I pity the man who has never slept out doors in the Rocky Mountains. Swingin’ around with the earth, away up there in the starlight, he fills himself full o’ new life with every breath; and no matter how tough the day has been, he is bound to wake up the next mornin’ plumb rested, and with strength and energy fair dancin’ through his veins. For it to be perfect, a feller has to have a pipe, a fire, and some one close and chummy to chat with. This night me an’ the Friar both went down to the crick and washed our feet. We sat on a log side by side and made noises like a flock of bewildered geese when we first stuck our feet into the icy water; but by the time we had raced back and crawled into his bed, we were glowin’ all over.

We didn’t cover up right away, because the Friar just simply couldn’t seem to get sleepy that night; and after a minute he put some more wood on the fire, filled his pipe again, and said: “So you want me to tell you about my story, huh? Well, I believe I will tell you about my boyhood.”

So I filled my pipe, and we lay half under the tarp with our heads on our hands and our elbows on our boots, which were waitin’ to be pillows, and he told me about the early days, talkin’ more to himself than to me.

“My mother died when I was six years old, my father divided his time between cleanin’ out saloons, beatin’ me, an’ livin’ in the work-house,” began the Friar, and it give me kind of a shock. I’d had a notion that such-like kids wasn’t likely to grow up into preachers; and I’d allus supposed ’at the Friar had had a soft, gentle youth. “I was a tough, sturdy urchin,” he went on, “but I allus had a soft heart for animals. I used to fight several times a day; but mostly because the other kids used to stone cats and tie tin cans on dogs’ tails. I used to shine shoes, pass papers, run errands, and do any other odd job for a few pennies, and at night I slept wherever I could. I had a big dry-goods-box all to myself for several months, once, and I still look back to it as being a fine, comfortable bedroom.

“One morning I was down at the Union Depot when a farmer drove up a big Norman hoss hitched to a surrey. Some o’ the other kids joshed him, called the hoss an elephant and asked where the rest o’ the show was. The man was big, well fed, and comfortable lookin’, same as the hoss, and he didn’t pay any heed to the kids except to call one of ’em up to hold the hoss while he went into the depot. The kid wanted to know first what he was goin’ to be paid, and he haggled so long ’at the farmer beckoned to me to come up. ‘Will you hold my hoss for me a few minutes?’ he asked.

“That big gray hoss with the dark, gentle eyes seemed to me one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and I was mighty anxious to have charge of him, even for a few minutes; so I sez, ‘You bet I will.’

“The other kids roasted me and made all manner o’ sport; but they knew I would fight ’em if they got too superfluous, so after a bit they went on about their business. The’s somethin’ about man’s love for a hoss that’s a little hard to understand. I had never had no intimate dealin’s with one before, yet somethin’ inside me reached out and entwined itself all about this big, gray, velvet-nosed beauty left in my charge. I reckon it must be in a man’s blood; that’s the only explanation I can find. All the way back along the trail o’ history we find the bones of men and hosses bleachin’ together in the same heap; and about every worthwhile spot on the face o’ nature has been fought over on hossback, so it’s small wonder if the feel of a hoss has got to be part of man’s nature.

“The farmer had had a woman and a little girl in his care, to see off on the train, and he was gone some time. I had a few pennies in my pocket, and I bought an apple an’ fed it to the hoss, gettin’ more enjoyment out of it than out of airy other apple I’d ever owned. I can feel right now the strange movin’s inside my breast as his moist nose sniffed at my fingers and his delicate lips picked up the bits of apple, as careful an’ gentle as though my rough, dirty little hand had been made o’ crystal.

“I was so interested in the hoss that I gave a start of surprise when the farmer’s voice behind me sez: ‘You seem to like hosses, son.’

“‘I hadn’t no idee ’at a great big one like this could be so smooth an’ gentle,’ I said, with my hand rubbin’ along the hoss’s throat. ‘I think he’s a wonder.’

“‘Do you like other animals?’ asked the farmer.

“‘I reckon I must be an animal myself,’ sez I, ‘because I allus get along well with them, while I have to fight a lot with humans.’

“‘What do you want for tendin’ to this hoss?’ he asked me.

