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diff --git a/18951.txt b/18951.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d58c63e --- /dev/null +++ b/18951.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1834 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Benefits Forgot, by Honore Willsie + +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: Benefits Forgot + A Story of Lincoln and Mother Love + +Author: Honore Willsie + +Illustrator: Charles E. Cartwright + +Release Date: July 31, 2006 [EBook #18951] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BENEFITS FORGOT *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: "COME HERE AND SIT DOWN AND WRITE A LETTER TO YOUR +MOTHER!"--Page 74.] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +BENEFITS FORGOT + +A Story Of Lincoln And Mother Love + + +BY HONORE WILLSIE + +Author Of "Still Jim," "Lydia Of The Pines," Etc. + + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES E. CARTWRIGHT + + +Publishers + +FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY + +New York + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Copyright, 1917, by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY + +All rights reserved, including that of translation +into foreign languages + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I THE DONATION PARTY 1 + +II THE CIRCUIT RIDER 27 + +III WAR 45 + +IV MR. LINCOLN 63 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + +I + +THE DONATION PARTY + + + + +[Illustration] + +I + +THE DONATION PARTY + + +Brother Meaker rose from his pew and looked at Jason appraisingly. + +"I don't know, brethren," he said. "Of course, he's a growing boy. Just +turned twelve, didn't you say, ma'am?" Jason's mother nodded faintly +without looking up, and Brother Meaker went on. "As I said, he's a +growing boy, but he's dark and wiry. And I've always noted, the dark +wiry kind eat smaller than any other kind. I should take at least +twelve pounds of sugar off the allowance for the year and four gallon +less of molasses than you was calculatin' on." + +He sat down and Sister Cantwell rose. She was a fat woman, famous in the +southern Ohio country for the lavish table she set. + +"Short sweetening," she said in a thin high voice, "is dreadful high. I +said to Hiram yesterday that the last sugar loaf I bought was worth its +weight in silver. I should say, cut down on short sweetening. Long +sweetening is all right except for holidays." + +Jason whispered to his mother, "What's long sweetening, mother?" + +"They must mean molasses," she whispered in return, with a glance at +Jason's father, who sat at the far end of the pew reading his Bible as +he always did at this annual ordeal. + +Jason looked from his mother's quiet, sensitive face, like yet so unlike +his own, to the bare pulpit of the little country church, then back at +Brother Ames, who was conducting the meeting. This annual conference and +the annual donation party were the black spots in Jason's year. His +mother, he suspected, suffered as he did: her face told him that. Her +tender lips, usually so wistful and eager, were at these times thin and +compressed. Her brown eyes, that except at times of death or illness +always held a remote twinkle, were inscrutable. + +Jason's face was so like, yet already so unlike his mother's! The same +brown eyes, with the same twinkle, but tonight instead of being +inscrutable, boyishly hard. The same tender mouth, with tonight an +unboyish sardonic twist. What Jason's father's face might have said one +could not know, for it was hidden under a close-cropped brown beard. He +turned the leaves of his Bible composedly, looking up only as the +meeting reached a final triumphant conclusion with Brother Ames' +announcement: + +"So, Brother Wilkins, there you are, a liberal allowance if I must say +it. Two hundred and fifty dollars for the year, with the usual donation +party to take place in the fall of the year." + +Brother Wilkins, who was Jason's father, rose, bowed and said: "I thank +you, brethren. Let us pray!" + +The fifty or sixty souls in the church knelt, and Jason's father, his +eyes closed, lifted his great bass voice in prayer: + +"O God, You have led our feeble and trusting steps to this town of High +Hill, Ohio. You have put into the hearts and minds of these people, O +God, the purpose of feeding and clothing us. Whether they do it well or +ill, concerns them and You, O God, and not us. We are but Your humble +servants, doing Your divine bidding. Yet this is perhaps the proper +occasion, Our Heavenly Father, to thank You that You have sent us but +one child and that unlike Solomon, Your servant has but one wife. And +now, O God, bless these people in their giving. And make me, in my +solitary circuit riding in the hills and valleys a proper mouthpiece of +Your will. For Lord Jesus' sake, Amen." + +There was a short pause after the rich voice stopped, then a few weak +"Amens" came from different corners of the church and Brother Ames, +jumping to his feet, exclaimed: + +"Let us close the meeting by singing + + 'How tedious and tasteless the hours + When Jesus no longer I see--'" + +This ended Jason's first day at High Hill. The salary was small, even +for a Methodist circuit rider, in the decade before the Civil War. It +was smaller by fifty dollars than what they had been allowed the year +before. Yet, High Hill, as Mrs. Wilkins pointed out to Jason the next +day, was much more attractive than any town they had been in for years. +There was a good school, and the Ohio river-packet stopped twice a week, +and a Mr. Inchpin in the town was reported to be the owner of a number +of books. Jason's mother was an Eastern woman and sometimes the +loneliness and hardship of her life made her find solace in what seemed +to Jason inconsequential things. Still, he was glad of the school, for +he was a first-class student and already had decided to take his +father's and mother's advice that he study medicine. And the packet, +warping in twice a week, was, after all, something to which one might +look forward and Mr. Inchpin's books would be wonderful. + +Jason was sure that the Ohio valley in which he had spent the whole of +his short life was the most beautiful spot in the world. The lovely +green heights rolling back into the Kentucky sky line, were, he thought, +great enough for David, whose cattle fed upon a thousand hills. The fine +headlands on the Ohio side, wooded, mysterious, were, he was sure, clad +in verdure like the utmost bound of the everlasting hills of Jacob. And +High Hill with its fifteen hundred souls was "a city, builded on a hill +that could not be laid." + +For Jason was brought up on the Bible. His father believed that it ought +to be, outside of his school text books, his only literature. His +mother, with her Eastern traditions, thought otherwise. A Methodist +circuit rider before the Civil War moved every year, and every year Mrs. +Wilkins combed each new community for books. It was wonderful how she +and Jason scented them out. + +They had been in High Hill about a week when Jason came panting into the +house late one afternoon. His father was writing a sermon in the sitting +room. Jason tip-toed into the kitchen, where his mother was preparing +supper. + +"The packet's in, mother, and I carried a man's carpet bag up to the +hotel and look--what he gave me!" + +His slender boyish brown hands fairly trembled as he held a torn and +soiled magazine toward his mother. She dropped the biscuit she was +molding and seized it. + +"_Harper's Monthly!