. + +So the woman, who knew herself to be a woman, most of all, was tired +of things new and longed, deep in her heart, for the old, old, things +that were built into the very foundation of the race and that no +amount of gilding and trimming and ornamenting can ever cover up or +hide; and no amount of disregarding or ignoring can do away with; lest +indeed the race perish from the earth. + +"And when do you take your vacation?" asked a fellow worker as they +were leaving the building after the day's work. + +"Not until the last of the month," returned the woman wearily. "And +you?" + +"Me, oh, I must go Monday! And it's such a shame! I've just received a +charming invitation for two weeks later but no one cares to exchange +time with me. No one, you see, can go on such short notice. I don't +suppose that you--" she paused suggestively. + +"I will exchange time with you," said the woman simply. + +"Will you really? Now, that _is_ clever of you! Are you +_sure_ that you don't mind?" + +"Indeed, I will be glad to get away earlier." + +"But can you get ready to go so soon?" + +The woman smiled. "I shall do very little getting ready." + +The other looked at her musingly. "No, I suppose not, you are so queer +that way. Seems to me I can't find time enough to make new things. One +just _must_ keep up, you know." + +"It is settled then?" asked the woman, at the corner where they +parted. + +"It will be so good of you," murmured the other. + +The woman had many invitations to spend her brief vacation with +friends, but, that night, she wrote a letter to the people who lived +in her old home and asked if they would take her for two weeks, +requesting that they telegraph their answer. When the message came, +she wired them to meet her and went by the first train. + +At the old home station, her train took a siding at the upper end of +the yards to let the outgoing express pass. From the window where she +sat the woman saw a tall man, dressed in a business suit of quiet +gray, standing on the rear platform of the slowly moving outbound +train and waving his hand to someone on the depot platform. Just a +glimpse she had of him before he passed from sight as her own train +moved ahead to stop at the depot where she was greeted by her host. +Not until they were driving toward her old home did the woman know who +it was that she had seen. + +The woman was interested in all that the people had to tell about her +old playmate and asked not a few questions but she was glad that he +had not known of her coming. She was glad that he was gone. The man +and the woman were strangers and the woman did not wish to meet a +stranger. The boy lived, for her, only in her Yesterdays and the woman +told herself that she was glad because she feared that the man, if she +met him, would rob her of the boy. She feared that he would be like so +many that she had been forced to know in the world that denied her +womanhood. She had determined to be for two weeks, as far as it is +possible for a woman to be, just a girl again and she wanted no +company other than the little boy who lived only in the long ago. + +As soon as supper was over she retired to her room--to the little room +that had been hers in her childhood--where, before lighting the lamp, +she sat for awhile at the open window looking out into the night, +breathing long and deep of the pure air that was sweetly perfumed with +the odor of the meadows and fields. In the brooding quiet; in the soft +night sounds; in the fragrant breeze that gently touched her hair; she +felt the old, old, forces of life calling to her womanhood and felt +her womanhood stir in answer. For a long time she sat there giving +free rein to the thoughts and longings that, in her city life, she was +forced to suppress. + +Rising at last, as though with quick resolution, she lighted her lamp +and prepared for bed; loosening her hair and deftly arranging the +beautiful, shining, mass that fell over her shoulders in a long braid. +Then, smiling as she would have smiled at the play of a child, she +knelt before her trunk and, taking something from its depth, quickly +put out the light again and once more seated herself in a low rocking +chair by the open window. + +Had there been any one to see, they would not have understood. Who is +there, indeed, to understand the heart of womanhood? The woman, +sitting in the dark before the window in that room so full of the +memories of her childhood, held close in her arms an ancient doll +whose face had been washed so many times by its little mother that it +was but a smudge of paint. + +That night the woman slept as a child sleeps after a long, busy, +happy, childhood day--slept to open her eyes in the morning while the +birds in the trees outside her window were heralding the coming of the +sun. Rising she looked and saw the sky glorious with the light of +dawning day. Flaming streamers of purple and scarlet and silver +floated high over the buildings and trees next door. The last of the +pale stars sank into the ocean of blue and, from behind the old +orchard above the house where the boy lived, long shafts of golden +light shot up as if aimed by some heavenly archer hiding behind the +hill. + +When the day was fully come, the woman quickly dressed and went out +into the yard. The grass was dew drenched and fragrant under her feet. +The flowers were fresh and inviting. But she did not pause until, out +in the garden, at the farther corner, close by the hedge, she stood +under the cherry tree--sacred cathedral of her Yesterdays. + +When she turned again to go back to the house, the woman's face was +shining with the light that glows only in the faces of those women who +know that they are women and who dream the dreams of womanhood. + +So the woman spent her days. Down in the little valley by the brook, +that, as it ran over the pebbly bars, drifted in the flickering light +and shade of the willows, slipped between the green banks, or crept +softly beneath the grassy arch, sang its song of the Yesterdays: up in +the orchard beyond the neighboring house where so many, many, times +she had helped the boy play out his dreams; on the porch, in the soft +twilight, watching the stars as they blossomed above while up from the +dusky shadows in the valley below came the call of the whip-poor-will +and the bats on silent wings flitted to and fro; out in the garden +under the cherry tree in the corner near the hedge--in all the loved +haunts of the boy and girl--she spent her days. + +And the tired look went out of her eyes. Strength returned to her +weary body, courage to her heart, and calmness to her over-wrought +nerves. Amid those scenes of her Yesterdays she was made ready to go +back to the world that values so highly things that are new, and, in +the strength of the old, old, things to keep the dreams of her +womanhood. And, as she went, there was that in her face that all men +love to see in the face of womankind. + +Poor old world! Someday, perhaps, it will awake from its feverish +dream to find that God made some things in the heart of the race too +big to be outgrown. + + + + + +TEMPTATION + +The heights of Life are fortified. They are guarded by narrow passes +where the world must go single file and where, if one slip from the +trail, he falls into chasms of awful depths; by cliffs of apparent +impassable abruptness which, if in scaling, one lose his head he is +lost; and by false trails that seem to promise easy going but lead in +the wrong direction. Not in careless ease are those higher levels +gained. The upward climb is one of strenuous effort, of desperate +struggle, of hazardous risk. Only those who prove themselves fit may +gain the top. + +Somewhere in the life of every man there is a testing time. There is a +trial to prove of what metal he is made. There is a point which, won +or lost, makes him winner or loser in the game. There is a Temptation +that to him is vital. + +To pray: "Lead us not into temptation," is divine wisdom for +Temptation lies in wait. There is no need to seek it. And, when once +it is met, there is no dodging the issue or shifting the burden of +responsibility. In the greatest gifts that men possess are the seeds +which, if grown and cultivated, yield poisonous fruit. In the very +forces that men use for greatest good are the elements of their own +destruction. And, whatever the guise in which Temptation comes, the +tempter is always the same--Self. Temptation spells always the mastery +of or the surrender to one's self. + +Once I stood on a mighty cliff with the ocean at my feet. Ear below, +the waves broke with a soothing murmur that scarce could reach my ears +and the gray gulls were playing here and there like shadows of half +forgotten dreams. In the distance, the fishing boats rolled lazily on +the gentle swell and the sunlight danced upon the surface of the sea. +Then, as I looked, on the far horizon the storm chieftain gathered his +clans for war. I saw the red banners flashing. I watched the hurried +movements of the dark and threatening ranks. I heard the rumbling +tread of the tramping feet. And, like airy messengers sent to warn me, +the gusts of wind came racing and wailed and sobbed about the cliff +because I would not heed their warning. The startled boats in the +offing spread their white wings and scurried to the shelter of their +harbor nests. The gray gulls vanished. The sunlight danced no more +upon the surface of the sea. And then, as the battle front rolled +above my head, the billows, lashed to fury by the wind and flinging in +the air the foam of their own madness, came rushing on to try their +strength against the grim and silent rock. Again and again they hurled +their giant forms upon the cliff, until the roar of the surf below +drowned even the thunder in the clouds above and the solid earth +trembled with the shock, but their very strength was their ruin and +they were dashed in impotent spray from the stalwart object of their +assault. And at last, when the hours of the struggle were over; when +the storm soldiers had marched on to their haunts behind the hills; +when the gulls had returned to their sports; and the sun shone again +on the waters; I saw the bosom of the ocean rise and fall like the +breast of an angry child exhausted with its passion while the cliff, +standing stern and silent, seemed to look, with mingled pride and +pity, upon its foe now moaning at its feet. + +Like that cliff, I say, is the soul of a man who, in temptation, gains +the mastery of himself. The storm clouds of life may gather darkly +over his head but he shall not tremble. The lightning of the world's +wrath and the thunder of man's disapproval shall not move him. The +waves of passion that so try the strength of men shall be dashed in +impotent spray from his stalwart might. And when, at last, the storms +of life are over--when the sun shines again on the waters as it shone +before the fight began--he shall still stand, calm and unmoved, master +of himself and men. + +Because those things are true, I say: that Temptation is one of the +Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. + +And the man knew these things--knew them as well as you know them. In +the full knowledge of these things he came to his testing time. To win +or to lose, in the full knowledge of all that victory or defeat meant +to him, he went to his Temptation. + +It was early winter when his time came but he knew that first morning +after he had returned from his vacation that it was coming. The moment +he entered the room to take up again the task of putting his dreams +into action, he saw her and felt her power for she was one of those +women who compel recognition of their sex as the full noonday sun +compels recognition of its light and heat. + +An hour later her duties brought her to him, and, for a few moments, +they stood face to face. And the man, while he instructed her in the +work that she was to do, felt the strength of her power even as a +strong swimmer feels the current of the stream. Through her eyes, in +her voice, in her presence, this woman challenged the man, made him +more conscious of her than of his work. The subtle, insinuating, +luring, strength of her beat upon him, enveloped him, thrilled him. As +she turned to go back to her place, his eyes followed her and he knew +that he was approaching a great crisis in his life. He knew that soon +or late he would be forced into a battle with himself and that +tremendous stakes would be at issue. He knew that victory would give +him increased power, larger capacity, and a firmer grip upon the +enduring principles of life or defeat would make of him a slave, with +enfeebled spirit, humiliated and ashamed. + +Every day, in the weeks that followed, the man was forced to see +her--to talk with her--to feel her strength. And every day he felt +himself carried irresistibly onward toward the testing that he knew +must come. He was conscious, too, that the woman, also, knew and +understood and that it pleased her so to use her power. She willed +that he should feel her presence. In a thousand subtle forms she +repeated her challenge. In ways varied without number she called to +him, lured him, led him. To do this seemed a necessity to her. She was +one of those women whose natures seem to demand this expression of +themselves. Instinctively, she made all men with whom she came in +contact feel her power and, instinctively--unconsciously, perhaps--she +gloried in her strength. + +If the man could have had other things in common with her it would +have been different. If there had been, as well, the appeal of the +intellect--of the spirit--if the beauty of her had been to him an +expression of something more than her sex--if there had been ideals, +hopes, longings, fears, even sorrow or regret, common to both, it +would have been different. But there was nothing. Often the man sought +to find something more but there was nothing. So he permitted himself +to be carried onward by a current against which, when the time should +come, he knew he would need to fight with all his might. And always, +as the current swept him onward toward the point where he must make +the decisive struggle, he felt the woman's power over him growing ever +greater. + +At last it came. + +It was Saturday. The man left the place where he worked earlier than +usual that he might walk to his rooms for he felt the need of physical +action. He felt a strong desire to run, to leap, to use his splendid +muscles that throbbed and exulted with such vigorous life. As he +strode along the streets, beyond the business district, he held his +head high, he looked full into the faces of the people he met with a +bold challenging look. The cool, bracing air, of early winter was +grateful on his glowing skin and he drank long deep breaths of it as +one would drink an invigorating tonic. Every nerve and fiber of him +was keenly, gloriously, alive with the strength of his splendid +manhood. Every nerve and fiber of him was conscious of her and exulted +in that which he had seen in her eyes when she had told him that she +would be at home that evening and that she would be glad to have him +call. With all his senses abnormally alert, he saw and noted +everything about him. A thousand trivial, commonly unseen things, +along his way and in the faces, dress, and manner, of the people whom +he met, caught his eye. Yet, always, vividly before him, was the face +of her whose power he had felt. Under it all, he was conscious that +this was his testing time. He _knew_--or it would have been no +Temptation--it would have been no trial. Impatiently he glanced at his +watch and, as he neared the place where he lived, quickened his +stride, springing up the steps of the house at last with a burst of +eager haste. + +In the front hall, at the foot of the stairs, the little daughter of +his landlady greeted him with shouts of delight and, with the +masterful strength of four feminine years, dragged him, a willing +captive, through the open door to her mother's pleasant sitting room. +She was a beautiful, dainty, little miss with hair and eyes very like +that playmate of the man's Yesterdays and it was his custom to pay +tribute to her charms in the coin of childhood as faithfully and as +regularly as he paid his board. + +Seated now, with the baby on his lap and the smiling mother looking +on, he produced, after the usual pretense of denial and long search +through many pockets, the weekly offering. And then, as though some +guardian angel willed it so, the little girl did a thing that she had +never done before. Putting two plump and dimpled arms about his neck +she said gravely: "Mamma don't like me to kiss folks, you know, but +she said she wouldn't care if I kissed _you_" Whereupon a sweet +little rosebud mouth was offered trustingly, with loving innocence, to +his lips. + +A crimson flame flushed the man's face. With a laugh of embarrassment +and a quick impulsive hug he held the child close and accepted her +offering. + +Then he went quickly upstairs to his room. + +It was sometime later when the man began to prepare for the evening to +which he had looked forward with such eagerness and all his fierce and +driving haste was gone. The mad tumult of his manhood strength was +stilled. He moved, now, with a purpose, sullen, grim, defiant. The +fight was on. While he was still vividly conscious of the woman whose +compelling power he felt, he felt, now, as well, the pure touch of +those baby lips. While he still saw the light in the woman's eyes and +sensed the meaning of her smile, he saw and sensed as clearly the +loving innocence that had shown in the little girl's face as it was +lifted up to his. Upon his manhood's strength lay the woman's luring +spell. Upon his manhood the baby's kiss lay as a seal of +sacredness--upon his lips it burned as a coal of holy fire. The fight +was on. + +The man's life was not at all an easy life. Beside his work and his +memories there was little to hold him true. Since that day when he +stood face to face with Life and, for the first time, knew that he was +a man, he had been, save for a few friends among the men of his own +class, alone. The exacting demands of his work had left him little +time or means to spend in seeking social pleasures or in the delights +of fellowship with those for whose fellowship he would have cared, +even had the way to their society been, at that period of his life, +open to him. He told himself, always, that sometime in the future, +when he had worked out still farther his dreams, he would find the way +to the social life that he would enjoy but until then, he must, of +necessity, live much alone. And now--now--the testing time--the crisis +in his life--had come. Even as it must come to every man who knows his +manhood so it had come to him. + +The man was not deceived. He knew the price he would pay in defeat. +But, even while he knew this--even while he knew what defeat would +mean to him, so great was her power that he went on making ready to go +to her. With the kiss of the little girl upon his lips he made ready +to go to the woman. It was as though he had drifted too far and the +current