istless waves
upon me and I stumbled up to bed--and sank into dreamless slumber.
V
THE STORY OF ANNA
It is the prime secret of the Open Road (but I may here tell it aloud)
that you are to pass nothing, reject nothing, despise nothing upon this
earth. As you travel, many things both great and small will come to your
attention; you are to regard all with open eyes and a heart of
simplicity. Believe that everything belongs somewhere; each thing has
its fitting and luminous place within this mosaic of human life. The
True Road is not open to those who withdraw the skirts of intolerance or
lift the chin of pride. Rejecting the least of those who are called
common or unclean, it is (curiously) you yourself that you reject. If
you despise that which is ugly you do not know that which is beautiful.
For what is beauty but completeness? The roadside beggar belongs here,
too; and the idiot boy who wanders idly in the open fields; and the girl
who withholds (secretly) the name of the father of her child.
* * * * *
I remember as distinctly as though it happened yesterday the particular
evening three years ago when I saw the Scotch Preacher come hurrying up
the road toward my house. It was June. I had come out after supper to
sit on my porch and look out upon the quiet fields. I remember the
grateful cool of the evening air, and the scents rising all about me
from garden and roadway and orchard. I was tired after the work of the
day and sat with a sort of complete comfort and contentment which comes
only to those who work long in the quiet of outdoor places. I remember
the thought came to me, as it has come in various forms so many times,
that in such a big and beautiful world there should be no room for the
fever of unhappiness or discontent.
And then I saw McAlway coming up the road. I knew instantly that
something was wrong. His step, usually so deliberate, was rapid; there
was agitation in every line of his countenance. I walked down through
the garden to the gate and met him there. Being somewhat out of breath
he did not speak at once. So I said:
"It is not, after all, as bad as you anticipate."
"David," he said, and I think I never heard him speak more seriously,
"it is bad enough."
He laid his hand on my arm.
"Can you hitch up your horse and come with me--right away?"
McAlway helped with the buckles and said not a word. In ten minutes,
certainly not more, we were dr
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