_ O Jason dear, how wonderful! You shall read it +aloud to me after supper." + +"It's prayer meeting night," said Jason in a sick voice. + +His mother flushed a little. "So it is! My goodness, Jason! Print makes +a heathen of me and you're most as bad. You haven't fed the horse or +milked." + +"So I won't get a look at it till tomorrow," cried Jason, bitterly. + +Mrs. Wilkins glanced toward the closed door that led into the sitting +room. Then she looked at Jason's wide brown eyes, at the round-about she +had cut over from his father's old sermon coat, at the darned stockings +and the trousers that had belonged to the rich boy of the town they had +lived in the year before. + +"Jason," she said, "you ought to get plenty of sleep because you're a +growing boy. But a thing like this won't happen for years +again--and--well, I've saved up several candle ends, hoping to get some +sewing done nights when your father was using the lamp. When you go up +to bed tonight, take those and read your magazine." + +"But you ought to keep them," protested Jason. + +"Not at all," exclaimed his mother, vigorously, "it's all for your +education. Run along now and milk." + +So Jason reveled in his _Harper's Monthly_, and the next day as he wiped +the dishes for his mother, he produced his great idea. + +"If I can earn the money, this summer, mother, can I subscribe to +_Harper's Monthly_ for a year?" + +"My goodness, Jason, it's five dollars and this is the first of August! +School begins in a month." + +"I know all that," replied Jason impatiently, "but if I earn the money +can I have it for _Harpers Monthly_?" + +"Of course you can. It's all for your education, my dear. I never forget +that." + +A money paying job for a boy of twelve was a hard thing to find in High +Hill and Jason was late for supper that night. But his brown eyes were +shining with triumph when he slid into his seat and held out his bowl +for his evening meal of mush and milk. + +"I've got a job," he said. + +"A job?" queried his father. He smiled a little at Jason's mother. + +"Yes, sir. Mr. Inchpin is having a new barn built on the hill back of +his house. The brook runs at the foot of it and I'm going to haul gravel +and sand and water up to the building site. It'll take about a month. He +provides the horse and wagon." + +"And how much will he pay you?" asked Mrs. Wilkins. + +"He says he can't tell till he's through. But I'm going to ask him for +five dollars." + +Jason's father looked amused and a little troubled. "Jason, I hope +you're not too interested in Mammon. But I must say I'm glad to see you +have your mother's energy." + +"Or your father's," said Mrs. Wilkins, smiling into the blue eyes +opposite hers. "Nobody can say that a circuit rider lacks energy." + +And so during the hot August days, Jason toiled on Mr. Inchpin's new +barn, never once visiting the swimming hole in the brook, never once +heeding the long-drawn invitation of the cicada to loll under the trees +with one of Mr. Inchpin's books, never once breaking away when the toot +of the packet reverberated among the hills. + +"He's a fine lad," Mr. Inchpin told Jason's father. "I never have seen +such determination in a little fellow." + +Brother Wilkins looked gratified, but when he repeated the little +compliment to Jason's mother he added, "I don't believe I understand +Jason altogether." + +"I do," said Mrs. Wilkins, stoutly. + +August came to an end with cool nights and shorter days and Mr. +Inchpin's barn was finished of a Saturday evening. He called Jason into +the house, into the library where there were bound volumes of _Godey's +Lady's Book_ and Blackwood, and handed him three paper dollars. + +"There you are, my man. I'd intended to give you only two. But you've +done well, by ginger, so here's three dollars." + +Jason looked up at him dumbly, mumbled something, stuffed the bills into +his trousers pocket and bolted for home. He burst in on his mother in +the kitchen, buried his face against her bosom and sobbed. + +"I can't have it after all! He only gave me three dollars! I can't have +it! And now I'll never know how that story 'Bleak House' ended." + +Jason's father came into the kitchen, hastily: "What in the world--" + +"Jason! Jason! don't sob so!" cried Mrs. Wilkins. "We'll raise the rest +of the money some way. I'll find it. Hush, dear, hush! Mercy, the mush +is burning!" + +Jason's father took the boy's grimy blistered hand, such a strong +slender hand and so like his mother's, and sitting down in the kitchen +chair, he pulled Jason to him. + +"Tell me, Jason," he urged gently, "what money?" + +Jason still torn with occasional sobs, managed to tell the story. + +"_Harper's Monthly_," exclaimed Brother Wilkins. "Dear! Dear! I had +hoped you'd give the money to a foreign mission, Jason." + +"Foreign mission!" cried Jason's mother. "Well, I guess not! Jason's +education is going to be taken care of before the heathen." + +"But how'll we get the extra dollars?" asked Brother Wilkins, +helplessly. + +"I'll manage," replied Jason's mother, her gentle voice a little louder +than usual. + +"Then let us eat supper," said Jason's father, clearing his throat for +grace. + +Jason's mother sold a girlhood treasure, a little silver-tipped +hair-pin, to the storekeeper's wife, the following Monday, for two +dollars, and the jubilant Jason exchanged the single bills for a single +note. The note was cut in two and sent in separate letters to New York, +this being the before the war method of safeguarding loss of money in +the mail. There was a period of several weeks of waiting during which +Jason met every mail. Then a third letter was sent by Jason's mother, +asking why the delay, and telling Jason's little story. + +Jason met the return packet, his heart now high, now low. He had met so +many futile packets since the first of September. But this time there +was a letter explaining that but one-half of the note had arrived in New +York, but that on faith, the editors were sending the back numbers of +the magazine requested and that the rest of the year's subscription +would follow. And Jason never did know whether or not the second half of +the note arrived. + +And there they were, a fat pile of magazines! Jason clasped them in his +arms and rushed home with them. A tag tail of boys followed him and by +nightfall most of the town knew that Jason Wilkins had four numbers of +_Harper's Monthly_ on hand. + +Jason was out milking the cow when Mr. Inchpin arrived. + +"Heard Jason had some new magazines in hand. Don't s'pose you could lend +me a few, over night?" + +Jason's mother was in the kitchen. It was donation party night and she +had been cooking all day in preparation. + +"Surely, surely," said Jason's father, picking up the pile of magazines. +"Jason can't get at them before the end of the week. Take them and +welcome." + +Mr. Inchpin rode away. Jason came in with the milk pail and the family +sat down to a hasty supper. + +"Won't I have a minute of time to look at my magazines, mother?" asked +Jason. "O, I hate donation parties!" + +"Jason!" thundered his father. "Would you show ingratitude to God? And +the books are not here anyway. I loaned them to Mr. Inchpin." + +"Father!" + +"O Ethan!" + +Brother Wilkins' eyes were steel gray, instead of blue. "Jason can read +his Bible until the end of the week. His ingratitude deserves +punishment." + +Jason rushed from the table and flung himself sobbing into the hay loft. +His mother found him there a few moments later. + +"I know, dear! I know! It's hard. But father doesn't love books as you +and I do, so he doesn't understand. And you must hurry and get ready for +the party." + +"I don't want the donation party, I want my magazines," sobbed Jason. + +"I know. But life seldom, so very seldom, gives us what we want, dear +heart. Just be thankful that you will be happy at