had become too strong for him to turn back. Thus do such men +yield to such temptations. Thus are men betrayed by the very strength +of their manhood. + +With mad determination he waited the hour. Uneasily he paced his room. +He tried to read. He threw himself into a chair only to arise and move +about again. Every few moments he impatiently consulted his watch. At +every step in the hall, without his door, he started as if alarmed. He +became angry, in a blind rage, with the woman, with himself and even +with the little girl. At last, when it was time to go, he threw on his +overcoat, took his hat and gloves, and, with a long, careful look +about the room, laid his hand on the door. He knew that the man who +was going out that evening would not come hack to his room the same +man. He knew that _that_ man could never come back. He felt as +though he was giving up his apartments to a stranger. So he hesitated, +with his hand upon the door, looking long and carefully about. Then +quickly he threw open the door and, down the hall and down the stairs, +went as one who has counted the cost and determined recklessly. + +[Illustration: Two dimpled arms went around his neck] + +The man had opened the front door and was about to pass out when a +sweet voice called: "Wait, oh, wait." + +Turning, he saw a tiny figure in white flying toward him. + +The little girl, all ready for bed, had caught sight of him and, for +the moment, had escaped from her mother's attention. + +The man shut the door and caught her up. Two dimpled arms went around +his neck and the rosebud mouth was lifted to his lips. + +Then the mother came and led her away while the man stood watching her +as she went. + +Would he ever dare touch those baby lips again he wondered. Could he, +he asked himself, could he face again those baby eyes? Could he ever +again bear the feeling of that soft little body in his arms? + +At the farther end of the hall, she turned, and, seeing him still +there, waved her hand with a merry call: "Good-bye, good-bye." + +Then she passed from his sight and, in place of this little girl of +rosy, dimpled, flesh, the startled man saw a dainty maiden of his +Yesterdays, standing under a cherry tree with fallen petals of the +delicate blossoms in her wayward hair, and with eyes that looked at +him very gravely and a little frightened as, for the shaggy coated +minister, he spoke the solemn words: "I pronounce you husband and wife +and anything that God has done must never be done any different by +anybody forever and ever, Amen." By some holy magic the kiss of the +little girl became the kiss of his play wedding wife of the long ago. + +Very slowly the man went up the stairs again to his room; there to +spend the evening not as he had planned, when he was in the mastering +grip of self, but safe in the quiet harbor of the Yesterdays where the +storms of life break not or are felt only in those gentle ripples that +scarce can stir the surface of the sea. + +The fierce passion that had shaken the very soul of him passed on as +the storm clouds pass. In the calm of the days that were gone, he +rested as one who has fought a good fight and, safe from out the +turmoil and the danger, has come victoriously into the peace that +passeth all understanding. + +In the sweet companionship of his childhood mate, with the little girl +who lived next door, the man found again, that night, his better self. +In the boy of the long-ago, he found again his ideals of manhood. In +his Yesterdays, he found strength to stand against the power of the +temptation that assailed him. + +Blessed, blessed Yesterdays! + +* * * * * + +It was the time of the first snow when, again, the woman sat alone in +her room before the fire, with her door fast locked and the shades +drawn close, even as on that other night--the night when her womanhood +began in dreams. + +In the soft dusk, while the shadows of the flickering light came and +went upon the walls, and the quiet was broken only by the tick, tick, +tick, of the timepiece held in the chubby arms of the fat cupid on the +mantle, the woman sat very still. Face to face with her Temptation, +she sat alone and very still. + +For several months, the woman had seen her testing time approaching. +That day when, looking into her eyes, the man of authority had so +kindly bidden her leave her work for the afternoon, she had known that +this time would come. In the passing weeks she had realized that the +day was approaching when she must decide both for him and for herself. +She had not sought to prevent the coming of that day. She had +knowingly permitted it to come. She was even pleased in a way to watch +it drawing near. Not once, in those weeks, had he failed to be very +kind or ceased to make her feel that he understood. In a hundred ways, +as their work called them together and gave opportunity, he had told +her, in voice and look and the many ways of wordless speech, that the +time was coming. He had been very careful, too--very careful--that, in +their growing friendship, the world should have no opportunity to +misjudge. And the woman, seeing his care, was grateful and valued his +friendship the more. + +So had come at last that Saturday when, with low spoken words, at the +close of the day's work, he had asked if he might call upon her the +following evening; saying gravely, as he looked down into her face, +that he had something very important to tell her. And she had gravely +said that he might come; while her blushes to him confessed that she +knew what it was of importance that he would say. + +Scarcely had she reached her home that afternoon when a messenger boy +appeared with a great armful of roses and, as she arranged the flowers +on her table, burying her flushed face again and again in their +fragrant coolness, she had told herself that to-morrow, when he asked +her to cross with him the threshold of that old, old door, she would +answer: yes. But, even as she so resolved, she had been conscious of +something in her heart that denied the resolution of her mind. + +And so it was that, as she sat alone before her fire that night, she +knew that she was face to face with a crisis in her life. So it was +that she had come to the testing time and knew that she must win or +lose alone. In the sacred privacy of her room, with the perfume of his +roses filling the air and the certainty that when he came on the +morrow she must answer, she looked into the future to see, if she +might, what it held for her and for him if she should cross with him +the threshold of that old, old, door. + +He was a man whose love would honor any woman--this she knew. And he +was a man of power and influence in the world--a man who could provide +for his mate a home of which any woman would be proud to be the +mistress. Nor could she doubt his love for nothing else could have +persuaded such a man to ask of a woman that which he was coming to ask +of her. + +Beginning with her answer on the following evening the woman traced, +in thought, all that would follow. She saw herself leaving the life +that she had never desired because it could not recognize her +womanhood and, in fancy, received the congratulations of her friends. +She lived, in her imagination, those busy days when she would be +making ready for the day that was to come. Very clearly, she pictured +to herself the wedding; it would be a quiet wedding, she told herself, +but as beautiful and complete as cultured taste and wealth could make +it. Then they would go away, for a time, to those cities and lands +beyond the sea that, all her life, she had longed to visit. When they +returned, it would be to that beautiful old home of his family--the +home that she had so often, in passing, admired; and in that home, so +long occupied by him alone, she would be the proud mistress. And +then--then--would come her children--their children--and so all the +fulfillment of her womanhood's dreams. + +But the woman's face, as she looked into a future that seemed as +bright as ever woman dared to dream, was troubled. As she traced the +way that lay so invitingly before her, this woman, who knew herself to +be a woman, was sad. Her heart, still, was as an empty room--a room +that is furnished and ready but without a tenant. Deep within her +woman heart she knew that this man was not the one for whom she waited +by the open door. She did not know who it was for whom she waited. She +knew only that this man was not the one. And she wished--oh, how she +wished--that this was not so. Because of her longing--because of the +dreams of her womanhood--because of her empty heart--she was resolved +to cross with this man, who was not the man for whom she waited, the +threshold that she could not cross alone. Honor, regard, respect, the +affection of a friend, she could give him--did give him indeed--but +she knew that this was not enough for a woman to give the man with +whom she would enter that old, old, door. + +Rising, the woman went to her mirror to study long and carefully the +face and form that she saw reflected there. She saw in the glass, a +sweet, womanly, beauty, expressing itself in the color and tone of the +clean carved features; in the dainty texture of the clear skin and +soft, brown, hair; and in the rounded fullness and graceful lines of +the finely moulded body. Perfect physical strength and health was +there--vital, glowing, appealing. And culture of mind, trained +intelligence, thoughtfulness, was written in that womanly face. And, +with it all, there was good breeding, proud blood, with gentleness of +spirit. + +This woman knew that she was well equipped to stand by this man's side +however high his place in life. She was well fitted to become the +mistress of his home and the mother of his children. She had guarded +well the choicest treasures of her womanhood. She had squandered none +of the wealth that was committed to her. She had held it all as a +sacred trust to be kept by her for that one with whom she should go +through the old, old door. And she had determined that, to-morrow +evening, she would give herself, with all the riches of her womanhood, +to this one who could give her, in return, the home of her dreams. +While her heart was still as an empty room, she had determined to +cross, with this man, the threshold over which no woman may again +return. + +Turning from her mirror, slowly the woman went to the great bunch of +roses that stood upon her table. They were his roses; and they fitly +expressed, in their costly beauty, the life that he was coming to +offer to her. Very deliberately she bent over them, burying her face +in the mass of rich color, inhaling deeply their heavy fragrance. +Thoughtfully she considered them and all that, to her, they +symbolized. But there was no flush upon her cheek now. There was no +warmth in the light of her eyes. No glad excitement thrilled her. +There was no trembling in her touch--no eager joyousness in her +manner. + +Suddenly, some roisterer, passing along the street with his +companions, laughed a loud, reckless, half drunken, laugh that sounded +in the quiet darkness with startling clearness. + +The woman sprang back from the flowers as though a poisonous serpent, +hidden in their fragrant beauty, had struck her. With a swift look of +horror on her white face she glanced fearfully about the room. + +Again the laugh sounded; this time farther down the street. + +The woman sank into her chair, trembling with a nameless fear. To her, +that laugh in the dark had sounded as the laughter of the crowd that +day when she was forced so close to the outcast women who were in the +hands of the police. + +"But those women," argued the frightened woman with herself, "sell +themselves to all men for a price." + +"And you," answered the heart of her womanhood, "and you, also, will +sell yourself to one man, for a price. The wealth of womanhood +committed to you--all the treasures that you have guarded so +carefully--you will sell now to this good man for the price that he +can pay. If he could not pay the price--if he came to you empty +handed--would you say yes?" + +"But I will be true to him," argued the woman. "I will give myself to +him and to him only as wife to husband." + +"You are being false to him already," replied her woman heart, "for +you are selling yourself, not giving yourself to him. You are planning +to deceive him. You would make him think that he is taking to himself +a wife when, for a price, you are selling to him--something higher +than a public woman, it is true--but something, as true, very much +lower than a wife. What matter whether the price be in gold and silver +or in property and social position--it is a price. Except he pay you +your price he could not have you." + +And what, thought the woman, what if--after she had crossed the +threshold with this good man--after she had entered with him into the +life that lay on the other side that door--what if, then, that other +one should come? What if the one for whom her empty heart should have +waited were to come and stand alone before that door through which she +could not go back? And the children--the dear children of her +dreams--what of them? Had not her unborn children the right to demand +that they be born in love? And if she should say, "no," to this +man--if she should turn once more away from the open door, through +which he would ask her to go with him--what then? What if that one who +had delayed his coming so long should never come? + +And then the woman, who knew herself to be a woman, saw the lonely +years come and go. While she waited without the door that led to the +life of her womanhood's dreams, she saw the beauty that her mirror +revealed slowly fading--saw her firm, smooth, cheeks become thin and +wrinkled, her bright eyes grow dim and pale, her soft, brown, hair +turn thin and gray, her body grow lean and stooped. All the wealth of +her womanhood that she had treasured with such care she saw become as +dust, worthless. All the things of her womanhood she would be forced +to spend in that life that denied her womanhood, and then, when she +had nothing left, she would be cast aside as a worn out machine. Never +to know the joy of using her womanhood! Never to have a home! Never to +feel the touch of a baby hand! To lay down the wealth of her woman +life and go empty and alone in her shriveled old age! With an +exclamation, the woman sprang to her feet and stretched out her arms. +"No, no, no," she whispered fiercely, "anything, anything, but that. I +will be true to him. I will be a faithful wife. He shall never know. +He shall not feel that he is cheated. And perhaps--" she dropped into +her chair again and buried her face in her hands as she +whispered--"perhaps, bye and bye, God will let me love him. Surely, +God will let me love him, bye and bye." + +Sometime later, the woman did a strange thing. Going to her desk, +softly, as a thief might go, she unlocked a drawer and took from it a +small jewel case. For several moments she stood under the light +holding the little velvet box in her hand unopened. Then, lifting the +lid, she looked within and, presently, from among a small collection +of trinkets that had no value save to her who knew their history, took +a tiny brass ring. Placing the box on the dresser, she tried, +musingly, to fit the little ring on her finger. On each finger in turn +she tried, but it would go only part way on the smallest one; and she +smiled sadly to see how she had grown since that day under the cherry +tree. + +Turning again, she went slowly across the room to the fire that now +was a bed of glowing coals. For a little she stood looking down into +the fire. Then, slowly, she stretched forth her hand to drop the ring. +But she could not do it. She could not. + +Returning the little circle of brass to its place among the trinkets +in the jewel box, the woman prepared for bed. + +The timepiece in the arms of the fat cupid ticked loudly now in the +darkness that was only faintly relieved by the glowing embers of the +fire. + +With sleepless eyes the woman who had determined to give herself +without love lay staring into the dusk. But she did not see the +darkness. She did not see the grotesque and ghostly objects in the +gloom. Nor did she see the somber shadows that came and went as the +dying fire gained fitful strength. The woman saw the bright sun +shining on the meadows and fields of the long ago. She saw again the +scenes of her childhood. Again, as she stood under the cherry tree +that showered its delicate blossoms down with every puff of air, she +looked with loving confidence into the face of the brown cheeked boy +who spoke so seriously those childish vows. Again, upon her lips she +felt that kiss of the childhood mating. + +The soft light of the fire grew fainter and fainter as the embers +slowly turned to ashes. Could it be that the woman, in her temptation, +would let the sacred fire of love burn altogether out? Must the +memories of her Yesterdays turn to ashes too? + +The last faint glow was almost gone when the woman slipped quickly out +of her bed and, in the darkness, groped her way across the room to the +desk where she found the little jewel case. + +And I think that the fat cupid who was neglecting his bow and arrows +to wrestle with time must have been pleased to see the woman, a little +later, when the dying fire flared out brightly for a moment, lying +fast asleep, while, upon the little finger of the hand that lay close +to her smiling lips, there was a tiny circle of brass. + + + + + +LIFE + + +In childhood, the Master of Life exalts Life. A baby in its mother's +arms is the fullest expression of Divinity. + +It was Christmas time; that season of the year when, for a brief +period, the world permits the children to occupy the place in the +affairs and thoughts of men that is theirs by divine right. + +In the birth of that babe in Bethlehem, the Giver of Life placed the +seal of his highest approval upon childhood and decreed that, until +the end of time, babies should be the true rulers of mankind and the +lawful heirs of heaven. And it is so, that the power of Mary's babe, +from his manger cradle throne, has been more potent on earth in the +governments of men than the strength of many emperors with their armed +hosts. + +It is written large in Nature's laws that mankind should be governed +by love of children. The ruling purpose and passion of the race can +be, with safety, nothing less than the purpose and passion of all +created things--of even the trees and plants--the purpose to reproduce +its kind--the passion for its offspring. The world should be ruled by +boys and girls. + +But Mammon has usurped the throne of Life. His hosts have trampled the +banners of loyal love in the dust. His forces have compelled the +rightful rulers of the world to abdicate. But, even as gross +materialism has never succeeded in altogether denying Divinity, so, +for a few days each year, at Christmas time, childhood asserts its +claims and compels mankind to render, at least a show, of homage. + +Poor, blind, deceived and betrayed, old world; to so fear a foolish +and impotent anarchism that spends its strength