“‘I don’t want nothin’,’ sez I. ‘We’ve got to be friends, an’ I don’t charge nothin’ for doin’ favors for a friend. Besides, he’s got so much sense, I doubt if he needs much watchin’.’

“The farmer grinned, looked into my eyes a long time, and gave me a dollar. ‘Now tell me how you’ll spend your dollar,’ sez he.

“Well, I was purty well floored. I had never owned a dollar before in my whole life, my father havin’ taken away every cent he had ever found on me; and I stood lookin’ at the coin, and hardly knowin’ what to do. The farmer stood lookin’ down at me with his eyes twinklin’, and after a minute, I handed the dollar back to him. ‘This is too much,’ I sez. ‘A dime would be plenty for the job, even if I didn’t like the hoss; but if my old man would find a dollar on me, he’d give me a beatin’ for hidin’ it from him, take it away, get drunk, and then give me another beatin’ for not havin’ another dollar.’

“So he asked me all about my father; and I told about him and about my mother bein’ dead, and the twinkle left his eyes and they grew moist, so ’at he had to wink mighty fast.

“He told me that his own boy was dead and his girl married, and that the’ wasn’t any children out at the big farm, and asked me if I wouldn’t like to come and live with him. He told me about all the hosses an’ the cows an’ the pigs, an’ that I could have a clean little room to sleep in, an’ plenty o’ food and clothes, and could go to school. It sounded like a fairy tale to me, and I sez, ‘Aw go on, you’re just joshin’ me’; but he meant it; so I got on the seat beside him, and as soon as we got out o’ town he let me drive the big gray hoss—and I entered into a real world more wonderful than any fairy tale ever was.

“When we drove up the shady lane and into the big barn lot, a little old lady with sad eyes came to the door, and sez: ‘Now, John, who is that with you?’ and my heart sank, for I thought she wasn’t goin’ to stand for me; but he took me by the hand and led me up to the door, put his arm about the little woman’s shoulder, and sez with a tremble in his voice: ‘This here is a little feller I’ve brought out to be company for ya, mother. He hasn’t any folks, and he is fond of animals, and, and—his name is John, too.’

“At first she shook her head and shut her lips tight; but all of a sudden the tears came to her eyes, and she put her arms about me—and I had found a real home.

“Those were wonderful years, Happy, wonderful; and I have the satisfaction o’ knowin’ that I did them about as much good as they did me. Their hearts had been wrapped up in the boy, and he must have been a fine feller; but just when he had been promoted out o’ the grammar grade at the head of his class, he had took the scarlet fever an’ died. I wasn’t used to kindness when I went there; so I never noticed ’at they kept me out o’ the inner circle o’ their hearts at first. I called the little woman Mrs. Carmichael for some time; but one day after I’d brought home a good report from school, I called her this, and she spoke to me sharp—I never knew any soft-hearted person in the world who got so much solid satisfaction out of actin’ cross as she did. Well, she spoke to me sharp, and sez: ‘John Carmichael, why don’t you call me Mother?’

“I looked into her face, and it didn’t look old any longer, and the sad look had left her eyes, and they were black and snappy an’ full o’ life; so I tried it; and we both broke into tears, but they were tears o’ joy; and then he insisted that I call him Dad, and we became a family; and about the happiest one in the world, I reckon.

“I rode the hosses bareback, shot hawks with my rifle, picked berries, did a lot o’ chores, and worked hard with my books. It was a full, round life with lots of love and happiness in it, and I grew, body and mind and spirit, as free and natural as the big oak trees in the woods pasture.

“Mr. Carmichael had looked up my blood father and had done what he could for him; but it was no use, and one winter’s morning he was found frozen in an alley. I didn’t learn of it until the next June when he took me down to the city cemetery where my father and mother lay side by side. I did feel downcast as we all do in the presence of death; but it wasn’t my real father and mother who were lyin’ there beneath the quiet mounds. Fatherhood and motherhood are somethin’ more than mere physical processes. The real fathers and mothers are those who put the best part o’ their lives into makin’ the big, gloomy world into a tender home for all the little ones; and after my visit to the graveyard I felt drawn even closer to Dad and Mother than I had before.