the end of the week +and come and help mother with the party." + +As donation parties go, this one was a huge success. Fully a hundred +people attended it. They played games, they sang hymns, they ate a +month's provisions and Mrs. Wilkins' chance of a new dress in the cake +and coffee she provided. They left behind them a pile of potatoes and +apples that filled two barrels and a heap of old clothing that Jason, +candle in hand, turned over with his foot. + +"There's Billy Ames' striped pants," he grumbled. "Every time his mother +licked him into wearing 'em, I know he prayed I'd get 'em, the ugly +beasts, and I have. And there's seven old patched shirts. I suppose I'll +get the tails sewed together into school shirts for me and there's Old +Mrs. Arley's plush dress--I suppose poor mother'll have to fix that up +and wear it to church. Why don't they give stuff father'll have to wear, +too? I wonder why a minister's supposed to be so much better than his +wife or son." + +"What's that you're saying, Jason?" asked his father sharply as he +brought the little oil lamp from the sitting room into the kitchen. Mrs. +Wilkins followed. This was a detestable job, the sorting of the donation +debris, and was best gotten through with, at once. Jason, shading the +candle light from his eyes, with one slender hand, looked at his father +belligerently. + +"I was saying," he said, "that it was too bad you don't have to wear +some of the old rags sometimes, then you'd know how mother and I feel +about donation parties." + +There was absolute silence for a moment in the little kitchen. A late +October cricket chirped somewhere. + +Then, "O Jason!" gasped his mother. + +The boy was only twelve, but he had been bred in a difficult school and +was old for his years. He looked again at the heaps of cast-off clothing +on the floor and his gorge rose within him. + +"I tell you," he cried, before his father could speak, "that I'll never +wear another donation party pair of pants. No, nor a shirt-tail shirt, +either. I'm through with having the boys make fun of me. I'll earn my +own clothes every summer and I'll earn mother's too." + +"You'll do nothing of the sort, sir," thundered Jason's father, his +great bass voice rising as it did in revival meetings. "You'll do +nothing but wear donation clothes as long as you're under my roof. I've +long noted your tendency to vanity and mammon. To my prayers, I shall +begin to add stout measures." + +Jason threw back his head, a finely shaped head it was with good breadth +between the eyes. + +"I tell you, sir, I'm through with donation pants. If folks don't think +enough of the religion you preach to pay you for it I'd--I'd advise you +to get another religion." + +Under his beard, Ethan Wilkins went white, but not so white as Jason's +mother. But she spoke quietly. + +"Jason, apologize to your father at once." + +"I couldn't accept an apology now," said the minister. "I shall have to +pray to get my mind into shape. In the meantime Jason shall be punished +for this. Not until everyone in the town who desires to read his +_Harper's Monthlies_ has done so, can Jason touch them." + +"O father, not that," cried Jason. "I'll apologize! I'll wear the pants! +Why, it would be Christmas before I'd see them again!" + +"I can't accept your apology now. Neither your spirit nor mine is right. +And I cannot retract. Your punishment must stand." + +Jason was all child now. "Mother," he cried, "don't let him! Don't let +him!" + +Mrs. Wilkins' lips quivered. For a moment she could not speak. Then with +an inscrutable look into her husband's eyes she said: + +"You must obey your father, Jason. You have been very wicked." + +Jason put down his candle and sobbed. "I know it. But I'll be good. Let +me have my magazines. They're mine. I paid for them." + +"No!" roared the minister. "Go to bed, sir, and see to it that you pray +for a better heart." + +Jason's sobs sounded through the little house long after his father and +mother had gone to bed. The minister sighed and turned restlessly. + +"Why was I given such a rebellious son, do you suppose?" he asked +finally. + +"Perhaps God hopes it'll make you have a better understanding of +children," replied Mrs. Wilkins. "Christ said that unless you became +like one of them you could not enter the kingdom." + +There was another silence with Jason's sobs growing fainter, then, "But +he was wicked, Mary, and he deserved punishment." + +"But not such a punishment. Of course, I had to support you, no matter +what I thought. But O Ethan, Ethan, it's so easy to kill the fineness in +a proud and sensitive heart like Jason's." + +"Nevertheless," returned the minister, "when he spurns the giving hand +of God, forgiveness is God's, not mine. We'll discuss it no more." + +Nor was the matter discussed again. Jason appeared at breakfast, with +dark rings about his eyes, after having done his chores, as usual. Once, +it seemed to his mother that he looked at her with a gaze half +wondering, half hurt, as if she had failed him when his trust and need +had been greatest. But he said nothing and she hoped that her mind had +suggested what was in her aching heart and that Jason's was only a +child's hurt that would soon heal. + +He never again asked for the magazines. On Christmas morning his father +placed them, tattered and marred, from their many lendings, beside his +plate. Jason did not take them when he left the table and later on his +mother carried them up to his room. Whether he read them or not, she did +not know. But she was glad to see him begin again to watch for the +packet and read the current numbers as they arrived. + +She dyed Billy Ames' striped pants in walnut juice and they really +looked very well. Jason wore them without comment as he did the shirts +she fashioned for him from many shirt tails. + +And in the spring they left High Hill for a valley town. + +[Illustration] + + + + +II + +THE CIRCUIT RIDER + + + + +[Illustration] + +II + +THE CIRCUIT RIDER + + +The years sped on with unbelievable swiftness as they are very prone to +do after the corner into the teens is turned. + +Jason worked every summer, but he did not offer to buy his mother a +dress nor did he buy himself either clothing or books. He put all he +earned by toward his course in medicine. When he was a little fellow, +his mother had given him a lacquered sewing box that had belonged to her +French mother. It had proved an admirable treasure box for childish +hoardings. Jason, the summer he was thirteen, cleared it out and put +into it his summer earnings, ten dollars. + +With his newly acquired reticence, he did not speak of the box, nor did +he mention the extra bills, quarters and dollars that appeared there +from time to time. The little hoard grew slowly, very slowly, in spite +of these anonymous additions--it grew as slowly as the years sped +rapidly, it seemed to Jason's mother. + +Jason must have been sixteen, the summer he went with his father on one +of the Sunday circuit trips. He never had been on one before. But it had +been decided that he was to begin his medical studies in the fall. He +was to be apprenticed to a doctor in Baltimore and his mother was +anxious for father and son to draw together if possible before the son +went into the world. Not that Jason and the minister quarreled. But +there never had been the understanding between the two that except for +the unfortunate magazine episode, always had existed between Jason and +his mother. + +The trip lay in the hills of West Virginia. Brother Wilkins rode his old +horse, Charley, a handsome gray. Jason rode an old brown mare, borrowed +from a parishioner for the trip. + +Mrs. Wilkins, standing in the door, watched the two