in vain railings +against governments while you pay highest honors and present your +choicest favors to those traitors who filch your wealth of young life +under pretense of loyal service. The real anarchists, old world, are +not those who loudly vociferate to the rabble on the street corners +but those who, operating under the laws of your approval, betray their +country in its greatest need--its need of children. The real +anarchists, old world, are those whose banners are made red by the +blood of babies; who fatten upon the labor of their child slaves; and +who seek to rule by the slaughter of children even as that savage of +old whose name in history is hated by every lover of the race. +Regicides at heart, they are, for they kill, for a price, the God +ordained rulers of mankind. A child is nearer, by many years, to God +than the grown up rebel who traitorously holds his own mean interests +superior to the holy will of Life as vested in the sacred person of a +boy or girl. + +To prate, in empty swelling words, of the sacredness of life, the +power of religion, the dignity of state, the importance of commercial +interests and the natural wealth of the nation, while ignoring the +sacredness, power, dignity, importance, and wealth of childhood, is +evidence of a criminal thoughtlessness. + +Children and Life are one. They are the product, the producers, and +the preservers of Life. They exalt Life. They interpret Life. Without +them Life has no meaning. The child is no more the possession of its +parents than the parents are the property of the child. Children are +the just creditors of the human race. Mankind owes them everything. +They owe mankind nothing. A baby has no debts. + +Nor is the passion for children satisfied only in bearing them. A +woman who does not love _all_ babies is unsafe to trust with one +of her own flesh. A man who does not love _all_ children is unfit +to father offspring of his own blood. One need not die to orphan a +child. One need only refuse to care for it. One need only place other +interests first. Men and women who desire to become parents will not +go unsatisfied in a world that is so full of boys and girls for whom +there are neither fathers nor mothers. + +The Master of Life said: "Except ye become as little children." His +false disciple--world--teaches: "Except ye become grown up." But the +laws of Life are irrevocable. If a man, heeding the world, grows up to +possess the earth, his holdings, at the last, are reduced--if he be +one of earth's big men--to six feet of it, only; while the man who +never grows up inherits a heaven that the false kings of earth know +not. + +When the man left his work, at close of the day before Christmas, he +was as eager as he had been that Saturday when he faced the crisis of +his life. With every sense keenly alive, he plunged into the throng of +belated shoppers that filled the streets and crowded into the gaily +decked stores until it overflowed into the streets again. Nearly +everyone was carrying bundles and packages for it was too late, now, +to depend upon the overworked delivery wagons. In almost every face, +the Christmas gladness shone. In nearly every voice, there was that +spirit of fellowship and cheery good will that is invoked by Christmas +thoughts and plans. Through the struggling but good natured crowd, the +man worked his way into a store and, when he forced his way out again, +his arms, too, were full. For a moment he waited on the corner for a +car then, with a look of smiling dismay at the number of people who +were also waiting, he turned away, determined to walk. He felt, too, +that the exercise in the keen air would be a relief to the buoyant +strength and gladness that clamored for expression. + +As he swung so easily along the snowy pavement, with the strength of +his splendid manhood revealed in every movement and the cleanness of +his heart and mind illuminating his countenance, there were many among +those he met who, while they smiled in sympathy with his spirit, +passed from their smiles to half sighs of envy and regret. + +With the impatient haste of a boy, the man dashed up the steps of his +boarding house and ran up stairs to his room; chuckling in triumph +over his escape from the watchful eyes of the little daughter of the +house. For the first time since his boyhood the man was to have the +blessed privilege of sharing the Christmas cheer of a home. + +When the evening meal was over and it was time for his little playmate +to go to sleep, he retired again to his room, almost as excited, in +his eager impatience for the morning, as the child herself. Safe +behind his closed door, he began to unwrap his Christmas packages and +parcels that he might inspect again his purchases and taste, by +anticipation, the pleasure he would know when on the morrow the child +would discover his gifts. Very carefully he cut the strings from the +last and largest package and, tenderly removing the wrappings, +revealed a doll almost as tall as the little girl herself. It was as +large, at least, as a real flesh and blood baby. + +The wifeless, homeless, man who has never purchased a doll for some +little child mother has missed an educational experience of more value +than many of the things that are put in text books to make men wise. + +Rather awkwardly the man held the big doll in his arms, smoothing its +dress and watching the eyes that opened and closed so lifelike; +cautiously he felt for and found that vital spot which if pressed +brought forth a startling: "papa--mama." + +As the dear familiar words of childhood sounded in the lonely bachelor +room, the man felt a queer something grip his heart. Tenderly he laid +the doll upon his big bed and stood for a little looking down upon it; +a half-serious, half-whimsical, expression on his face but in his eyes +a tender light. Then, adjusting his reading lamp, he seated himself +and attempted to busy his strangely disturbed mind with a book. But +the sentences were meaningless. At every period, his eyes turned to +that little figure on the bed, with its too lifelike face and hair and +form while the thoughts of the author he was trying to read were +crowded out by other thoughts that forced themselves upon him with a +persistency and strength that would not be denied. + +The weeks following the testing of the man had been to him very +wonderful weeks. He seemed to be living in a new world, or, rather, +for him, the same old world was wonderfully enriched and glorified. +Never had he felt his manhood's strength stirring so within him. Never +had his mind been so alert, his spirit so bold. He moved among men +with a new power that was felt by all who came in touch with him; +though no one knew what it was. He was conscious of a fuller mastery +of his work; a clearer grasp of the world events. As one, climbing in +the mountains, reaches a point higher than he has ever before attained +and gains thus a wider view of the path he has traveled, of the +surrounding country, and of the peak that is the object of his climb +as well, so this man, in his life climb, had reached a higher point +and therefore gained a wider outlook. It is only when men stay in the +lowlands of self interest or abide in the swamps of self indulgence +that their views of life are narrowly circumscribed. Let a man master +himself but once and he stands on higher ground, with wider outlook, +with keener vision, and clearer atmosphere. + +The man had always seen Life in its relation to himself; he came, now, +to consider his own life in its relation to all Life; which point of +view has all the difference that lies between a low valley and the +mountain peaks that shut it in. He felt his relation, too, not alone +to all human life but to all created things. With everything that +lived he felt himself kin. With the very dray horses on the street, +dragging with patient courage their heavily loaded trucks; with the +stray dog that dodged in and out among the wheels and hoofs of the +crowded traffic; even with the sparrow that perched for a moment on +the ledge outside the window near his desk, he felt a kinship that was +new and strange. Had they not all, he reflected, horse and dog and +sparrow and man--had they not all one thing in common--Life? Was not +Life the one thing supreme to each? Were they not, each one, a part of +the whole? Was not the supreme object of every life, of all life, to +live? Is the life of a man, he asked himself, more mysterious than the +life of a horse? Can science--blind, pretentious, childish +science--explain the life of a dog with less uncertainty than it can +explain the life of a man? Or can the scientist make a laboratory +sparrow more easily than he can produce a laboratory man? With the +very trees that lined the streets near where he lived, he felt a +kinship for they, too, within their trunks and limbs, had life--they, +too, were parts of the whole even as he was a part--they, too, +belonged even as he belonged. + +Thus the man saw Life from a loftier height than he had ever before +attained. Thus he sensed, as never before, the bigness, the fullness, +the grandness, the awfulness, of Life. And so the man became very +humble with a proud humbleness. He became very proud with a humble +pride. He became even as a child again. + +And then, standing thus upon this new height that he had gained, the +man looked back into the ages that were gone and forward into the ages +that were to come and so saw himself and his age a link between the +past and the future; linking that which had been to that which was to +be. All that Life had ever been--the sum of all since the unknown +beginning--was in the present. In the present, also, was all that Life +could ever be, even unto the unknown end. Within his age and within +himself he felt stirring all the mighty forces that, since the +beginning, had wrought in the making of man. Within his age and within +himself he felt the forces that would work out in the race results as +far beyond his present vision as his age was beyond the ages of the +most distant past. + +Since the day when he had first realized his manhood, the working out +of his dreams had been to the man the supreme object of his life. He +had put his life, literally, into his work. For his work he had lived. +But that Christmas eve, when his mind and heart were so filled with +thoughts of childhood and those new emotions were aroused within him, +he saw that the supreme thing in his life must be Life itself. He saw +that not by putting his life into his work, would he most truly live, +but by making his work contribute to his life. He realized that the +greatest achievements of man are but factors in Life--that the one +supreme, dominant, compelling, purpose of Life is to _live_--to +_live_--to _live_--to express itself in Life--that the only +adequate expression of Life _is_ Life--that the passion of Life +is to pass itself on--from age to age, from generation to generation, +in a thousand thousand forms, in a thousand thousand ages, in a +thousand thousand peoples, Life had passed itself on--was even then +passing itself on--seeking ever fuller expression of itself; seeking +ever to perfect itself; seeking ever to produce itself. He saw that +the things that men do come out of their lives even as the plants come +out of the soil into which the seed is dropped; and, that, even as the +dead and decaying plant goes back into the earth from which it came, +to enrich and renew the ground, so man's work, that comes out of his +life, is reabsorbed again into his life to enrich and renew it. He +realized, now, that the object of his life must be not his work but +Life itself--that his effort must be not to do but to be--that he must +accomplish not a great work but a great Life. + +It was inevitable that the man should come to see, also, that the +supreme glory of his manhood's strength was in this: the reproduction +of his kind. The man life that ran so strongly in his veins, that +throbbed so exultantly in his splendid body, that thrilled so keenly +in his nerves--the man life that he had from his parents and from +countless generations before--the life that made him kin to all his +race and to all created things--this life he must pass on. This was +the supreme glory of his manhood: that he could pass it on--that he +could give it to the ages that were to come. + +From the heights which he attained that Christmas eve, the man laughed +at the empty, swelling, words of those who talk about the sacredness +of work--who prattle as children about leaving a great work when they +are gone--who gibber as fools about contributing a great work to the +world. + +If the men of a race will perfect the manhood strength of the race; if +they will exalt their manhood power; if they will fulfill the mission +of life by perfecting and producing ever more perfect lives; if they +will endeavor to contribute to the ages to come stronger, better, men +than themselves; why, the work of the world will be done--even as the +plant produces its flowers and fruit, the work of the world will be +done. In the exaltation of Life is the remedy for the evils that +threaten the race. The reformations that men are always attempting in +the social, religious, political, and industrial world are but +attempts to change the flavor or quality of the fruit when it is +ripening on the tree. The true remedy lies in the life of the tree; in +the soil from which it springs; in the source from which the fruit +derives its quality and flavor. In the appreciation of Life, in the +passion of Life, in the production of Life, in the perfection of Life, +in the exaltation of Life, is the salvation of human kind. For this, +and this alone, man has right to live--has right to his place and part +in Life. + +All this the man saw that Christmas eve because the kiss of the little +girl, on that night of his temptation, had awakened something in his +manhood that was greater than the dreams he had been denying himself +to work out. The friendship of the child had revealed to him this +deeper truth of Life; that there are, for all true men, +accomplishments greater than the rewards of labor. The baby had taught +him that the legitimate fruit of love is more precious to Life, by +far, than the wealth and honors that the world bestows--that, indeed, +the greatest wealth, the highest honors, are not in the power of the +world to give; nor are they to be won by toil. In his thinking, this +man, too, was led by a little child. + +The man's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at his door. + +It was the little girl's mother; to tell him, as she had promised, +that the child was safely asleep. + +With his arms filled with presents, the man went softly down the +stairs. + +When all had been arranged for the morning, the man returned again to +his room; but not to sleep. There was in his heart a feeling of +reverent pride and gladness, as though he had been permitted to assist +in a religious rite, and, with his own hands, to place an offering +upon a sacred altar. And, if you will understand me, the man was +right. Whatever else Christmas has come to mean to the grown up world, +its true meaning can be nothing less than this. + +Nor did the man again turn to his book or attempt to take up the train +of thought that had so interfered with his reading. Something more +compelling than any printed page--something more insistant than his +own thoughts of Life and its meaning--lured him far away from his +grown up days--took him back again into his days that were gone. Alone +in his room that Christmas eve, the man went back, once more, to his +Yesterdays--back to a Christmas in his Yesterdays. + +Once again, his boyhood home was the scene of busy preparations for +the Christmas gaieties. Once again, the boy, tucked snugly under the +buffalo robe, drove with his parents away through the white fields to +the distant town while the music in his heart kept time to the melody +of the jingling bells. Once again, he experienced the happy perplexity +of selecting--with mother's help--a present for father while father +obligingly went to see a man on business and of choosing--with +father's assistance--a gift for mother while she rested in a far +corner of the store. And then, once again, he faced the trying +question: what should he get for the little girl who lived next door. +What, indeed, _could_ he get for _her_ but a beautiful new +doll--one with brown hair, very like the little girl's own, and brown +eyes that opened and closed as natural as life. + +The next day the boy went, with his father and the little girl and her +uncle, in the big sleigh, to the woods to find a tree for the +Christmas "exercises" at the church; and, in the afternoon, in company +with the older people, helped to make the wreaths of evergreen and +deck the tree with glittering tinsel; while the little girl strung +long strings of snowy pop corn and labored earnestly at the sweet task +of filling mosquito bar stockings with candy and nuts. + +Then came that triumphant Christmas eve, when, before the assembled +Sunday school and the crowded church, the boy took part, with his +class, in the entertainment and sat, with wildly beating heart, while +the little girl, all alone, sang a Christmas carol; and proud he was, +indeed, when the applause for the little singer was so long and loud. +And then, when the farmer Santa Claus had distributed the last +stocking of candy, the boy and the girl, with their elders, went home +together, in the clear light of the stars; while, across the white +fields, came the sound of gay laughter and happy voices mingled with +the ringing music of the sleigh bells--growing fainter and fainter--as +friends and neighbors went their several ways. + +But, best of all--by far the best of all--was that Christmas morning +at home. At the first hint of gray light in the winter sky, the boy +was awake and out of bed to gather his Christmas harvest; hailing each +toy and game and book with exclamations of delight and arousing all +the house with his shouts of: "Merry Christmas." + +The foolish, grown up, old world has a saying that we value most the +things that we win for ourselves by toil and hardship; but, believe +me, it is not so. The real treasures of earth are the things that are +won by the toil of those who bring to us, without price, the fruits of +their labor as tokens of their love. + +Very early, that long ago Christmas morning, the boy went over to the +little girl's house; for his happiness would not be complete until he +could share it with her. And the man, who, alone in his bachelor room +that Christmas eve, dreamed of his Yesterdays, saw again, with +startling clearness, his boyhood mate as she stood in the doorway +greeting him with shouts of, "Merry Christmas," as he went toward her +through the snow; and the heart of the man beat quicker at the lovely +vision--even as the heart of the boy--for she held, close in her +little mother arms, the new addition to her family of dolls--his gift. +The lonely man, that night, realized, as he had never realized before, +how full, at that moment, was the cup of the boy's proud happiness. He +realized and understood. + +I wonder--do you, also, understand? + +In the still house, the big clock in the lower hall struck the hour. +The man in his lonely room listened, counting the strokes +--nine--ten--eleven--twelve. + +It was Christmas. + +* * * * * + +And the woman, also, when she had passed safely through her trial, +looked out upon Life from a point higher than she had ever reached +before. Never before had Life, to her, looked so wide. + +But the woman did not feel stronger after the crisis through which she +had passed; she felt, more keenly than before, her weakness. More than +ever, she felt the need of a strength that she could not find within +herself. More than ever, she was afraid of the Life, that, from where +she now stood, seemed so wide. Nor did she feel a kinship with all +Life. She stood on higher ground, indeed, but the wideness of the +view, to her, only emphasized her loneliness. She sadly felt herself +as one apart--as one denied the right of fellowship. More keenly than +ever before, she felt, in the heart of her womanhood, the humiliation +of the life that sets a price upon the things of womanhood while it +refuses to recognize womanhood itself. More than ever, in her woman +heart, she was ashamed. Neither could she feel that she was doing her +part in Life--that she was taking her place--that she was a link +joining the ages of the past to the ages that would come. She felt +herself, rather, a parasite, attached to Life--not a part of--not +belonging to--but feeding upon. + +This woman who knew herself to be a woman saw, more clearly than ever +before, that one thing, only, could give her full fellowship with the +race. She saw that one thing, only, could make her a link between the +ages that were gone and the ages that were to come. That one thing, +only, could satisfy her woman heart--could make her feel that she was +not alone. + +That one thing which the woman recognized as supreme is the thing +which the Master of Life has committed peculiarly to womanhood. Not to +woman's skillful hands; not to her ready brain; not to the things of +her womanhood upon which the world into which she goes alone to labor +puts a price has the Master of Life committed this supreme thing; but +to her _womanhood_--her sex. In the womanhood that is denied by +the world that receives womankind alone, is wealth that may not be +bought by any price that the world can pay. In the womanhood of women +is that supreme thing without which human life would perish from the +earth. The exercise of this power alone can give to woman the high +place in Life that belongs to her by right divine. The woman saw that, +for her, all other work in the world would be but a makeshift--a +substitute; and, because of this, while Life had, never before seemed +so large, she had, never before felt so small--so useless. + +But still, for the woman, there was peace in her loneliness--there was +a peace that she had not had before--there was a calmness, a +quietness, that was not hers before her trial. It was the peace of the +lonely mountain top to which one climbs from out a noisy, clamoring, +village; the calmness of the deep sky uncrossed by cloud or marked by +smoke of human industry; the quietness of the wide prairie, untouched +by man's improvements. And this tranquil rest was hers because she +knew--deep in her woman's heart she knew--that she had done well; that +she had not been untrue to the soul of her womanhood. + +The woman knew that she had done well because she had come to +understand that, while life is placed peculiarly in the care and +keeping of her sex, her sex has been endowed, for the protection, +perfection, and perpetuation of Life, with peculiar instincts. She had +come to understand that, while woman has been made the giver and +guardian of Life, she, for that reason, is subject to laws that are +not to be broken save with immeasurable loss to the race. To her sex +is given, by Life itself, the divine right of selection that the +future of the race may be assured. To her sex is given an instinct +superior to reason that her choice may perfect human kind. For her, +and for the Life of her kind, there is the law that if she permits aught +but her woman instinct to influence her in selecting her mate +her children and the children of her children shall mourn. + +In the crisis of her life the woman had heard many voices--bold and +tempting, pleading and subtle--urging her to say: "Yes." But always +her instinct--her woman heart--had whispered: "No. This man is not +your mate. This is not the man you would choose to be the father of +your children. Better, far better, contribute nothing to the race than +break the law of your womanhood. Better, far better, never cross the +threshold of that open door than cross it with one who, in your heart +of hearts you know, to be not the right one." + +So the woman had peace. Even in her loneliness, she had peace--knowing +that she had done well. + +And the woman tried, now, to interest herself in the things that so +many of the women of her day seemed to find so interesting. She +listened to brave lectures by stalwart women on woman's place and +sphere in the world's work. She heard bold talks by militant women +about woman's emancipation and freedom. She attended lectures by +intellectual women on the higher life, and the new thought, and the +advanced ideas. She read pamphlets and books written by modern women +on the work of women in the social, political and industrial fields. +She became acquainted with many "new" women who, striving mightily +with all their strength of body and soul for careers, looked with a +kind of lofty disdain or pitying contempt upon those old-fashioned +mothers whose children interfere with the duty that "new" women think +they owe the world. + +But this woman who knew herself to be a woman could not interest +herself in these things to which she tried to give attention. She felt +that in giving herself to these things she would betray Life. She felt +the hollowness, the shallowness, the emptyness of it all in comparison +with that which is divinely committed to womankind. She could not but +wonder: what would be the racial outcome? When women have long enough +substituted other ideals for the ideals of motherhood--other passions +for the passions of their sex--other ambitions for the ambition to +produce and to perfect Life--other desires for the desire to keep that +which Life has committed to them--what then? "How," she asked herself, +"would the world get along without mothers? Or how could the race +advance if the best of women refused to bear children?" And then came +the inevitable thought: are the _best_ women, after all, refusing +to bear children? Might it not be that the wisdom of Mother Nature is +in this also, and that the refusal of a woman to bear children is the +best evidence in the world that she is unfit to be a mother? Is it not +better that the mothers of the race should be those who hold no ideal, +ambition, desire, aim, or purpose in life higher than motherhood? Such +women--such mothers--have, thus far, through their sons and daughters, +won every victory in Life. It is they who have made every advance of +the race possible. Will it not continue to be so, even unto the end? +Is not this indeed the law of Life? If there be any work for women +greater or of more value to the human race than the work of motherhood +then, indeed, is the end of the world, for mankind, at hand. + +From where she lay, the woman, when she first awoke that Christmas +morning, could see the sun just touching the topmost branches of the +tall trees that grew across the street. + +It was a beautiful day. But the woman did not at first remember that +it was Christmas. Idly, as one sometimes will when awakening out of a +deep sleep, she looked at the sunshine on the trees and thought that +the day promised to be clear and bright. Then, looking at the clock in +the chubby arms of the fat cupid on the mantle, she noticed the time +with a start of dismay. She must arise at once or she would be late to +her work. Why, she wondered, had not someone called her. Then, a +crumpled sheet of tissue paper and a bit of narrow ribbon on the +floor, near the table, caught her eye and she remembered. + +It was Christmas. + +The woman dropped back upon her pillow. She need not go to work that +day. She had not been called because it was a holiday. Dully she told +herself again that it was Christmas. + +The house was very quiet. There were no bare feet pattering down the +hall to see what Santa Claus had left from his pack. No exulting +shouts had awakened her. In the rooms below, there was no cheerful +litter of toys and games and pop corn and candy and nuts with bits of +string and crumpled paper from hastily opened parcels and shining +scraps of tinsel from the tree. There were no stockings hanging on the +mantle. At breakfast, there would be a few friendly gifts and, later, +the postman would bring letters and cards with the season's greetings. +That was all. + +The sun, climbing higher above the tall buildings down town, peeped +through the window and saw the woman lying very still. And the sun +must have thought that the woman was asleep for her eyes were closed +and upon her face there was the wistful smile of a child. + +But the woman was not asleep though she was dreaming. She had escaped +from the silent, childless, house and had fled far, far, away to a +land of golden memories. She had gone back into her Yesterdays--to a +Christmas in her Yesterdays. + +Once again a little girl, she lived those happy, busy, days of +preparation when she had asked herself a thousand times each day: what +would the boy give her for Christmas? And always, as she wondered, the +little girl had tried not to wish that it would be a doll lest she +should be disappointed. And always she was unable to wish, half so +earnestly, for anything else. Again she spent the hours learning the +song that she was to sing at the church on Christmas eve and wondered, +often, if _he_ would like her new dress that mother was making +for the occasion. And then, as the day drew near, there was that merry +trip to the woods to bring the tree, followed by that afternoon at the +church. The little girl wondered, that night of the entertainment, if +the boy guessed how frightened she was for him lest he forget the +words of his part; or, when she was singing before the crowd of people +that filled the church, did he know that she saw only him? And then +the triumph--the beautiful triumph--of that Christmas morning! + +The little girl in the Yesterdays needed no one to remind her what day +it was. As soon as it was light, she opened her eyes, and, wide awake +in an instant, slipped from her bed to steal down stairs while the +rest of the household still slept. And there, in the gray of the +winter morning, she found his gift. It was so beautiful, so lifelike, +with its rosy cheeks and brown hair that, almost, the little girl was +afraid that she was not awake after all; and she caught her breath +with a gasp of delight when she finally convinced herself that it was +real. She knew that it was from the boy--she _knew_. Quickly she +clasped it in her arms, with a kiss and a mother hug; and then, back +again she ran to her warm bed lest dolly catch cold. The other +presents could wait until it was really, truly, daylight and uncle had +made a fire; and she drew the covers carefully up under the dimpled +chin of her treasure that lay in the hollow of her arm, close to her +own soft little breast, as natural as life--as natural, indeed, as the +mother life that throbbed in the heart of the little girl. + +For women also it is written: "Except ye become as little children." +If only women would understand! + +All the other gifts of that Christmas time were as nothing to the +little girl beside that gift from the boy. The other things she would +enjoy all the more because the supreme wish of her heart had been +granted; but, had she been disappointed in _that_, all _else_ would +have had little power to please. Under all her Christmas pleasure +there would have been a longing for something more. Her Christmas +would not have satisfied. Her cup of happiness would not have been +full. So, all the treasures that the world can lay at woman's feet will +never satisfy if the one gift be lacking. And that woman who has felt +in her arms a tiny form moulded of her own flesh--who has drawn close +to her breast a soft little cheek and felt upon her neck the touch of +a baby hand--that woman knows that I put down the truth when I write +that those women who deny the mother instinct of their hearts and, for +social position, pleasure, public notice, wealth, or fame, kill their +love for children, are to be pitied above all creatures for they deny +themselves the heaven that is their inheritance. + +Eagerly, that morning, the little girl watched for the coming of the +boy for she knew that he would not long delay; and, when she saw him +wading through the snow, flung open wide the door to shout her +greeting as she proudly held his gift close to her heart; while on her +face and in her eyes was the light divine. And great fun they had, +that Christmas day, with their toys and games and books; but never for +long was the new doll far from the little girl's arms. Nor did she +need many words to make her happiness in his gift understood to the +boy. + +The sun was shining full in the window now; quite determined that the +woman should sleep no longer. Regretfully, as one who has little heart +for the day, she arose just as footsteps sounded outside her door. +Then came a sharp rap upon the panel and--"Merry Christmas"--called +her uncle's hearty voice. + +Bravely the woman who knew herself to be a woman answered: "Merry +Christmas." + + + + + +DEATH + +And that winter's coat, also, began to appear thin and threadbare. + +By looking carefully, one could see that the twigs of the cherry tree +were brightening with a delicate touch of fresh color, while the tiny +tips of the tender green buds were cautiously peeping out of their +snug wrappings as if to ask the state of the weather. In the orchard +and the woods, too, the Life that slept deep in the roots and under +the bark of trunks and limbs was beginning to stir as though, in its +slumber, it heard Spring knocking at its bedroom door. + +I do not know what business it was that called the man to a +neighboring city. The particular circumstances that made the journey +necessary are of no importance whatever to my story. The important +thing is this: for the first time the man was forced to recognize, in +his own life and in his work, the fact of Death. He came to see that, +in the most abundant life, Death cannot be ignored. Because Death is +one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life, this is my story: that +the man was introduced to Death. + +Hurriedly he arranged for his absence, and, rushing home, packed a few +necessities of travel in his grip, snatched a hasty dinner, and thus +reached the depot just in time to catch the evening train. He would +make the trip in the night, devote the following day to the business +that demanded his presence, and the next night would return to his +home city. + +The Pullmans were well filled, mostly with busy, eager, men who, like +himself, were traveling at night to save the daylight for their work. +But the man, perhaps because he was tired with the labor of the day or +because he wished to have for the business of the morrow a clear, +vigorous, brain, made no effort to find acquaintances who might be on +the train or to meet congenial strangers with whom to spend a pleasant +hour. When he had read the evening papers and had outlined in his mind +a plan of operation to meet the situation that compelled him to make +the hurried trip, he retired to his berth. + +The low, monotonous, hum of the flying wheels on the heavy steel +rails; the steady, easy, motion of the express as it flew over the +miles of well ballasted track; the dim light of the curtained berth, +and the quiet of the Pullman, soon lulled the tired traveler to sleep. +Mile after mile and mile after mile was marked off, with the steady +regularity of time itself, by the splendidly equipped train as it +rushed through the darkness with its sleeping passengers. Hamlets, +villages, way stations, signal towers, were passed with flash like +quickness; while the veteran in the engine cab, with the schooling of +thirty years in the hand that rested on the throttle, gazed steadily +ahead to catch, with quick eye and clear brain, the messages of the +signal lamps that, like bright colored dots of a secret code, appeared +on the black sheet of night. + +With a suddenness that defies description, the change came. + +The trained eyes that looked from the cab window read a message from +Death in the night ahead. In the fractional part of a second, the hand +on the throttle responded, doing in flash like movements all that the +thirty years had taught it to do. There was a frightful jarring, +jolting crash of grinding, screaming, brakes, followed on the instant +by a roaring, smashing, thundering, rending of iron and steel and +wood. + +The veteran, whose eye and brain and hand had been thirty years in +service, lay under his engine, a mangled, inanimate mass of flesh; His +fireman, who had looked forward to a place on the engineer's side of a +cab as a young soldier dreams of sword and shoulder straps, lay still +beside his chief. From the wrecked coaches, above the sound of hissing +steam and crackling flames, came groans and shrieks and screams of +tortured men and women and children. + +Then, quickly, the hatless, coatless, and half dressed forms of the +more fortunate ones ran here and there. Voices were heard calling and +answering. There were oaths and prayers and curses mingled with sharp +spoken commands and the sound of axes and saws and sledges, as the +men, who a few minutes before were sleeping soundly in their berths, +toiled with superhuman energy to free their fellows from that horrid +hell. + +To the man who had escaped from the trap of death that had caught so +many of his fellow passengers and who toiled now with the strength of +a giant among the rescuers, it all seemed a dream of terror from which +he must presently awake. He did not think, then, of the Death that had +come so close while he slept. He was not conscious of the danger that +had threatened him. He did not feel gratitude for his escape. He could +not think. He could only strive madly, with the strength of despair, +in the fight to snatch others from the grip of an awful fate; and, as +he fought, he prayed to be awakened from his dream. + +It was over at last. + +Hours later, the man reached his destination, and still, because his +business was so urgent, there was no time for him to think of the +Death that had come so close. Rarely does the business of life give +men time to think of the Death that stands never far away. But, when +his work was finished and he was again aboard the train, on his way +home, there was opportunity for a fuller realization of the danger +through which