“Children ought to have dogs and hosses and plenty of air and soil about ’em, Happy. We don’t learn from preachin’, we learn from example; and we can learn a heap from the animals. We talk about our sanitary systems; but we allus mean the sanitary systems outside our bodies. Now, the animals have sanitary systems, but they are inside their own skins, where they rightly belong. Look at the beautiful teeth of a dog—These come from eatin’ proper food at the proper time and in proper quantities. If a dog isn’t hungry, the dog won’t eat. If a child isn’t hungry, it is fed candy in a lot o’ cases, and this is downright wicked. Of course the animals find it hard to live, crowded up the way man allus fixes things; but as a rule animals are temperate and clean, patient and honest, wise and strong; and I wish we’d use ’em more as instructors for the young. Most mothers think a dog’s tongue is dirty—Why, a dog’s tongue is chemically clean, and healin’ in its action; while the human mouth is generally poisonous—ask a dentist.

“And a cow’s breath, after she has rolled in with sweetly solemn dignity from the clover field—Ah, that’s a pleasant memory! I’ll venture to say ’at mighty few monarchs have been as worthy o’ bein’ kissed before breakfast, as Nebukaneezer was while he was undergoin’ punishment for his sins. I had gone to that farm with my soul all stunted and gnarly; but it straightened out and shot its little stems up toward the blue, the same as the stalks o’ corn did.

“All I had as a start was a love of animals; and this is why I allus try to find the one soft spot in a man’s nature—Even if it’s a secret vice, it is something to work on. This is what makes such a problem of Tyrrel Jones. I can’t find out a single soft place in him; but I’m goin’ to get into the heart of him yet, if I can find the way.

“Well, Dad and Mother passed away within a week of each other a short time after I had been graduated. I had made up my mind to stay on the farm with ’em as long as they stayed; although all sorts of voices were callin’ to me from the big outer world; but their daughter lived in the city, and had been weaned away from the farm, so she sold it, and I started on my pilgrimage.

“They had left me an income of three hundred and fifty dollars a year; and I determined to go to college. When I thought of how rich and full my own life had been made, after its stunted beginning, I wanted to do all I could to make the whole earth like that farm had been, and it seemed to me that the best way was to become a priest of the Lord. I tried my best; but I have been consid’able of a failure, Happy. Now, I hardly know where I stand. I am sort of an outcast now, and just doing what seems best on my own hook.

“A lot of my ideals have been lost, a lot of my hopes have faded, a lot of my work has seemed like sweeping back the waves of the sea; but for all I have lost, new things have taken their place, and I have never lost my faith in the Lord. Now, I am weak in doctrine and a stranger to dogma; and the things for which I fight with all my soul and heart and strength, are kindliness and decency.

“As long as one bein’ in the world is cold or hungry or diseased, every other bein’ is liable to become hungry and cold and diseased. What I am fighting for is a world without poverty. Most o’ the ills of life spring from poverty, and poverty is the result of selfishness and greed. The earth is reeking with riches, but its bounty is not divided fairly.

“Happy, if I could only hold up the Lord, so that all men might see the beauty and fullness of Him, the glory and grandeur of His simple life and His majestic self-sacrifice, the fleeting cheapness of material things would sink to their real value, and we would all become one great family, workin’ together in peace and contentment. Now, go on to sleep.”

It was purty late by this time sure enough, and I fell asleep soon after this; but I awakened durin’ the night and found myself alone. It was cold when I stuck my nose out from under the tarp, but it was a wonderful night, clear and still, with the stars swingin’ big and bright just above my reach.

As I lay there, I heard Friar Tuck singin’ softly to himself out where the trail dipped down into the valley:

I had never heard his voice so wonderfully beautiful before; but, my stars, the sadness of it made me choke! It wasn’t just a song, it was a cry; and I knew that it came from a lonely, bleedin’ heart. I put my head under the covers again, puzzlin’ over what was on his mind; but first thing I knew I was awakened by the glad voice of the old Friar Tuck, singin’ his favorite mornin’ hymn: “Brightest and best of the sons of the morning”; so I cooked breakfast, and he went his way, and I went mine.