ride off together +with a thrill of pride. Jason was almost as tall in the saddle as his +father. He had shot up amazingly of late. The minister was getting very +gray. He had been late in his thirties when he married. But he sat a +horse as though bred to the saddle and Old Charley was a beauty. +Brother Wilkins was very fond of horses and was a good judge of horse +flesh. Sometimes Mrs. Wilkins had thought, that if Ethan had not chosen +to be a Methodist minister he would have made a first-class country +squire. + +She watched the two out of sight down the valley road, then with a +little sigh turned back to the empty home. + +Jason, though always a little self-conscious when alone with his father, +was delighted with the idea of the trip. They crossed the Ohio on the +ferry and rode rapidly into the West Virginia hills. The minister made a +great effort to be entertaining and Jason was astonished at his father's +intimate knowledge of the countryside. + +"I don't see how you remember all the places, father," he said at noon, +when the minister had turned to a side road to find a farmer whom he +wished to greet. + +"I had this circuit years ago before you were born, my boy. I know the +people intimately." + +"Don't you get tired of it?" asked Jason, suddenly. + +"Tired of saving souls?" returned his father. "Do you think you'll ever +get tired of saving bodies?" + +"O that's different," answered the boy. "You've got something to take +hold of, with a body." + +"And the body ceases to exist when the soul departs. Never forget that, +my boy." + +"But you work so hard," insisted Jason, "and you get so little for it. I +don't mean money alone," flushing as if at some memory, "but it doesn't +seem as if the people care. They'll take all they can get out of each +minister as he comes along, and then forget him." + +Brother Wilkins looked at Jason, thoughtfully. "Sixteen is very young, +Jason. I'm afraid you were born carnal minded. I pray every night of my +life that as you grow older, you'll grow toward Christ and not away +from Him." + +Again Jason flushed uncomfortably and a silence fell that lasted until +they reached the remote hill settlement where service was to be held +that night. The settlement consisted of a log church, surrounded by a +scattered handful of log houses, each already with its tiny glow of +light, for night comes early in the hills. The two had eaten a cold +lunch in the saddles, for church service would begin as soon as they +arrived. + +There were twenty-five or thirty people in the rough little church. They +crowded round Brother Wilkins enthusiastically when he entered and he +called them all by name as he shook hands with them. Jason slid into a +back seat. His father mounted to the pulpit. + +"Let us open by singing + + 'How tedious and tasteless the hours + When Jesus no longer I see--'" + +The old familiar tune! Jason wondered how many meetings his father had +opened with it. The audience sang it with a will. In fact with too much +will. A group of young men on the rear seat opposite Jason sang with +unnecessary fervor, quite drowning out the female voices in the +congregation. Jason saw his father, his face heavily shadowed in the +candle-light, glance askance at the rear seat. + +"Let us pray," said Brother Wilkins. There was a rustle as the +congregation knelt. "O God, I have come to You again in this mountain +place after many years and many wanderings. I thank You for giving me +this privilege. I have greeted old friends who have not forgotten me and +who all these years have remembered You and Christ, Your only begotten +Son. Tonight, O Heavenly Father, I have brought with me to this sacred +fold my own one lamb that he might see how sacred and how great is Your +power. Look on him tonight, O Supreme Master, and mark him for Your +own. And remember, that if the young men in the rear seat plan any +disturbance tonight, O Heavenly Father, that the arm of Thy priest is +strong and the soul of Thy servant is resolute. For Jesus Christ's sake, +Amen." + +The boom of "Amens" from the back seat was tremendous. Brother Wilkins, +rising after his prayer, looked at the four young men for a long moment, +over his glasses. Then he said: + +"Let us sing + + 'From Greenland's icy mountains + To India's coral strands.'" + +This was sung with tremendous vim, and the minister began his sermon. +Jason's father was a good preacher. His vocabulary was rich and his +ideas those of a thinking man whose religion was a passion. But the +young men on the rear seat were unimpressed. One of them snored. Brother +Wilkins stopped his sermon. + +"Be silent, ye sons of Satan," he thundered. There was silence and he +took up the thread of his talk. A low cat call interrupted him. The +minister stopped and slipped off his coat, folding it carefully as he +laid it on his desk. It was old and the seams would not stand strain. He +rolled up his cuffs as he descended from the pulpit, the congregation +watching him spell-bound. Jason had seen his father in action before and +was deeply embarrassed but not surprised. + +Brother Wilkins strode up to the pew where the offenders sat and seized +by the ear the largest of the group, a hulk of twenty-one or so, larger +than the minister. He led the young man into the aisle and reached up +and boxed his ears, with the sound of impact of a club on an empty +barrel. + +"Now leave this house of God," roared the minister. The young fellow +sneaked out the door. Brother Wilkins turned back to the pew. + +"Don't you tech me or I'll brain ye," cried the youth who was about +Brother Wilkins' own size. + +"Hah!" snorted the minister. There was the sound of blows, a quick +scuffling of feet and the second offender was booted out of the door. +The remaining two made a quick and unassisted exit. Breathing a little +heavily, Brother Wilkins returned to his sermon; and to his hypnotized +and immensely regaled congregation it seemed that the rest of his +preaching was as from one inspired by God. + +Jason sat brooding deeply. Something within him revolted at the +spectacle of his father descending from the pulpit to beat recalcitrant +members of his congregation. An old and familiar sense of shame +enveloped him, and he was thankful when once again darkness had +enveloped them and they were traveling rapidly along the mountain road. +They were to have a late supper and spend the night at a cabin well +along the road they must travel on the morrow. + +Brother Wilkins was in the abstracted state that always followed his +preaching and Jason was glad to respect his silence, until it had lasted +so long that he became uneasy. + +"Father, didn't you say that Herd's was five miles beyond the church?" + +The minister pulled up his horse. In the darkness Jason could barely see +the outlines of his body. + +"Heavens, Jason! Why didn't you rouse me sooner? This isn't the main +traveled road. When did we leave it?" + +"I don't know, sir. I thought you knew this part of the country so +well--" + +"So I do, ordinarily. But I can't recognize by-paths on a night like +this. Wait, isn't that a light up the mountainside yonder? Come along, +my boy, we'll find out where we are." + +The light glowed only faintly from the open door of a cabin. An old +woman, with a pipe in her mouth, sat crooning over a little fire in the +crude fireplace. She looked up in astonishment when the two appeared in +the doorway. + +"Why, it's Brother Wilkins!" she cackled. "Lord's sake, what you doin' +clar up hyar!" + +"Why, Sister Clark! I am glad to see you," exclaimed Jason's father, +shaking one of the old woman's hands, and shouting into her other, which +she cupped round her ear. "My son and I must have got off the