he had passed so narrowly--there was time to think. Then +it was that the man realized a new thing in his life. Then it was that +a new factor entered into his thinking--Death. Not the knowledge of +Death; he had always had that of course. Not the fear of Death; this +man was no coward. But the _fact_ of Death--it was the _fact_ of Death +that he realized now as he had never realized it before. + +All unexpected and unannounced--without sign of its approach or +warning of its presence--Death had stood over him. He had looked into +the eyes of the King. Death had touched him on the shoulder, as it +were, and had passed on. But Death would come again. The one firmly +fixed, undeniable, unalterable, fact in Life was, to him, now, that +Death would come again. When or how; that, he could not know; perhaps +not for many years; perhaps before the flying train could carry him +another mile. How strange it is that this one fixed, permanent, +unalterable, inevitable fact of Life--Death--is most commonly ignored. +The most common thing in Life is Death; yet few there are who +recognize it as a fact until it presents itself saying: "Come." + +Going back into the years, the man recalled the death of his mother; +and, later, when he was standing on the very threshold of his manhood, +the death of his father. Those graves on the hillside were still in +his memory but they had not realized Death for him. His grief at the +loss of those so dear to him had overshadowed, as it were, the fact of +Death itself. He thought of Death only as it had taken his parents; he +did not consider it in thinking of himself. But now--now--he had +looked into the eyes of the King. He had felt the touch of the hand +that chills. He had heard the voice that cannot be disobeyed. Death +had come into his life a _fact_. + +The low, steady, hum and whirr of the wheels and the smooth, easy +movement of the train told him of the flying miles. One by one, those +miles that lay between him and the end of his journey would go until +the last was gone and he would step from the coach to the platform of +his home depot. And, then, all suddenly, to the man, those flying +miles became as the years of his life. Even as the miles of his +journey were passing so his years had gone--so his years were going +and would go. + +The man was a young man still. For the first time, he felt himself +growing old. Involuntarily he looked at his hands; firm, strong, young +hands they were, but the man, in his fancy, saw them shaking, +withered, and parched, with prominent dull blue veins, and the skinny +fingers bent and crooked with the years. He glanced down at his +powerful, full moulded limbs, and, in fancy, saw them thin and +shrunken with age. And, suddenly, he remembered with a start that the +next day would be his birthday. In the fullness of his young manhood's +strength, he had ignored the passing years even as he had ignored +Death. As he had learned to forget Death, he had learned to forget his +birthdays. It was strange how fast the years were going, thought the +man. Scarcely would there be time for the working out of his dreams. +And, once, it had been such a long, long, time between his birthdays. +Once, he had counted the months, then the weeks, then the days that +lay between. Once, he remembered-- + +Perhaps it was the thought of his birthday that did it; perhaps it was +the memory of those graves in the old cemetery at home. Whatever it +was, the man slipped back into his Yesterdays when birthdays were ages +and ages apart and, more than anything else in the world, the boy +wanted to grow up. + +At seven, he had looked with envy upon the boy of nine while the years +of grown up men were beyond his comprehension. At nine, fifteen was +the daring limit of his dreams; so far away it seemed that scarcely he +hoped to reach it. As for eighteen--one must be very, very, old, +indeed, to be eighteen. How long the years ahead had seemed, +_then_--and _now_, how short they were when looking back! +And the birthdays--the birthdays that the man had learned to +forget--how could he have learned to forget them! What days of +triumph--what times of victorious rejoicing--those days once had been! +And so, with the fact of Death so recently forced into his life, with +the miles as years slipping under the fast whirring wheels that bore +him onward, the man lived again a birthday in the long ago. + +Weeks before that day the boy had planned the joyous occasion, for +mother had promised that he should have a party. A birthday party! +Joyous festival of the Yesterdays! What delightful hours were spent in +anticipation! What innumerable questions were asked! What a multitude +of petitions were formed and presented! What anxious consultations +with the little girl who lived next door! What suggestions were +offered, accepted and rejected, and rejected or accepted all over +again! What lists of the guests to be invited were made, revised and +then revised again! What counting of the days, and, as the day drew +near, what counting of the hours; not forgetting, all the time, to +hint, in various skillfully persuasive and suggestive ways, as to the +presents that would be most fitting and acceptable! And at last, when +the day had come, as all days must at last come, was there ever in the +history of mortal man or boy such a day? + +There was real wealth of love in mother's kiss that morning. There was +holy pleasure in the pride that was in father's face and voice. There +was unmarred joy when the little girl captured him and, while he +pretended--only pretended--to escape, gave him the required number of +thumps on the back with her soft little fist and the triumphant "one +to grow on." Then came, at last, the crowning event: and so the man +saw, again, the boys and girls who, that afternoon in his Yesterdays, +helped to celebrate his birthday. Why had he permitted them to pass +out of his life? Why had he gone out of their lives? Why must the +years rob him of the friends of the Yesterdays? + +With the birthday feast of good things and the games and sports of +childhood the busy afternoon passed. Up and down the road and across +the fields, the guests departed, with their party dresses soiled, +their party combed hair disheveled, and their party cleaned faces +smudged with grime; but with the clean, clean, joy of the Yesterdays +in their clean, clean, childish hearts. Together the boy and the girl +watched them go, with waving hands and good-bye shouts, until the last +one had passed from sight and the last whoop and call had died away. +And then, reluctantly, the little girl herself went home and the boy +was left alone by the garden hedge. + +Oh, brave, brave, day of the Yesterdays! Brave birthdays of the long +ago when Death was not a fact but a fiction! When the years were ages +apart, and the farthest reach of one's imagination carried only to +being grown up! + +From his Yesterdays the man came back to wonder: if Death should wait +until he was wrinkled, bent, and old--until his limbs were palsied, +his hearing gone, his voice cracked and shrill, and his eyes dim--if +Death should let him stay until he had seen the last of his companions +go home in the evening after that last birthday--would there be one to +stand beside him--to watch with him as the others passed from sight? +Would there be anyone to help him celebrate his last birthday, if +Death should fail to come again until he was old? + +* * * * * + +Everyone was very kind to the woman that morning when the word came +that her uncle had been killed in a railroad accident. All that kind +hearts could do for her was done. Every offer of assistance was made. +But there was really nothing that anyone could do just then. She must +first go as quickly as she could to her aunt. + +The man of authority, who had always seemed to understand her woman +heart and who had paid to her the highest tribute possible for a man +to pay a woman, had broken the news to her as gently as news of Death +can be told, and, as soon as she was ready, his own carriage was +waiting before the entrance in the street below. Nor did he burden her +with talk as they were driven skillfully through the stream of the +down town traffic and then, at a quicker pace, through the more open +streets of the residence district. + +There is so little that can be said, even by the most thoughtful, when +Death enters thus suddenly into a life. The man knew that the woman +needed him. He knew that, save for the invalid aunt, there was now no +near relative to help her do the necessary things that must be done. +There was no one to help her think what would be best to do. So he +asked her gently, as they neared the house, if she would not permit +him, for the next few days, to take the place in her life that would +have been taken by an older brother. Kindly he asked that she trust +him fully--that she let him think and do for her--be a help to her in +her need--even as he would have helped her had she consented to come +into his life as he wished her to come. And the woman, because she +knew the goodness and honor of this man's heart, thanked him with +gratitude too great for words and permitted him to do for her all that +a most intimate relative would have done. + +At last it was over. The first uncontrollable expressions of +grief--the arrangements for the funeral--the service at the house and +the long ride to the cemetery with the final parting and the return to +the house that would never again be quite the same--all those hard, +first, days were past and to-morrow--to-morrow--the woman would go +back to her work. In the final going over of affairs, the finishing of +unfinished business, the ending of undeveloped plans and prospects, +the settling and closing of accounts, and the considering of new +conditions enforced by Death, it had been made very clear that for the +woman to work was, now, more than ever necessary. There was, now, no +one but her upon whom the invalid aunt could depend for even the +necessities of life. + +And the woman was glad that she was able to provide for that one who +had always been so gentle, so patient, in suffering and who, in her +sorrow, was now so brave. Since the death of the girl's own mother, +the aunt had taken, so far as she could, a mother's place in the life +of the child; and, as the years had passed and the little girl had +grown into young womanhood, she had grown into the heart of the +childless woman until she was as a daughter of her own flesh. So the +woman did not feel this added care that was forced upon her by the +changed conditions as a burden other than a burden of love. But still, +that afternoon, when it was all over, and she faced the new future +that Death had set before her, she realized the fact of Death as she +had never realized it before. + +The years since her mother's death had not been many, and, it seemed +to her, now, that they had passed very quickly. She was only a little +girl, then, and her uncle and his wife had taken her so fully into +their hearts that she had scarcely felt the gap in her life after the +first weeks of the separation had passed. Her mother belonged to the +days of her childhood and, though the years were not many as she +looked back, those childhood days seemed far, far, away. Death had +come to her, now, in the days of her womanhood. Suddenly, +unexpectedly, with awful, startling, reality, the fact of Death had +come into her life; forcing her to consider, as she had never +considered before, the swiftly passing years. + +What--she asked herself as she thought of the morrow--what, for her, +lay at the farthermost end of that procession of to-morrows? When the +best of her strength was gone with the days and weeks and months and +years--what then? When Death should come for that one who was, in +everything but blood, her mother and who was, now, her only +companion--what then? To be left alone in the world--to go, alone, all +the rest of the journey--this was the horror that Death brought to +her. As she looked, that afternoon, into the years that were to come, +this woman, who knew that she was a woman, and who was still in the +glory and beauty of her young womanhood, felt suddenly old--she felt +as though every day of the sad days just passed had been a year. + +And then, at last, from her grief of the present and from her +contemplation of the years that were to come, she turned wearily back +to the long ago. In the loneliness and sorrow of her life she went, +again, hack into her Yesterdays. There was, indeed, no other place for +her to go but back into her Yesterdays. Only in the Yesterdays can one +escape the sadness and loneliness that attend the coming of Death. +Death has little power in the Yesterdays. In childhood life, Death is +not a fact. + +Funerals were nothing more than events of surpassing interest in those +days--a subdued, intense, interest that must not be too openly +expressed, it is true, but that nevertheless could not be altogether +suppressed. Absorbed in her play the little girl would hear, suddenly, +the ringing of the bell in the white church across the valley; and it +would ring, not joyously, cheerily, interestingly, as on Sundays but +with sad, solemn, measured, notes, that would fill her childish heart +with hushed excitement. And then--it mattered not where he was or what +he was doing--the little boy would come, rushing with eager haste, to +join her at the front gate where they always watched together for the +procession and strove for the honor of sighting first the long string +of vehicles that would soon appear on one of the four roads leading to +the church. And oh, joy of joys, if it so happened that the procession +came by the way that led past the place where they danced with such +eager impatience! + +First would come, moving with slow feet and drooping head, the old +gray horse and time worn phaeton of the minister; and they would feel +a little strange and somewhat hurt because the man of God, who usually +greeted them so cheerily, would not notice them as he passed. But the +sadness in their hearts would be forgotten the next moment as they +gazed, with excited interest and whispered exclamations, at the +shining, black, hearse with its beautiful, coal black, horses that, +stepping proudly, tossing their plumed heads, and shaking the tassels +on the long nets that hung over their glossy sides, seemed to invite +the admiration that greeted them. And then, through the glass sides of +the hearse, the boy and the girl, with gasps of interest, would +discover the long black coffin half hidden by its load of flowers; or, +perhaps, the hearse, the horses, and the coffin, would all be snow +white which, the little girl thought, was prettiest of all. Then would +follow the long line of carriages, filled with people who wore their +Sunday clothes; and the boy and the girl, recognizing a friend or +acquaintance, here and there, would wonder to themselves how it would +seem to be riding in such a procession. One by one, they would count +the vehicles and recall the number in the last funeral they had +watched; gleefully triumphant, if this procession were longer than the +last; scornfully disappointed, if it were not so imposing. And then, +when the last carriage had gone up the hill on the other side of the +creek and had disappeared from sight among the trees that half hid the +church, they would wait for the procession to reappear after the +services and would watch it crawling slowly along the distant road on +its way to the cemetery. + +And the next day they would play a funeral. + +Even as they had played a wedding, they would play a funeral. Only, +they played a wedding but that once, while they played funerals many, +many, times. + +Sometimes it would be a doll's funeral when the chief figure in the +solemn rites would be taken from the grave, after it was all over, and +would be rocked to sleep with the other dollies, none the worse, +apparently, for the sad experience. Again, the part of the departed +would be taken by a mouse that had met a violent death at the hands of +the cook; or, perhaps, they would find a baby bird that had fallen +from its nest before its wings were strong. But the grandest, most +triumphant, most successful funeral of the Yesterdays was a kitten +that had most opportunely died the very day a real grown up funeral +had passed the house. What a funeral that was--with an old shoe box +for a coffin, the boy's wagon draped with pieces of black cloth +borrowed from the rag bag for a hearse, the shepherd dog for a proudly +stepping team, and all the dolls in their carriage following slowly +behind! In a corner of the garden, not far from the cherry tree, they +dug a real grave and set up a real tombstone, fashioned by the boy, to +mark the spot. And the little girl was so earnest in her sorrow that +she cried real tears at which the boy became, suddenly, very gay and +boisterous, as boys will upon such occasions, and helped her to forget +right quickly. + +Oh, boy of the Yesterdays, who would not let his little girl mate +grieve but made her laugh and forget! Where was he now? The woman +wondered. Had Death come into his life, too? Were the years ever, to +him, as a funeral procession? Did ever he feel that he was growing +old? Could he, now, make her forget her grief--could he help her to +laugh again--or had his power gone even as those Yesterdays when +Death, too, was only a pleasing game? + +From the next room, a gentle voice called softly and the woman arose +to go to her aunt. For that one who was left dependent upon her she +would be brave and strong--she would go back to her work in the +morning. + +Only children are privileged to play with the fact of Death. Only in +the Yesterdays are funerals events of merely passing interest. Only in +the Yesterdays does Death go always past the door. + + + + + +FAILURE + +And that year, also, went to join the years of the Yesterdays. + +It is as though Life, bringing to man every twelve months a new year, +bids him try again. Always, it is necessary for man to try again. +Indeed Life itself is nothing less than this: a continual trying +again. + +In the world laboratory, mankind is conducting a series of elaborate +experiments--always on the verge of the great discovery but never +quite making it--always thinking that the secret is about to be +revealed but never quite uncovering it--always failing in his +experiments but always finding in the process something that leads +him, with hope renewed, to try again. + +The man had failed. + +Sadly, sternly, with the passing of the year, he admitted to himself +that he had failed. Humiliated and ashamed, with the coming of the new +year, he admitted that he must begin again. Bitterly he called himself +a fool. And perhaps he was--more or less. Most men are a little +foolish. The man who has never been forced to swallow his own folly +has missed a bitter but wholesome tonic that, more than likely, he +needs. This man was not the kind of a man who would blame any one but +himself for his failure. If he had been that particular kind of a fool +his failure would have been of little value either to him or to any +one. Neither