main road +five miles back. We're on our way to Milton." + +Sister Clark was visibly excited. "Ye ain't going on a step tonight. I +can fix a shake-down for ye. Thing like this don't happen to a lone old +woman twice in a lifetime. Bring in your saddle-bags--but Lord!" she +stopped aghast. "I ain't got a bit of pork in the house, nor there ain't +a chicken on the place. All I got is corn-meal and molasses." + +"Plenty, Sister Clark! Plenty! Get the saddle-bags, Jason, and tie the +horses to graze." + +They ate their supper by candle-light after their hostess had cooked the +mush in a kettle hanging from the crane. Brother Wilkins had a violent +choking fit during the meal and Sister Clark pounded him on the back, +apologizing as she did so for her familiarity with the minister. + +Jason slept profoundly on his share of the shake-down that night, and at +dawn, after more mush, they were up and away. + +Twice on this day, Sunday, Brother Wilkins held service in the mountains +and it was nine o'clock at night when they started toward the Ohio +again. It was not until they had reached the river at dawn and had +roused the ferryman that the minister recovered from his Sunday +abstraction. + +"Did you have a pleasant trip, Jason?" he asked as they led the horses +into the boat. + +"Yes, father," answered Jason dutifully. + +Brother Wilkins looked at the boy, as if he were beholding him from a +new angle. + +"You don't look as much like your dear mother as you did in your +childhood, my boy. Sometimes--I wonder--Jason, do you think this life +has been too hard on your mother?" + +"Yes, sir, I do. It's hard on a boy, why shouldn't it be doubly hard on +a woman?" + +The minister sighed. "Your reply is hardly polite, Jason, though I +suppose my question merited it." Then with sudden heat: "Never mistake +this cold frankness of yours for courage, my son. It takes more courage +usually to be courteous than to be impolite. Did you notice that I +coughed violently yesterday evening at Sister Clark's?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, the cause of it was this. She went down to the spring and fetched +a pail of water for the mush. When I was eating my helping, I felt a +lump in my mouth. But the old lady had her eye on me every minute for +fear I wouldn't enjoy the frugal meal, so I could only investigate with +my tongue. I found that she had cooked a little bit of a frog in the +mush. Now, Jason, if she had discovered that she never would have +recovered from the mortification. The only time in her life the minister +stopped with her. So, though it made me choke, I swallowed it. That, +sir, is my idea of courtesy. I wish you not to forget it." + +Jason's cool, speculative young gaze was on his father's face as he +answered: + +"I understand, father." + +The minister turned away. "No, you don't. I doubt if you ever do." And +he did not speak again until they reached home. + +[Illustration] + + + + +III + +WAR + + + + +[Illustration] + +III + +WAR + + +And so Jason went away to study medicine. He worked very hard and +progressed very rapidly. By the time he was twenty he was no longer "the +doctor's boy." He was a real assistant in all but fees. He had no share +in the doctor's income and always was desperately hard up. + +At first, he did not ask his father and mother for help. He did all +sorts of odd chores to pay his way. But as he progressed in his +profession, he had less and less time for earning his up-keep and had +finally to write home for money. His mother always answered his letters +and she never failed to send him money when he asked for it. How she +managed it, Jason never asked. Perhaps he was ashamed to know. + +In all these four years he did not come home. He would have liked to but +the trip was prohibitively expensive. + +Late in the fall of 1861, he received a letter from his mother +containing a ten-dollar bill. It was a short letter. "Your father can't +live more than a week. Come at once." + +Jason put his head down on that letter and sobbed, then dried his eyes +and sought the doctor, who loaned him the rest of the money needed for +the trip. + +The minister's circuit had swung him round again to High Hill. Jason +disembarked from the packet late one November afternoon, carrying his +carpet bag. Even in November, High Hill was beautiful. Through his +sadness, Jason again felt the thrill of the giant headlands, the +thousand hills of his boyish imaginings. + +There was the same little cottage, more weather-beaten than he had +remembered it. His mother was waiting for him at the door. The four +years had changed her, yet she seemed to Jason more beautiful than his +mental picture of her had been. + +She kissed him with trembling lips. "He's still with us," she whispered. +"I'm sure he waited for you." + +"What is the matter with him?" asked Jason, huskily, as he deposited his +carpet bag on the sitting-room table. + +"Lung fever. He took a bad cold a month ago coming home from West +Virginia in the rain. He was absent-minded, you know. If it hadn't been +for Pilgrim, I don't think he'd ever got here." + +"Pilgrim?" asked Jason, warming his hands at the fire. + +"Surely I've written you about Pilgrim. Father bought him soon after you +left. He's the wisest horse that ever lived. If you're warm, now, Jason, +come to your father." + +He followed her into the bedroom which opened off the kitchen. His +father lay on the feather bed, his eyes closed. O how worn--O how +changed! Young Jason was hardened to suffering and death. He had not +realized that to the sickness and death of one's own, nothing can harden +us. He stood breathing hard while his mother stooped over the bed. + +"Ethan," she said softly, "our boy is here." + +Brother Wilkins opened his eyes and smiled faintly. He tried to say +something and Jason sprang to take his hand. + +"Oh, he wants to speak to you and can't. O my poor dear! O Ethan, my +dearest." + +Jason's mother broke down. Jason put his finger on his father's wrist. + +After a long moment, "Mother, he's gone," he whispered. + +After the funeral, Jason wandered about the village for a day or so, +trying to plan for his mother's future and his own. All the townspeople +were kind to him. + +"Haven't forgot how you loaned me those _Harper's Monthlies_ before you +read 'em yourself," said Mr. Inchpin. "Anything I can do for you or your +mother, let me know." + +The two had met in Hardwich's store, which was also the post office and +the evening club for the males of High Hill. Jason had dropped in to +post a letter. + +A tall scraggly man joined in. "Your father was the best preacher in +Ohio. We was all glad when he got back here." + +"He had the gift of prayer," said an old man, in the back of the store. + +There was a silence which Jason struggled in vain to break. + +Then a young fellow who carried a buggy whip and smoked a cigar said, +"How does the doctoring go, Jason?" + +"Well, thanks," returned Jason, looking at the young fellow, intently. +It was Billy Ames, he of the striped pants. + +Back through Jason's heart, until now strangely softened by the +happenings of the past few days, surged the accumulated bitterness of +his poverty-stricken youth. He turned abruptly and left the store. + +His mother was watching for him, anxiously. "Jason, Pilgrim had an +accident. He's got a frightful cut on his right fore shoulder. He must +have got caught on a nail somehow." + +"Let's have a look at him," said Jason. + +The big gray was standing stolidly in his stall. Mrs. Wilkins held the +candle while Jason examined him. On the right fore shoulder was a great +three-cornered tear from which the skin hung in a bloody fold. + +"I'll have to sew it up." Jason was all surgeon now. "Do you think he'll +stand still for us?" + +"Stand still," replied Jason's mother, indignantly. "Why, he'll know +exactly what you are doing, and why." + +"All right then. You get me some clean rags and a darning-needle and +I'll get the rest of the things I'll need." + +In a few moments the operation was well in hand. + +Pilgrim kept his ears back and his eyes on his mistress. He breathed +heavily, but otherwise he did not stir. He was a large horse, with a +small, intelligent head and a mighty chest. Jason's mother held the +candle with one hand while she stroked the big gray's nose with the +other. + +"Be careful, Jason, do!" she said softly. + +Jason grunted. "You keep him from biting or kicking and I'll do my +share," he said. + +"Pilgrim bite!" cried Jason's mother indignantly. + +Again Jason grunted, working swiftly, with the skill of trained and +accustomed fingers. The candle flickered on his cool young face, on his +black hair and on his long, strong, surgeon's fingers. It flickered too +on his mother's sweet lips, on her tired brown eyes and iron-gray hair. +It put high-lights on the cameo at her throat and made a grotesque +shadow of her hoop-skirts on the stable wall. + +Finally Jason straightened himself with a sigh and wiped his hands on a +towel. + +"That's a good job," he said. "Must be some bad spikes here or in the +pasture fence to have given him that rip. I'll hunt them up +tomorrow.--Get over there!" + +This last to Pilgrim, who suddenly had put his head on Jason's shoulder +with a soft nuzzling of his nose against the young doctor's cheek and a +little whinny that was almost human. + +"Why, Jason, he's thanking you!" cried his mother. "He'll never forget +what you've done for him tonight." + +Jason gave the horse a careless slap and started out the stable door. + +"You'll be having it that he speaks Greek next," he said. + +"You don't know him," replied Jason's mother. "This is the first time +you ever saw him, remember. These last three years of your father's life +he's been like one of the family." She followed Jason into the cottage. +"Often and often before your poor father died he said he'd never have +been able to keep on with the circuit-riding and the preaching if he'd +had to depend on any other horse than Pilgrim. That horse just knew +father was forgetful. He wouldn't budge if father forgot the +saddle-bags. When Pilgrim balked, father always knew he'd forgotten +something and he'd go back for it. I'll have supper on by the time +you've washed up, Jason." + +The little stove that was set in the fireplace roared lustily. The +kettle was singing. The old yellow cat slept cozily in the wooden rocker +on the patch-work cushion. All the furniture, so simple and worn, was as +familiar to Jason as the back of his hand. + +Jason washed at the bench in the corner, then sat down while his mother +put the supper before him--fried mush, fried salt pork, tea and apple +sauce. + +"Well," said Jason soberly, "what are we going to do now, mother? +Father's gone and--" + +His mother's trembling lips warned him to stop. + +"It doesn't seem possible," she said, "that it's only a week since we +laid him away." + +Jason interrupted gently. "I know, mother; but you and I have got to go +on living!" + +"It's you I'm worrying about," said his mother. + +"I've been wondering if you hadn't better come back to Baltimore with +me," mused Jason. "I can eke out a living somehow for the two of us." + +"No," said Mrs. Wilkins decidedly. "You've got burden enough to take +care of yourself. I can get along till you're doctoring for yourself. +Mr. Inchpin will let me have the cottage near the wharf if I'll go up to +his house and cook his dinner for him. Then with a little sewing and a +little nursing here in the village, the cow, the chickens and Pilgrim, I +can get along. But I don't see how I can send you anything, Jason." + +Jason had brightened perceptibly. "If I can just get through this year, +mother, I'll be on my feet. But I've got to pay Dr. Edwards back. He's a +hard driver. If we can get together enough for that, I'll manage, +somehow." + +Jason's mother sighed. "It does seem as if, all through the years, I +ought to have saved something, but I haven't, not a cent, except what I +raked and scraped together for your doctoring. Two hundred and fifty +dollars a year beside donation parties is quite a sum, Jason, and I feel +guilty that I haven't saved anything for you. But it all went, +especially after father got sickly. I've sold a lot of things, Jason, so +as to send you the money. I'm most at my wit's end now. Grandma's silver +teapot, that kept you three months, and your father's watch, nearly six. +That's the way the things have gone. My, how thankful I was we had 'em." + +Jason was still so very like his mother, so very unlike. Where her face +was sweet and tremulous, his was cool and still. His brown eyes were +careless and yet eager. Hers were not inscrutable now. The light had +gone out of them from weeping. Jason's long, strong hands were smooth +and quiet. Hers were knotted and work calloused and a little uncertain. + +As if something in her words irritated him, Jason said quickly, "Well, +what did you and father start me on this doctor idea for, if you thought +it was going to cost too much?" + +"O, Jason, you know that thought never occurred to either of us! There +are still some things to go that I've sort of hung on to. Take the St. +Bartholomew candlestick to Mr. Inchpin. That will give you the money you +need right now." + +Jason looked up at the queerly wrought silver candlestick that was more +like an old oil lamp than a candlestick. His mother's people had brought +it from France with them. The family legend was that some Huguenot +ancestor had come through the massacre of St. Bartholomew with this only +relic of his home wrapped in his bosom. + +"Good!" said Jason eagerly. "The old thing is neither fish nor flesh, +anyhow. Too big mouthed for a candle and folks are going to use coal +oil more and more, anyhow. I can be off tomorrow." + +"Tomorrow's Thanksgiving, Jason." + +"I'll be glad to forget it," grumbled Jason. "What have we to be +thankful for?" + +His mother looked at him a little curiously, but she said nothing. Jason +caught the expression in her eyes. + +"Don't look at me that way, mother," he burst forth angrily, "I can't +forgive father, with his big brain and body for doing so little for you +and me. I can't forgive him for what he dragged us through--those +donation parties! He had no right to put me through what he did that +year at High Hill. And what did he get out of his life? They lay him +away with the remark that he had a gift of prayer! And his widow may +starve, for all of them." + +"Jason, be silent," cried his mother. She had risen and stood facing +him, her face deathly white. "Not one word against your father. Because +you never could appreciate him, you needn't belittle him now. Not one +word," as Jason would have spoken. "He was my husband and I loved him, +God knows. O Ethan, Ethan, how shall I finish my span of years alone!" +she broke down utterly. + +Jason put his arms about her. "Mother, I didn't mean to hurt you. Truly +I didn't. It's only that--" he stopped and set his lips tightly while he +petted her in silence. + +"I pray, Jason," said his mother, finally, "that you will never have a +grief or a punishment great enough to soften your heart." + +Jason did not answer. He went up to see Mr. Inchpin that night, and the +following day started back East again. + +[Illustration] + + + + +IV + +MR. LINCOLN + + + + +[Illustration] + +IV + +MR. LINCOLN + + +Three times a week during the year that followed, Jason's mother saddled +Pilgrim and