would there be, for me, a story. + +I do not know the particulars of this man's failure--neither the what, +the why, nor the how. I know only that he failed--that it was +necessary for him to fail. Nor is this a story of such particulars for +they are of little importance. A man can fail in anything. Some, even, +seem to fail in everything. This, therefore, is my story: that as +Failure enters into the life of every man it came into the life of +this man. In some guise or other Failure seems to be a necessity. It +is one of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. But the man did +not, at that time, understand that his failure was a necessity. +_That_ understanding came to him only with Success. + +You may say that this man was too young to accomplish a real Failure. +But you need not bother about that, either. One is never too young to +experience Failure. And Failure, to the one who fails, is always, at +the time, very real. + +So this man saw the castles that he had toiled so hard to build come +tumbling down about him. So he was awakened from his bright dreams to +find that they were only dreams. So he came to see his work as +idleness and folly. Sorrowfully he looked at the ruin of his building. +Hopelessly he recalled his dreams. Despairingly he looked upon his +fruitless labor. With his fine manhood's strength dead within him, he +bitterly felt himself to be but a weakling; fit only to be pushed +aside by the stronger, better, men among whom he went, now, with +lifeless step and downcast face. There was left in his heart no +courage and no hope. He saw himself a most miserable coward, and, +ashamed and disgraced in his own sight, he shrank from the eyes of his +fellows and withdrew into himself to hide. + +And the only thing that saved the man was this: he did not pity +himself. Self-pity is debilitating. It is the dry rot that weakens the +life lines. It is the rust that eats the anchor chains. At the last +analysis, a man probably knows less about himself than he knows about +others. The only difference is that what he knows about others is +sometimes right while that which he thinks he knows about himself is +nearly always wrong. Salvation is in pitying someone else. If one must +have pity he should accept it from strangers only. The pity of +strangers is harmless to the object of it and very gratifying--to the +strangers. Self-accusation, self-censure, self-condemnation: these are +the antidotes for the poison that sometimes enters the soul through +Failure. But these antidotes must be administered with care. +Self-accusation has, usually, a very low percentage of cause. +Self-censure, undiluted, is dangerous to self-respect. And +self-condemnation is rarely to be had pure. When one brings himself to +trial before himself his chance for justice is small--the judge is +nearly always prejudiced, the jury packed, and the evidence +incomplete. + +The man, when he had withdrawn into himself, saw the world moving on +its way without him as though his failure mattered, to it, not at all. +He was forced to realize that the work of the world could be done +without him. He was compelled to see that the sum of human happiness +and human woe would be neither less nor more because of him. The world +did not really need his success--he needed it. The world did not +suffer from his failure--he suffered. He did not understand, then, +that no man is in line for success until he understands how little +either his success or his failure matters to the world. He did not +know, then, how often a good strong failure is the corner stone of a +well builded life. + +A child is not crippled for life because it falls when it is learning +to walk; neither has a man come to the end of his upward climb because +he "stubs his toe." The man knew this later but just then he was too +sore at heart to think of even trying to get up again. All those first +months of that new year he did nothing but the labor that was +necessary for him to do in order to live. And, in that which he did, +he had no heart but toiled as a dumb beast toils in obedience to its +master. The joy of work which is the reward of labor was gone. + +So the spring came. The air grew warm and balmy. The grass on the +lawns and in the parks began to look soft and inviting to feet that +were weary with the feel of icy pavements. The naked trees were being +clothed in spring raiment, fresh and green. The very faces of the +people seemed to glow with a new warmth as though a more generous life +was stirring in their veins. As the sun gathered strength, and the +coldness and bleakness of winter retreated farther and farther before +the advance of summer, the manner and dress of the crowds upon the +streets marked the change as truly as the habits of the birds and +flowers, until, at last, here and there, straw hats appeared and +suddenly, as bluebirds come, barefooted boys were playing marbles in +the alleys and fishing tackle appeared in the windows of the stores. + +All his life the man had been an ardent fisherman. And so, when his +eyes were attracted that noon, as he was passing one of those windows +filled with rods and reels and lines and hooks and nets and all things +dear to the angler's heart, he paused. His somber face brightened. His +form, that was already stooped a little, straightened. His listless +eyes, for a moment, shone with their old time fire. Then he went on to +his work. + +But, less than ever, that afternoon, was the man's heart in his labor. +While his hands mechanically performed their appointed tasks and his +brain as mechanically did its part, the man himself was not there. He +had gone far, far, away into his Yesterdays. Once again, in his +Yesterdays, the man went fishing. + +The boy was a very small boy when first he went fishing. And he fished +in the brook that ran through the valley below the little girl's +house. His hook was only a pin, bent by his own fingers; his line, a +bit of string or thread borrowed from mother's work basket; and his +rod, a slender branch of willow or a green shoot from one of the trees +in the orchard, or, it might be, a stalk of the tall pigweed that grew +down behind the barn; and for bait, those humble friends of boyhood, +the angle worms. How the boy shouted and danced with glee when he +found a big one; even though he did shudder a little as he picked it +up, squirming and wiggling, to drop it into the old baking powder can +he called his bait box! And how the little girl shrieked with fear and +admiration! Very proud was the boy that he had courage to handle the +crawling things--though many of them did escape into their tiny holes +before he could bring himself quite to the point of catching them and +pulling them out. "Only girls are afraid of worms and toads and bugs. +Boys can bait their own hooks." Manfully, too, did he hide his +thoughts when conscience pricked him, even as he the worm. "Do worms +have feelin's?" He wondered. "Does it hurt?" Half frightened, he had +laughed, one day, when the little girl asked: "What if some wicked +giant should catch you and stick you on a great hook and swing you +through the air, kicking and squirming, and drop you into the water +where it's deep, and leave you there till some great fish comes along +to swallow you like the man in the Bible that mother reads about?" + +But the boy in his Yesterdays carried home no fish from that little +brook; though he spent many hours in the hot summer sun watching +eagerly for a bite. He knew there must be fish there--great big +fellows--there were such lovely places for them under the grassy +banks--if only they would come out--but they never did. Not until he +was older did the boy understand the real reason of this failure. The +water was not deep enough. He learned, in time, that big fish are not +found in shallow streams. + +I do not know, but perhaps, the man, even as the boy, was fishing in a +too shallow stream. + +As he grew older, the boy wandered farther down the creek. A "sure +'nough" fishhook took the place of the bent pin and a real "boughten" +line, with a sinker, was tied to the hook though he still used the +slender willow rods. And, now, he sometimes brought home a fish or two +from the deeper water down in the pasture lot; and no success in after +life would ever bring to the man the same thrill of delight that was +felt by the boy when he landed a tiny "chub" or "shiner." No Roman +general, returning in triumph from the wars with captives chained to +his chariot, ever moved with a prouder spirit than he, when he went +home to mother with his little string of captured fishes. + +Then there came a day that was the proudest in his life--the day when +he was given a larger hook, a longer line, a cane pole, and permission +to go to the mill pond. No more fishing for him in the brook now! He +had outgrown all that. How small the little stream seemed, now, as he +crossed it on his way down the road! Could it be possible, he asked +himself, that he was ever content to fish there, and with a bent pin, +at that? And he felt carefully in his pocket to see if those extra +hooks were safe; and took another peep at the big worms in his bait +box--an old tomato can this time. There would be no twinge of +conscience when he baited his hook that day. And proudly he tried to +take longer steps in the dusty road; almost breaking into a run as he +neared the turn where he knew that he would see the pond. + +Often, the boy wondered if there could be anywhere in all the world +such another body of water as that old mill pond. Often, he wondered +how deep it was down by the dam in the shadow of the giant elms that +half hid the mill. Many times, he questioned: "Where did all the water +come from anyway?" Surely it could not _all_ come from the tiny +stream that flowed down the valley below the little girl's house! Why, +he could wade in that and there were boats on this! + +Once again, the man, in his Yesterdays, stood at that turn in the +road; under his bare, boyish, feet the hot, hot, dust; over his head +the blue, blue, sky; before him the beautiful water that mirrored back +the trees, the clouds, and the buildings. Once again, he sat in the +shadow of the old covered bridge, fish pole in hand, and, with boyish +delight and pride, hailed each addition to the string of catfish and +suckers that swam near by, safely anchored to the bank. He could hear +the drowsy hum of the mill across the pond and the merry shout of the +miller hailing some passer-by. And, now and then, would come, the +clatter of horses' hoofs and the rumble of a farmer's wagon on the +planks above his head and he would idly watch the ever widening +circles in the water as some bit of dirt, jarred from the beams above, +marred the glassy surface. The swallows were wheeling here and there +in swift, graceful motions; one moment lightly skimming the surface of +the pond and the next, high in air above the trees and buildings. A +water snake came gliding toward an old log close by. A turtle was +floating lazily in the sun. And a kingfisher startled him with its +harsh, discordant, rattle as it passed in rapid flight toward the +upper end of the pond where the tall cat-tails were nodding in the +sunlight and the drooping willows fringed the bank with green. + +The shadows of the giant elms near the dam grew longer and longer. A +workman left the mill and started across the pasture toward his home. +A farmer stopped on his way from the field to water his team. The +frogs began to call shrilly from the reeds and rushes. The swallows, +twittering, sought their nests beneath the bridge. It was time that +the boy was going home. + +Slowly, reluctantly, the little fisherman drew his line from the water +and wrapped it carefully round the pole. Then, picking up his string +of fish, he inspected them thoughtfully--admiring the largest and +wishing that the others were like him--and, casting one last glance at +the water, the trees, the mill, started down the road toward home. + +He must hurry now. It was later than he thought. Mother would be +watching and waiting supper for him. How pleased she would be to see +his fish. He wished that the string were longer. How quickly the night +was coming on. It was almost dark. And then, as the boy went down into +the deepening dusk of the valley, he saw, on the other side, the light +in the windows. He was almost home. + +Tired little fisherman. Wearily he crossed the creek and made his way +up the gentle slope toward the lights that gleamed so brightly against +the dark mass of the orchard hill, while high above, the first stars +of the evening were coming out. And then, as in the gloaming he +reached at last the gate where the little girl lived, he found her +waiting--watching anxiously--eager to greet him with sweet solicitude. +"Did you catch anything?" + +Proudly the boy exhibited his catch--wishing again in his heart that +the string were longer. Sadly, he told how the biggest fish of all had +dropped from his hook just when he had it almost landed. And +sometimes--the man remembered--sometimes the boy was forced to answer +that he had caught nothing at all. But always, then, would he bravely +declare that he would have better luck next time. + +Tired little fisherman--going home with his catch in the evening! +Always--disappointed little fisherman--wishing that his string were +longer! Always-brave-to-try-again little fisherman--when his day was a +day of failure! + +The man came back from his Yesterdays, that afternoon, to wonder: when +the shadows of his life grew longer and longer--when his sun was +slowly setting--when he reluctantly withdrew, at last, from the busy +haunts of men--when he went down the road toward home, as it grew +darker and darker until he could not see the way, would there be a +light in the window for him? Would he know that someone was waiting +and watching? And would he wish that his string of fish were longer? +However great his catch, would he not wish that the string were +longer? And might it not be, too, that always in life the largest fish +would be the one that he had almost landed? + +And it was so that the old fire came again into the man's eyes to +stay. He stood once more erect before men. Again his countenance was +lighted with courage and with hope. With the brave words of the little +fisherman who had caught nothing, the man, once again, faced the world +to work out his dreams. + +* * * * * + +And the woman who knew herself to be a woman was haunted by the +thought of Failure. + +After Death had come with such suddenness into her life, she had gone +back to her work, and, in spite of the changes that Death had wrought, +the days had gone much as the days before. But, because of the new +conditions and the added responsibilities, she gave herself, now, +somewhat more fully to that work than she had ever done before. She +left for herself less time for the dreams of her womanhood--less time +for waiting beside that old, old, door beyond which lay the life that +she desired with all the strength of her woman heart. + +And that world in which she labored--that life to which she now gave +herself more and more--rewarded her more and more abundantly. Because +she was strong in body with skillful hands and quick brain; because +she was superior in these things to many who labored beside her; she +received a larger reward than they. For the richness, the fullness, of +her womanhood, she received nothing. From love, the only thing that +can make that which a woman receives fully acceptable to her, she +received nothing. + +There were many who, now, congratulated the woman upon what they +called her success. And some, who knew the measure of the reward she +received from the world that set a price upon the things of her +womanhood, envied her; wishing themselves as fortunate as she. She was +even pointed out and spoken of triumphantly, by certain modern, +down-to-date, ones, as an example of the successful woman of the age. +Her success--as it was called--was cited as a triumphant argument for +the right of women to sell their womanhood for a price: to put their +strength of mind and flesh and blood, their physical and intellectual +vigor, their vitality and life, upon a market that cannot recognize +their womanhood; even though by so doing they rob the race of the only +contribution they can make that will add to its perfection. + +Really, if the customs and necessities of this age of +"down-to-date-ism" are to take the world's mothers, then it would seem +that this age of "down-to-date-ism" should find, for the perpetuation +and perfection of the race, a substitute for women. The age should +evolve a better way, a more modern method, than the old-fashioned way +that has been in vogue so long. For, just as surely as the laws of +life are beyond our power to repeal, so surely will the operation of +the laws of life not change to accommodate our newest thinking and the +race, by spending its best woman strength in work that cannot +recognize womanhood, will bequeath to the ages to come an ever +lowering standard of human life. + +The woman felt this--she felt that she could most truly serve the race +by being true to the dreams of her womanhood. She felt that the work +she was doing was not her real work but a makeshift to be undertaken +under protest and discarded without regret when her opportunity to +enter upon the real work of her life should present itself. But still, +even while feeling this, gradually there had come to be, for her, an +amount of satisfaction in knowing that she was succeeding in that +which she had set her hand to do. In the increasing reward she +received, in the advanced position she occupied, in the deference that +was shown her, in the authority that was given her, in the larger +interests that were intrusted to her, and even in the attitude of +those who held her to be a convincing example of the newest womanhood, +there was coming to be a kind of satisfaction. + +Then came that day when the woman expressed a little of this +satisfaction to the man who had always understood and who had been +always so kind. In this, too, the woman felt that he understood. + +The man had not sought to take advantage of the intimacy she had +granted him in those trying days when Death had come into her life. He +had never failed in being kind and considerate in the thousand little +things of the work that brought them together and that gave her +opportunity to learn his goodness and the genuine worth of his +manhood. Nor had he failed to make her understand that still he hoped +for the time when she would go with him into the life beyond the old, +old, door. But that day, when she made known to him, a little, her +growing satisfaction in that which the world called her success, she +saw that he was hurt. For the first time he seemed to be troubled and +afraid for her. + +Very gravely lie looked down into her eyes. Very gravely he +congratulated her. And then, quietly and convincingly, with words of +authority, he pointed out to her the possible heights she might +reach--would reach--if she continued. He told her of the place that +she, if she chose, might gain. He spoke of