rode him to the post office after the shrieks of the whistle +had warned her that the tri-weekly packet had come and gone. Four times +during the year she heard from Jason. + + + "April 3, 1862. + + "DEAR MOTHER: + + "I am very well indeed, and hope that you are not overworking. + Things are not going very well here. Everybody is hard pressed + because of the war and Dr. Edwards simply can't make any + collections. We get a good many soldiers who are sent home half + cured and, of course, we get nothing at all from them--don't want + to, in fact. Is there any way we could raise just a little money? + Not a cent that you've earned, understand, but perhaps you could + sell your old mahogany hat-box. Mrs. Chadwick always wanted it. I + never did care for those old things and I don't think you do. After + I get started in practice, I'll buy you a dozen hat-boxes. Won't it + be great when you can come down here and live with me? + + "Your loving son, + "JASON." + + + "June 7, 1862. + + "DEAR MOTHER: + + "I have been quite sick with a sore hand--almost got gangrene from a + soldier. That's why you haven't been hearing from me. I received the + ten dollars. Thank you very much. I didn't think the old trap would + bring that much. Dr. Edwards said yesterday that I had a genius for + surgery. The ten dollars paid my board for six weeks, giving me a + chance to take some extra cases for the doctor. The war looks bad, + doesn't it? They need surgeons and though I'm doing something in + patching up these poor fellows and sending them back, I wonder often + if I oughtn't to go into a war hospital. Do you remember the little + cameo pin you used to wear till father thought it was too dressy for + you? If you haven't lost it, I wish you'd send it down here for me + to pawn. I can get it back after the war. I think of you often + though I don't write. Don't work too hard. + + "Your loving son, + "JASON." + + + "Sept. 24, 1862. + + "DEAR MOTHER: + + "Could you possibly sell something to get five dollars to me by + return packet? Will write fully later. + + "JASON." + + +But there was nothing more to sell. + + + "My dear boy," wrote Jason's mother, "I am heartbroken, for I know + how hard you are working, but truly, I have nothing left of the + least value. The cameo pin was the last. Am very much worried lest + you are sick. Do let me know. I am very well and the neighbors are + kind. Pilgrim is well, too, though the scar is there on his + shoulder. I'm sure he will always remember what you did for him. He + is all but human. _Please_ write me. + + "A hug and kiss, from Mother." + + +Jason's fourth letter was urgent and prompt in reply. + + + "DEAR MOTHER: + + "I am going into the army, mother. The need for surgeons is urgent + and I've got to help lick the South. I thought, barring the five + from you, I could raise enough to buy into practice with Dr. Edwards + before I leave, so that if I live, I will have that to return to. It + will cost a hundred dollars. But I can't do it. So I guess you'll + have to sell Pilgrim. I hate to ask it of you but after all he's + only an expense to you and I'll buy you another, after the war. Sell + him to the government for an army horse. Mr. Inchpin will attend to + it for you. + + "Lovingly, + "JASON." + + +Jason's mother read the letter with tears running down her cheeks. It +was November. Drearily the Kentucky hills rolled back from the river and +drearily the Ohio valleys stretched inland. Pilgrim plodded patiently +toward the stable and his mistress, huddled in the saddle, gave him no +heed until Pilgrim stamped impatiently at the stable door. Then she +dismounted and the great horse stamped into his stall. + +"O Pilgrim," she sobbed, "Jason is going to war. Jason is going to war. +I can't lose him too!" + +The horse turned his fine head and nickered softly as he rubbed his soft +nose on her shoulder. + +"And I've got to let you go, old friend," she added. "I know that I +don't need you, Pilgrim. It's just that you are like a living bit of +father--and if Jason would only seem to understand that, it wouldn't be +so hard to let you go. I wonder if all young folks are like Jason?" + +Old Pilgrim leaned his head over his stall and in the November gloaming +he looked long at his mistress with his wise and gentle eyes. It was as +if he would tell her that he had learned that youth is always a little +hard; that only long years in harness with always the back-breaking load +to pull, not for oneself, but for others, can make the really grateful +heart. One of the sweet, deep compensations of the years, the gray horse +seemed to say, is that gratitude grows in the soul. + +So Jason and Old Pilgrim both went to war. They did not see each other, +but each one, in his own way, made a brilliant record. Pilgrim learned +the sights and sounds and smells of war. The fearful pools of blood +ceased to send him plunging and rearing in harness. The screams of utter +fear or of mortal agony no longer set him to neighing or sweating in +sympathy. Pilgrim, superb in strength and superb in intelligence, +plodded efficiently through a battle just as he had plodded efficiently +over the circuit of Jason's Methodist father. + +And Jason, cool and clear-headed, with his wonderful long strong hands, +sawed and sewed and probed and purged his way through field hospital +after field hospital, until the men began to hear of his skill and to +ask for him when the fear of death was on them. His work absorbed him +more and more, until months went by, and he neglected to write to his +mother! Just why, who can say? Each of us looking into his heart, +perhaps can find some answer. But Jason was young, and work and world +hungry. He did not ask himself embarrassing questions. The months +slipped into a year, and the first year into a second year. Still Jason +did not write to his mother, nor did he longer hear from her. + +In November of the second year Jason was stationed in a hospital near +Washington. One rainy morning as he made his way to the cot of a man who +was dying of gangrene, an orderly stopped him. + +"This is Dr. Jason Wilkins?" + +"Yes." + +"Sorry, Doctor, but I've got to arrest you and take you to Washington--" + +Jason looked the orderly over incredulously. "You've got the wrong man, +friend." + +The soldier drew a heavy envelop carefully from his breast pocket, and +handed it to Jason. Jason opened it uneasily, and gasped. This is what +he read: "Show this to Surgeon Jason Wilkins, ---- Regiment. Arrest him. +Bring him to me immediately.--A. LINCOLN." + +Jason whitened. "What's up?" he asked the orderly. + +"I didn't ask the President," replied the orderly dryly. "We'll start at +once, if you please, Doctor." + +In a daze, Jason left for Washington. He thought of all the minor +offenses he had committed. But they were only such as any young fellow +might have committed. He could not believe that any of them had reached +Mr. Lincoln's ears, or that, if they had, the great man in the White +House would have heeded them. + +Jason was locked in a room in a Washington boarding-house for one night. +The next day at noon the orderly called for him. Weak-kneed, Jason +followed him up the long drive to the door of the White House, and into +a room where there were more orderlies and a man at a desk writing. An +hour of dazed waiting, then a man came out of a door and spoke to the +man at the desk. + +"Surgeon Jason Wilkins," said the sentry. + +"Here!" answered Jason. + +"This way," jerked the orderly, and Jason found himself in the inner +room, with the door closed behind him. The room was empty, yet filled. +There was but one man in it besides Jason, but that man was Mr. Lincoln. +He sat at a desk, with