the reward that would be +hers. And, as he talked to her of these things, he saw the light of +interest and anticipation kindling in her eyes. Sadly he saw it. Then, +pausing--hesitating--he asked her slowly: "Do you really think that it +is, after all, worth while? For _you_, I mean, do you think that +it would be a satisfying success?" He did not wish to interfere with +her career, he said--and smiled a little at the word. He would even +help her if--if--she was sure that such a career would bring her the +real happiness he so much wanted her to have. + +And the woman, as the man looked into her eyes and as she saw the +trouble in his thoughtful face and listened to his gravely spoken +words, felt ashamed. Remembering, again, the dreams of her womanhood, +she was ashamed. From that day, the woman was haunted by the thought +of Failure. + +Why, she asked herself, why could she not open the door of her heart +to this man who had been so good to her--so true to her and to +himself? If he had taken advantage in any way, if he had sought to use +his power, she would not have cared so much. But because she knew him +so well; because she had seen his splendid character, his fine +manhood, his kindness of heart, and his strength; because of the +dreams of her womanhood; she had tried to open the door and bid him +take possession of her heart that was as an empty room furnished and +ready. But she could not. She seemed to have lost the key. +Why--why--could she not give this man what he asked? Why could she not +go with him into the life of her dreams? What was it that held her +back? What was it that held shut the door of her womanhood against +him? Could it be that, after all, she was fit only for the career upon +which she was already entered? Could it be that she was not worthy to +enter into the life her womanhood craved--the life for which she had +longed with such passionate longing--the life she had desired with +such holy desire? Could it be that she was unworthy of her womanhood? + +Bitterly this woman, who knew herself to be a woman, who had dreamed +the dreams of womanhood, and who was pointed out as a successful +woman--bitterly she felt that she had failed. + +She knew that her failure could not be because she had squandered the +wealth of her womanhood. Very carefully had she kept the treasures of +her womanhood for the coming of that one for whom she waited--knowing +not who he was but only that she would know him when he came. Might it +be that he _had_ come and she did not know him? Might it be that +the heart of her womanhood did not know? If this was so then, indeed, +Life itself is but an accident and must trust to blind chance the +fulfillment of its most sacred mission--the perpetuation and +perfection of itself. + +That the Creator should give laws for the right mating of all his +creatures except man--leaving men and women, alone, with no guide to +lead them aright in this relationship that is most vital to the +species--is unthinkable. Deeply implanted in the hearts of men and +women there is, also, an instinct; an instinct that is superior to the +dictates of the social, financial, or ecclesiastical will. And it is +this natural instinct of mate selection that should govern the +marriages of human kind as truly as it marries the birds of the fields +and the wild things that mate in the forests. + +The woman knew, instinctively, that she should not give herself to +this man. She felt in her heart that to do so would make her kin to +her sisters in the unnamable profession. The church would sanction, +the state would legalize, and society would accept such a union--does +accept such unions--but only the divine laws of Life, given for the +protection of Life, can ever make a man and a woman husband and wife. +The laws that govern the right mating of human kind are not enacted by +organizations either social, political, or religious, but are written +in the hearts of those who would, in mating, fulfill the purpose of +Life. These laws may be broken by man but they cannot by him be +repealed; and the penalty that is imposed for their violation is very +evident to all who have eyes to see and who observe with +understanding. + +The woman knew, also, that, in respect and honor and gratitude to this +man, she dared not do this thing against which the instinct of her +heart protested. But still she asked herself: "Why? Why was the door +shut against him? Why was it not in her power to do that which she so +longed to do?" + +And still, the thought of Failure haunted her. + +And so it was, that, in asking, "why"--in seeking the reason of her +failure, the woman was led back even to the years of her childhood. +Back into her Yesterdays she went in search of the key that kept fast +locked the door of her heart against the man whom she would have so +gladly admitted. And, all the way back, as she retraced the steps of +her years, she looked for one who might have the key. But she found no +one. And in her Yesterdays she found only a boy who had entered her +heart when it was the heart of a little girl. + +That the boy of her Yesterdays lived still in the heart of the woman, +she knew. But surely--surely--the boy was not strong enough to hold +her woman heart against the man who sought admittance. The boy could +not hold the door against the man and against the woman herself. Those +vows, made so solemnly under the cherry tree, were but childish vows. +It was but a play wedding, after all. And the kiss that had sealed the +vows--the kiss that was so different from other kisses--it was but a +childish kiss ... In the long years that had come between that boy and +girl the vows and the kiss had become but memories--even as the games +they played--even as her keeping house and her family of dolls. That +child wedding belonged only to the Yesterdays. + +The woman was haunted by the thought of Failure. + + + + + +SUCCESS + +The world said that he was a young man to have achieved so notable a +Success. And he was. But years have, really, little to do with a man's +age. It is the use that a man makes of his years that ages him or +keeps him young. + +This man knew that he was a man. He knew that manhood is not a matter +of years. And, knowing this, he had dreamed a man's dream. In the +world he had found something to do--a man's work--and from his +Occupation he had gained Knowledge. He had learned the value of +Ignorance and, behind the things that men have hung upon and piled +about it, he had come to recognize Religion. He knew both the dangers +and the blessings of Tradition. He had gained the heights that are +fortified by Temptation and from those levels so far above the +lowlands had looked out upon Life. Death he knew as a fact and through +Failure he had passed as through a smelting furnace. It is these +things, I say, that count for more in life than years. So, although he +was still young, the man was ready for Success. He was in the fullness +of his manhood strength. The tide of Life, for him, was just reaching +its height. + +I do not know just what it was in which the man achieved Success. Just +what it was, indeed, is not my story; nor does it matter for Success +is always the same. My story is this: that the man achieved Success +while he was still young and strong to rejoice in the triumph. + +The dreams that he had dreamed on the hilltop, when first he realized +his manhood, were, in part, fulfilled. He was looked upon by the world +as one not of the common herd--as one not of the rank and file. He was +accepted, in the field of his work, as a leader--a master. He was held +as one having authority and power. The world pointed him out to its +children as an example to be followed. The mob, that crowds always at +the foot of the ladder, looked up and cursed or begged or praised as +is the temper of such mobs. His name was often in the papers. When he +appeared on the streets or in public places he was recognized. The +people told each other who he was and what he had done. He was +received as a companion by those who were counted great by the world. +Doors that were closed to the multitude, and that had been closed to +him, were opened readily. Opportunities, offered only to the few, were +presented. The golden stream of wealth flowed to his feet. By the +foolish hangers-on of the world he was sought--he was offered praise +and admiration. All that is called Success, in short, was his; not in +so great a measure as had come to some older than he, it is true; but +it was genuine; it was merited; it was secure; and, with the years, it +would increase as a river nearing the sea. + +And the man, as he looked back to that day of his dreams, was glad +with an honest gladness. As he looked back to the time when he had +asked of the world only something to do, he was proud with a just +pride. As he looked back upon the things out of which he had builded +his Success and saw how well he had builded, he was satisfied. But +still in his gladness and pride and satisfaction there was a +disappointment. + +In his dreams, when he had looked out upon the world as a conquering +emperor, the man had seen only the deeds of valor--the exhibitions of +courage, of heroism, of strength--he had seen only the victories--the +honors. But now, in the fulfillment of his dreams--when he had won the +victory--when the honors were his--he knew the desperate struggle, the +disastrous losses, the pitiful suffering. He had felt the dangers grip +his heart. He had felt the horrid fear of defeat striking at his soul. +Upon him were the marks of the conflict. His victory had not been won +without effort. Success had demanded a price and he had paid. Perhaps +no one but the man himself knew how great was the price he had paid. + +The man found also that Success brought cares greater than he had ever +known in the days of his struggle. Always there are cares that wait at +the end of the battle and attend only upon the victor. Always there +are responsibilities that come only when the victory is won--that are +never seen in the heat of the conflict. + +Once let it be discovered that you have the strength and the +willingness to carry burdens and burdens will be heaped upon you until +you stagger, fainting, under the load. Life has never yet bred a man +who could shoulder the weight that the world insists that he take up +in his success. And, when the man could not carry all the burdens that +the world brought because his strength and endurance was only that of +a mortal, the world cursed him--called him selfish, full of greed, +heartless, an oppressor caring nothing for the woes of others. Those +who had offered no helping hand in the time of his need now clamored +loudly for a large part of his strength. Those who had cared nothing +for his life in the times of his hardships now insisted that he give +the larger part of his life to them. Those who had held him back now +demanded that he lift them up to a place beside him. Those who had +shown him only indifference--coldness--contempt, now begged of him +attention--friendship--honors--aid. + +And from all these things that attended his success the man found it +impossible to escape. The cares, the burdens, the responsibilities +that Success forced him to take up rested heavily upon him. So heavy +indeed were these things that he had little strength or will left for +the enjoyment of that which he had so worthily won. + +And the victory that he had so hardily gained, the place that he now +held, the man found that he could keep only by the utmost exertion of +his strength. The battles he had fought were nothing in comparison to +those he must now fight. The struggle he had made was nothing to the +effort he must continue to make. Temptations multiplied and appeared +in many new and unexpected forms. The very world that pointed him out +as an example watched eagerly for excuse to condemn. Those who sought +him with honors--who praised and flattered him, in envy, secretly +hoped for his ruin. Those who followed him like dogs for favors would +howl like wolves on his trail if he turned ever so little aside. Those +who opened for him the doors of opportunities would flock like +vultures to carrion if he should fall. The world, that, without +consideration, heaped upon him its burdens, would trample him beneath +its feet if he should slip under the weight. Nor had he in Success won +freedom. His very servants were freer than he, to come and go, to seek +their peculiar pleasures. + +The chains with which Success had fettered the man were unusually +galling and heavy upon him that day, when, on his way to an important +appointment, his carriage was checked in a crowded street. The man's +mind was so absorbed in the business waiting his attention that he did +not notice how dense was the crowd that barred the way. +Impatiently--with overwrought nerves--he spoke sharply, commanding his +man to drive on. + +The man begged pardon but it was impossible. + +"Impossible," still more sharply, "what's the matter?" + +The driver ventured a smile, "It's the circus parade, sir." + +"Then turn around." + +But that, too, was impossible. The traffic had pushed in behind +hemming them in. + +Then, down the street that crossed in front of the crowded jam of +vehicles, came the familiar sound of trumpets and the gorgeously +attired heralds at the head of the procession appeared, followed by +the leading band with its crashing, smashing, music. + +As gilded chariot followed gilded chariot, each drawn by many pairs of +beautiful horses, gaily plumed and equipped--as the many riders, in +glittering armor and flashing, spangled, costumes, rode proudly past; +followed by the long line of elephants and camels with the cages of +their fellow captives; and, in turn, by the chariot racers, the +clowns, and the wagons of black faced fun makers; and at last by the +steam calliope with its escort of madly shouting urchins--the man in +the carriage slipped away from the cares and burdens of the present +into the freedom of his Yesterdays. He escaped from the galling chains +that Success had put upon him and lived again a circus day in the long +ago. + +Weeks before the date of the great event, the barns and sheds and +every available wall in the little village, to which the boy often +went with his father, would be covered with gorgeous pictures +announcing the many startling, stupendous, wonders, to be seen for so +small a price. There was a hippopotamus of such size that a boat load +of twenty naked savages was not for him a mouthful. There were +elephants so huge that the house where the boy lived was but a play +house beside them. There were troops of aerial artists, who, on wires +and rings and trapeze and ladders and ropes, did daring, dreadful, +death defying, deeds, that no simian in his old world forest would +ever think of attempting. There was a great, glittering, gorgeous, +procession, of such length that the farther end was lost beyond the +distant horizon and tents that covered more acres of ground than the +boy could see from the top of the orchard hill. + +Wonderful promises of the billboards! Wonderful! Wonderful promises of +the billboards of Life! Wonderful! + +Then would follow the days of waiting--the endless days of +waiting--when the boy, with the help of the little girl, would try to +be everything that the billboards pictured, from the roaring lion in +his cage to the painted clown who cut such side splitting capers and +the human fly that, with her gay Japanese parasol, walked upside down +upon a polished ceiling. When circus day was coming, the fairies and +knights and princes and soldiers and all their tried and true +companions were forced to go somewhere--anywhere--out of the boy's +way. There was no time, in those busy days, even for fishing. The old +mill pond had no charm that was not exceeded by the promises of the +billboards. The earth itself, indeed, was merely a place upon which to +pitch a circus tent. The charms of the little girl, even, were almost +totally eclipsed by the captivating loveliness of those ladies who, in +spangled tights of blue and pink and red, hung by their teeth at dizzy +heights, bestrode glittering wheels upon slack wires, or were shot +from cannon to soar, amid black smoke and lurid flame, like angels, +far above the heads of the common people. + +There was no lying in bed to be called the third time the morning of +that day; when at last it came. Scarcely had the sun peeped through +the orchard on the hill when the boy was up and at the window +anxiously looking to see if the sky was clear. Very early the start +for town was made for there is much on circus day that is not pictured +on the billboards--_that_, of course, the boy knew. And, as they +drove through the fresh smelling fields, the boy would wonder if the +long journey would ever come to an end and would ask himself, with +sinking heart: "What if they had mistaken the day? What if something +had happened that the circus could not materialize the promises of the +billboards? What, if the hippopotamus, the elephants, the beautiful +ladies in spangles and tights, and all the other promises of the +billboards should fail?" And somewhere, deep within his being, the boy +would feel a thrill of gladness that the little girl was so close +beside him. If anything should happen that the promises of the +billboards should fail he would need the little girl. While, if +nothing happened--if it was all as pictured--still it would not be +enough if the little girl were not there. + +It was all over at last. The spangled riders galloped out of the ring; +the trapeze performers made their last death defying leap; the clown +cracked his last joke and cut his last caper; the last peanut in the +sack was devoured by the elephant; and, at the close of the long day, +the boy and the girl went back through the quiet fields to their +homes; tired with the excitement and wonder of it all but with sighs +of content and happiness. And, deep in his heart, that night, the boy +resolved that he would grow up to travel with a circus. He would be +very sorry to leave father and mother and the little girl but nothing +in the world--nothing--should keep him from such a glorious career. + +The man knew, now, that the promises of those billboards in his +Yesterdays were never fulfilled. He knew, now, that the golden +chariots were not gold at all but only gilded. He knew, now, that +those wondrous beings who wore the glittering, spangled, costumes, +were only very common and very ordinary men and women. He did not, +now, envy the riders in the procession or the performers in the tent. +He knew that to have a place in the parade or to perform in the ring, +is to envy those whose applause you must win. The quiet of the old +fields; the peaceful home under the orchard hill; the gentle +companionship of the little girl; these were the things that in the +man's life endured long after the glamor of the circus was gone. + +Through the circus day crowd the man was driven on to his appointment +but his mind was not now occupied with the business that awaited him. +His thoughts were not with the crowd that filled the streets. His +heart was in his