his somber eyes on Jason's face--still a cool +young face, despite trembling knees. + +"You are Jason Wilkins?" said Mr. Lincoln. + +"Yes, Mr. President," replied the young surgeon. + +"Where are you from?" + +"High Hill, Ohio." + +"Have you any relatives?" + +"Only my mother is living." + +"Yes, only a mother! Well, young man, how is your mother?" + +Jason stammered. "Why, why--I don't know." + +"You don't know!" thundered Lincoln. "And why don't you know? Is she +living or dead?" + +"I don't know," said Jason. "To tell the truth, I've neglected to write +and I don't suppose she knows where I am." + +There was a silence in the room. Mr. Lincoln clenched a great fist on +his desk, and his eyes scorched Jason. "I had a letter from her. She +supposes you dead and asked me to trace your grave. What was the matter +with her? No good? Like most mothers, a poor sort? Eh? Answer me, sir?" + +Jason bristled a little. "The best woman that ever lived, Mr. +President." + +"Ah!" breathed Mr. Lincoln. "Still you have no reason to be grateful to +her! How'd you get your training as a surgeon? Who paid for it? Your +father?" + +Jason reddened. "Well, no; father was a poor Methodist preacher. Mother +raised the money, though I worked for my board mostly." + +"Yes, how'd she raise the money?" + +Jason's lips were stiff. "Selling things, Mr. President." + +"What did she sell?" + +"Father's watch--the old silver teapot--the mahogany hat-box--the St. +Bartholomew candlestick. Old things mostly; beyond use except in +museums." + +Again silence in the room, while a look of contempt gathered in Abraham +Lincoln's eyes that seared Jason's cool young soul till it scorched him. +"You poor fool!" said Lincoln. "You poor worm! Her household +treasures--one by one--for you. 'Useless things--fit for museums!' Oh, +you fool!" + +Jason flushed angrily and bit his lips. Suddenly the President rose and +pointed a long, bony finger at his desk. "Come here and sit down and +write a letter to your mother!" + +Jason stalked obediently over and sat down in the President's seat. +Anger and mortification were ill inspirations for letter-writing, but +under Lincoln's burning eyes Jason seized a pen and wrote his mother a +stilted note. Lincoln paced the floor, pausing now and again to look +over Jason's shoulder. + +"Address it and give it to me," said the President. "I'll see that it +gets to her." Then, his stern voice rising a little: "And now, Jason +Wilkins, as long as you are in the army, you write to your mother once a +week. If I have reason to correct you on the matter again, I'll have you +court-martialed." + +Jason rose and handed the letter to the President, then stood, angry and +silent, awaiting further orders. Abraham Lincoln took another turn or +two up and down the room. Then he paused before the window and looked +from it a long, long time. Finally he turned to Jason. + +"My boy," he said gently, "there's no finer quality in the world than +gratitude. There is nothing a man can have in his heart so mean, so low +as ingratitude. Even a dog appreciates a kindness, never forgets a soft +word, or a bone. To my mind, the noblest holiday in the world is +Thanksgiving. And, next the Creator, there is no one the holiday should +be dedicated to as much as to mothers." + +Again Lincoln paused, and looked from the boyish face of the young +surgeon out of the window at the bleak November skies, and Lincoln said +to Jason, with God knows what tragedy of memory in his lonely heart: + + "Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, + Thou dost not bite so nigh + As benefits forgot." + +Another pause. "You may go, my boy." And Lincoln shook hands with +Jason, who stumbled from the room, his mind a chaos of resentment and +anger. He made his way down Pennsylvania Avenue, pausing as two army +officers rode up to a hotel and dismounted, leaving their horses. +Something about the big gray that one of the officers rode seemed +vaguely familiar to the young doctor. The gray turned his small, +intelligent head toward Jason, then with a sudden soft whinny, laid his +head on Jason's shoulder and nuzzled his cheek gently. Jason looked at +the right fore shoulder. A three-cornered scar was there. Jason and Old +Pilgrim never had met but once, and yet--Jason was little more than a +boy. Suddenly he threw his arms around Old Pilgrim's neck, and sobbed +into the silky mane. Passers-by glanced curiously and then went on. +Washington was full of tears those days. + +Pilgrim whinnied and waited patiently. Finally Jason dried his eyes, +then stood in thought. The officer who had ridden Pilgrim came out at +last. Jason saluted. + +[Illustration] + +"Captain, I'd like to buy that horse from you." + +The captain laughed. "There are a number of others like you." + +"No, but let me tell you about him, Captain. Give me ten minutes. I'm +Dr. Wilkins of ---- Hospital." + +"O yes, I know of your work. What's the story, Doctor?" + +Jason told Pilgrim's history. "She gave him up for me and now I've found +him," he finished. "I want to buy him back, get a furlough and take him +home to her, myself. I've been saving my money." + +"You may have him for just what I paid for him, Doctor," said the +captain, who was considerably Jason's senior. "Tell your mother I wish +my own mother were living and that I do this in her memory." + +"Thank you, sir," said Jason. + +A week later Jason led Pilgrim out of the freight car in which he had +traveled from Washington to a railway station twenty-five miles from +home. The river packets were not running and this was the nearest +station to High Hill. It was noon and cold. Jason mounted and started +south briskly and once more the Ohio valley opened up before him. + +It seemed to Jason that he was seeing the hills for absolutely the first +time. And yet that could not be, for back with the first sight of the +distant river came all his old boyish reverence for the headlands. The +last time he had ridden horseback in the hills had been in the West +Virginia circuit, with his father. + +For the first time since his interview with the President, Jason began +to think of his father. All his newly awakened sense of gratitude had +been centered on his mother. Did he then owe his father nothing? + +It took courage, it took nerve, it took stomach to patch together the +bloody wrecks on the field of battle. It had taken tenacity to an ideal +to starve and toil for his profession as he had done in Baltimore. +Whence had come these qualities to Jason? He thought once more of his +father on that trip on the West Virginian circuit, of the boys expelled +from the church, of Sister Clark, of his own sense of mortification and +his own contempt. And he dropped his head on his breast with a groan. + +And so as the sun set, Pilgrim with the scar on his right fore shoulder +and Jason with the scar on his soul that only remorse implants there, +stopped before the cottage in High Hill. And through the window, Jason's +mother saw them. She rushed to the door and Jason, dismounting, ran up +to her, and dropping on his knees, threw his arms about her waist and +sobbed against her bosom: + +"O mother! O mother! Forgive me! I didn't realize. I didn't know!" Just +as many, many sons have done before, and just as many more will do, +please God, as long as love and gratitude endure. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Benefits Forgot, by Honore Willsie + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BENEFITS FORGOT *** + +***** This file should be named 18951.txt or 18951.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/9/5/18951/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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