Yesterdays. The music of the circus band, the sight +of the parade that so stirred his memories of childhood, had awakened +within him a hunger for the old home scenes. He longed to escape from +Success--to get away from the circus parade of Life in which he found +himself riding. He was weary of performing in the ring. He wanted to +go home through the quiet fields. Perhaps--perhaps--amid the scenes of +his Yesterdays, he might find that which Success had not brought. + +As quickly as he could make arrangements, he went. + +Of the woman's success, I cannot write here. My story has been poorly +told, indeed, if I have not made it clear that, for this woman who +knew herself to be a woman, Success was inseparable from Love. + +For every woman who knows herself to be a woman, Love and Success are +one. + + + + + +LOVE + +Again it was that time of the year when every corner of the world is a +lovers' corner. + +On bough and branch, in orchard and wood; on bush and vine, in garden +and yard; in meadow grass and pasture sod; on the silvery lichens that +cling to the rocks; among the ferns and mosses that dwell in cool +retreats; amid the reeds and rushes by the old mill pond; in the +fragrant mints and fluted blades on the banks of the little creek; the +children of Nature sought their mates or by their mates were sought. + +Every flower cup was a loving cup, lifted to drink a pledge to Life; +every tint of color was a blush of love, called forth by the wooing of +Life; every perfumed breath was a breath of love, a blessing and +prayer of Life; every rustling movement was a whisper of love, a +promised word of Life; every touch of the breeze was a caress of love, +a passionate kiss of Life; every sunbeam was a smile of love, warm +with the tender triumph of Life. + +The bees, that, in their labor for hive and swarm, carry the golden +pollen from flower to flower, preach thus the word of God. The gauze +winged insects, that, in the evening, dance their aerial mating dance, +declare thus the Creator's will. The fireflies, that, in the night +time, light their tiny lamps of love, signal thus a message from the +throne on high. + +The fowls of the air, singing their mating songs; the wild stallion on +the hills, trumpeting aloud his fiery strength; the bull on the +plains, thundering his bellowing challenge; the panther that in the +mountains screams to his mate; the wolf that in the timber howls to +his mistress; declare thus the supreme law of Life--make known the +unchanging purpose of God--and evidence an authority and power divine. + +In all this wooing and mating; in all this seeking and being sought; +in all this giving and receiving; in all this loving and being loved; +in all natural and holy desire; Life is exalted--the divine is +worshiped--acceptable offerings to God are made. + +To preserve Life--to perpetuate Life--to produce Life--to perfect +Life--to exalt Life--this is the purpose of Life. In all the activity +of Life there is no other meaning manifest. This, indeed, _is_ +Life. How foolish then to think only of eternal Life as though it +began at the grave. This Life that _is_, is the eternal Life. +_Eternity is to-day_. The man and woman who mate in love fulfill +thus the eternal law of Life, and, in their children, conceived and +born in Love, do they know and do the will of God, even as do all +things that are alive. + +Life and Love are one. + +The man had been at his boyhood home but three days when the neighbor, +who lived next door, told him that his childhood playmate was coming, +with her aunt, to visit their old home for a few weeks. + +"Needs a rest and quiet" the neighbor said; and smiled at nothing at +all as neighbors will sometimes do. + +Perhaps, though, the neighbor smiled at the look of surprise and +bewilderment that swept over the man's face as he heard the news, or +it might have been at the mingling of pleasure and regret that was in +his voice as he answered: "Indeed." Or, perhaps, the neighbor was +wondering what the woman would say and how she would look if she knew +that the man was to be next door. Whatever the reason the neighbor +smiled. + +They did not know that the woman was, in reality, seeking to escape +from the thought of Failure that so haunted her. Since that day when +her good friend had talked to her of her career and had gravely +asked--"for _you_ do you think it would be success?"--her work +had become more and more unbearable. In desperation, at last, she had +arranged to go, for a few weeks, back to the scenes of her girlhood; +hoping to find there, as she had found before, the peace and strength +she needed. + +The cherry tree, in the corner of the garden near the hedge, showered +the delicate petals of its blossoms down with every touch of the +gentle breeze. In the nearby bower of green, a pair of brown birds had +just put the finishing touch to a new nest. But, in the years that had +passed since that boy and girl play wedding, the tree had grown large, +and scarred, and old. Many pairs of brown birds had nested and reared +their broods in the hedge since that day when the lad had kissed his +childhood mate with a kiss that was different. And the little opening +through which the boy and girl had so often gone at each other's call +was closed by a growth of branches that time had woven as if to shut, +forever, that gateway of their Yesterdays. On his former visit, the +man had looked for that gateway of his childhood but could not find +it. And now, when he heard that she was coming, he went again, +curiously, to see if he could find any sign to show where the opening +had been. But the branches that the years had woven hid from the man's +eyes every trace of the old way that, in his Yesterdays, had been so +plain. + +Late that afternoon, when the neighbor, coming from the depot with his +guests, drove slowly up the hill, the man stood at the gate where, +years before, the little boy had sat on the post, and, swinging his +bare legs, had watched the big wagons, loaded with household goods, +turning into the yard of the place next door. + +There was no reason why the man should get up when the first touches +of gray light showed in the eastern sky the next morning, but the day +seemed to call him and he arose and went out. From the little hill +where he had sat that day when first he knew that he was a man and +where his manhood life began with his dreams, he watched the sun rise +and saw the sleeping world awake. Then back through the orchard that +was all dew drenched and ringing with the morning hymn of the birds, +he went, until he stood in the garden. + +The man did not know why he went into the garden. Something seemed to +lead him there. And he went very softly as one goes into places that +are holy with the memories of dead years. Very still, he stood, +watching the two birds that had builded their nest in the hedge near +the cherry tree that, now, lifted its branches so high. The two birds +were very, very, busy that morning; but, busy as they were, the father +bird could not resist pouring forth the joy of his life in a flood of +melody while his mate, swinging and fluttering and chirping on a +nearby twig, seemed to enter as fully and heartily into his sentiments +as though the song were her own. Breathlessly, with bare head and +upturned, eager, face, the man watched and listened. + +When the song was ended he drew a long breath--then started and, +without moving from his place, looked carefully around. A low call had +reached his ears--a familiar call that seemed to come out of the long +ago. Surely his fancy was playing him strange tricks that morning. + +He was turning toward the house when, again, that call came--low and +clear. It was a call of his Yesterdays. And this time it was followed +by a low, full throated laugh that was as full of music as the song of +the bird to which the man had been listening. + +With amazement and wonder upon his face, he turned quickly toward the +hedge, as a voice that was like an echo of the laugh said: "Good +morning! Pardon me for startling you--you looked so much like the +little boy that I couldn't resist." + +[Illustration: When they told me that you were here I wanted to go +away again] + +"But where are you?" asked the man, bewildered still. + +Again came that low, full throated laugh. Then: "I believe you think I +am a ghost. I'm here at the hedge--at the old place. Have you +forgotten?" + +Slowly, as she spoke, he went toward the hedge, guided by her voice. +"So _you_ found it then," he said slowly, gazing at the beautiful +woman face that was framed in the green of the leaves and branches. + +And at his words, the woman's heart beat quicker--so he had +_tried_ to find it--but aloud she only said: "Of course." + +To which he returned smilingly: "But it is quite grown over now, isn't +it? You could scarcely come through there now as you used to do--could +you?" + +The woman laughed again. "I could if I were a man"--she challenged. + +A moment later he stood beside her; a little breathless, with his +clothing disarranged, and a scratch or two on his face and hands. + +"Do you know"--she said when they had shaken hands quite properly as +grown up people must do--"do you know that I was dreadfully afraid to +meet you? When they told me that you were here I wanted to go away +again. I was afraid that you would be so different. Do you +understand?" + +"Yes," he said, gravely, "I understand." But he did not tell her, +then, how fully he understood. + +She went on: "But when I looked through the hedge and saw you with +your hat off, watching the birds, I knew you were the same little +boy--and--well--I could not resist giving the old call." + +And, all at once, the man knew why he had risen early that morning and +why he had gone into the garden. + +After that, they spent many days together in the scenes of their +childhood; living over again, so far as man and woman may, their +Yesterdays. And so cane, at last, the day that was forever after, to +them, _the_ day of all their days. + +It was in the afternoon and they were together down by the little +brook, in the shade of the willows, where the stream, running lazily +under the patches of light and shade, murmured drowsily--seeming more +than half asleep. She was weaving an old time daisy chain from a great +armful that he had helped her gather on their way to the cool retreat. +A bit of fancy work that she had brought from the house lay neglected +near his hat, which the man, boy like, had cast aside. He was +industriously fishing for minnows, with a slender twig of willow for a +rod, a line of thread from her sewing, and a pin, that she had found +for him, fashioned into a hook. With a pointed stick he had dug among +the roots of the old tree for bait--securing one, tiny, thin, worm and +rejoicing gleefully at his success. For a long time neither had said a +word; but the woman, her white fingers busy with the daisies in her +lap, had several times looked up from her pretty task to smile at the +man who was so intensely and seriously interested in his childish +sport. + +"Gee! I nearly got one that time!" He exclaimed with boyish triumph +and disappointment in his voice. + +The woman laughed merrily. "One would think," she said, "that your +fame in life depended upon your catching one of those poor little +fish. What do you suppose your dear, devoted, public would say if they +could see you now?" + +The man grunted his disapproval. "I came out here to get away from +said public," he retorted. "Why do you drag 'em into our paradise?" + +At his words, a warm color crept into the woman's face, and, bending +low over the daisies in her lap, she did not answer. + +Lifting the improvised fishing tackle of his childhood and looking at +it critically the man said: "I suppose, now, that if this rod were a +split bamboo, and this thread were braided silk, and this pin with its +wiggly piece of worm were a "Silver Doctor" or a "Queen of the Waters" +or a "Dusty Miller" or a "Brown Hackle"; and if this stream were an +educated stream, with educated trout; and the house up there were a +club house; and your dear old aunt, who is watching to see that I +don't eat you, were a lot of whist playing old men; I suppose you +would think it all right and a proper sport for a man. But for me--I +can't see much difference--except that, just now--" he carefully +lowered his hook into the water--"just now, I prefer this. In fact," +he added meditatively, "I would rather do this than anything else in +the world." + +The color in the woman's face deepened. + +After a little, he looked cautiously around to see her bending over +the daisy chain. A moment later, under pretense of examining his bait, +he stole another look. Then, in spite of his declaration, he abandoned +his sport to stretch himself full length on the ground at her side. + +She did not look at him but bent her head low over the wealth of white +and gold blossoms in her lap; and the man noticed, with an odd feeling +of pleasure, the beautiful curve of her white neck from the soft brown +hair to the edge of her dress low on the shoulder. Then, with a sly +smile, as the boy of their Yesterdays might have done, he stealthily +raised the slender willow twig and with the tip cautiously attempted +to lift the thin golden chain that she always wore loosely about her +throat with the locket or pendant concealed by her dress. + +She clutched the chain with a frightened gesture and a little +exclamation. "You must not--you must not do that." + +The man laughed aloud as the mischievous boy would have laughed. + +But the woman, with flaming cheeks, caught the twig from his hand and +threw it into the creek. "If you are not good, I shall call auntie," +she threatened. + +At which he looked ruefully toward the porch and became very serious. +"Do you know that I am going away to-morrow?" he asked. + +"And leave your paradise for your dear public?" she said mockingly. +"The public will be glad." + +"And you, will you care?" + +"I'm going back to my work, too, next week," she replied. + +"But will you care to-morrow?" he persisted. + +The woman's fingers, busy with the daisy chain, trembled. + +The man, when she still did not answer his question, arose and, +picking up his hat and her sewing, held out his hand. + +She looked up into his face questioningly. + +"Come"--he said with a grave smile--"come." + +Still without speaking, she gave him her hand and he helped her to her +feet; and, at her touch, the man again felt that thrill of pleasure. + +The aunt, from her place on the porch, saw them coming up the grassy +slope, through the daisies, toward the house. She saw them coming and +smiled--as the neighbor had smiled, so she smiled, apparently, at +nothing at all. + +But the man and the woman did not go to the porch where the old lady +sat. With a wave of their hands, they passed from her sight around the +house, and, a few minutes later, stood face to face in that quiet, +secluded, corner of the garden, under the old cherry tree, close by +the hedge. + +"Now," said the man gently, "now tell me--will you be sorry to have me +go away to-morrow?" + +She made no pretense that she did not understand, Nor did she hesitate +as one in doubt. Lifting her head, proudly, humbly, graciously, she +looked at him and, in that look, surrendered to him, without reserve, +all the treasures of her womanhood that, with such care, she had kept +against that hour. And her face was shining with the light that only a +woman's mate can kindle. + +The man caught his breath. "My wife," he said. "My wife," + +A few moments later he whispered: "Tell me again--I know that you have +always belonged to me and I to you--but tell me again--you will--you +will--be my wife?" + +Releasing herself gently, she lifted her hands and, unfastening that +slender chain of gold from around her throat, with rosy cheeks and +happy, tender, eyes, held out to him a tiny brass ring. + +So the Yesterdays of the man and the Yesterdays of the woman became +Their Yesterdays. + +All that Dreams, Occupation, Knowledge, Ignorance, Religion, +Tradition, Temptation, Life, Death, Failure, Success, Love and +Memories had given him, this man who knew that he was a man, gave to +her. All that the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life had given her, +this woman who knew herself to be a woman, gave to him. And thus these +two became one. As God made them one, they became one. + +And this is the love that I say, is one of the Thirteen Truly Great +Things of Life. + +But my story is not yet quite finished for still, you must know, there +are Memories. + + + + + +MEMORIES + +And the years of the man and the woman passed until all their days +were Yesterdays. + +Even as they had, together, crossed the threshold of the old, old, +door that has stood open since the beginning, they stood now, +together, upon the threshold of another door that has never been +closed. + +And it was so, that, as once they went back into the Yesterdays that +became Their Yesterdays, so they still went back to the days that were +past. It was so, that the things of their manhood and womanhood had +become to them, now, even as the things of their childhood. They knew, +now, that, indeed, the work of men is but the play of children, after +all. + +Their years were nearly spent, it is true. His hair was silvery white +and his form was bent and trembling. Her cheeks were like the drying +petals of a rose and her once brown hair was as white as his. But the +vigor and strength and life of their years lived still--gloriously +increased in the lives that they had given to the race. + +Gone were the years of their manhood and womanhood--even as the days +of their boyhood and girlhood--they were gone. But, as the boy and the +girl had lived in the man and the woman, the man and the woman lived, +now, in their boys and girls and in the children of their children. + +And this was the true glory and the fulfillment of their lives--that +they could live thus in their children--that they could see themselves +renewed in their children and in their children's children. + +So it was that Memories became to this man and this woman, also, one +of the Thirteen Truly Great Things of Life. + +There are many things that might be told about this man and +woman--about the work they did, the place they held in life, and the +rewards and honors they received--but I have put down all that, at the +end, seemed of any importance to them. Therefore have I put down +all that matters to my story. + +What matters to them and to my story is this: always, as they went +back into the Yesterdays, they went back to the days of their +childhood and to the days of their children. They went back only to +_Their_ Yesterdays. To those other days--those days when they +were strangers--they did not go back. + + + + + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THEIR YESTERDAYS *** + +This file should be named thrys10.txt or thrys10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, thrys11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, thrys10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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