Their Yesterdays

by Harold Bell Wright

  IGNORANCE

  When the man had gained a little knowledge from the thing that he hadfound to do and had wearied himself greatly trying to follow thegolden chain, link by link, to the very end, he came, then, tounderstand the value of Ignorance. He came to see that success inworking out his dreams depended quite as much upon Ignorance as uponKnowledge--that, indeed, to know the value of Ignorance is the highestorder of Knowledge.

  There are a great many things about this man's life that I do notknow. But that does not matter because most of the things about anyman's life are of little or no importance. That the man came to knowthe 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 theThirteen Truly Great Things of Life but only those who have muchknowledge know its value.

  A wise Ignorance is rich soil from which the seeds of Knowledge willbring forth fruit, a hundred fold. "I do not know": this is thebeginning and the end of wisdom. One who has never learned to say: "Ido not know," has not the A B C of education. He who professes to beeducated but will not confess Ignorance is intellectually condemned.

  A man who pretends to a knowledge which he has not is like a pygmywearing giant's clothing, ridiculous: but he who admits Ignorance islike a strong knight, clothed in a well fitting suit of mail, ready toachieve truth.

  When a man declares openly his ignorance concerning things of which heknows but little, the world listens with increased respect when hespeaks of the thing he knows: but when a man claims knowledge of allthings, the world doubts mightily that he knows much of anything, andaccepts questioningly whatever he says of everything.

  That which a man does not know harms him not at all, neither does itharm the world; but that which, through a shallow, foolish,self-conceit, he professes to know, when he has at best only a halfknowledge, or, in a self destructive vanity, deceives himself intothinking that he knows, betrays him always to the injury of bothhimself and others. An honest Ignorance is a golden vessel, empty,ready to be filled with wealth but a pretentious or arrogant knowledgeis a vessel so filled with worthless trash that there is no room forthat which is of value.

  The world is as full of things to know as it is full of hooks, No mancan hope to read all the books in the world. Selection is enforced bynecessity. So it is in Knowledge. One should not think that, because aman is ignorant of some things, he is therefore a fool; his ignorancemay be the manifestation of a choice wiser than that of the one whoelects to sit in judgment upon him.

  With the passion to know fully aroused; with his mind fretting tograpple with the problem of Life; and his purpose fired to solve theriddle of time; the man succeeded in acquiring this: that he must dareto know little. He came to understand that, while all knowable thingsare for all mankind to know, no man can know them all; and that thewisest men to whom the world pays highest tribute, are the wisestbecause they have not attempted to know all, but, recognizing thevalue of Ignorance, have dared to remain ignorant of much.Intellectual giants they are; intellectual babes they are, also. Theman had thought that there was nothing that these men--these wiseones--did not know. He came to understand that even _he_ knewsome things of which they were ignorant. So his determination to knowall things passed to a determination to know nothing of many thingsthat he might know more of the things that were most closelyassociated with his life and work. He determined to know the most ofthe things that, to him, were most vital.

  He saw also that he must work out his dreams within the circle of hisown limitations; and that his limitations were not the limitations ofhis fellow workers; neither were their limitations his. He did notknow yet just where the outmost circle of his limitations lay but heknew that it was there and that he must make no mistake when he cameto it. And this, too, is true: just to the degree that the manrecognized his limitations, the circle widened.

  Also the man came to understand that there are things knowable andthings unknowable. He came to see that truest wisdom is in this: forone to spend well his strength on the knowable things and refuse todissipate his intellectual vigor upon the unknowable. Not until hebegan really to know things was he conscious in any saving degree ofthe unknowable. He saw that those who strive always with theunknowable beat the air in vain and exhaust themselves in theirsenseless folly. He saw that to concern oneself wholly with theunknowable is to rob the world of the things in which are its life. Tomeditate much upon the unknowable is an intellectual dissipation thatproduces spiritual intoxication and often results in spiritualdelirium tremens. A habitual spiritual drunkard is a nuisance in theworld. The wisdom of Ignorance is in nothing more apparent than in aclear recognition of the unknowable.

  And then the man came to regret knowing some of the things that heknew. He came, in some things, to wish with all his heart that he hadIgnorance where he had Knowledge. He found that much of the time andstrength that he desired to spend in acquiring the knowledge thatwould help him to work out his dreams, he must spend, instead, inridding himself of knowledge that he had already acquired. He learnedthat to forget is quite as necessary as to remember and very oftenmuch more difficult. Young he was, and strong he was, but, already, hefelt the dragging power of the things he would have been better fornot knowing--the things he desired to forget. They were very littlethings in comparison to the things that in the future he would wish toforget; but to him, at this time, they did not seem small. So it wasthat, in his effort to acquire Knowledge, the man began to strive alsofor Ignorance.

  I do not know what it was that the man had learned that he desired toforget. My story is not the kind of a story that tells those things. Iknow, only, that for him to forget was imperative. I know, only, thathad he held fast to Ignorance in some things of which he had gainedknowledge, it would have been better. For him in some things Ignorancewould have been the truest wisdom. Ignorance would have helped him towork out his dreams when Knowledge only hindered by forcing him tospend much time striving to forget. Those who know too much of evilfind it extremely difficult to gain knowledge of the good. Those whoknow too much of the false find it very hard to recognize the true. Atoo great knowledge of things that are wrong makes it almostimpossible for one to believe in that which is right. Ignorance,rightly understood, is, indeed, one of the Thirteen Truly Great Thingsof Life.

  And then this man, in learning the value of Ignorance, came perilouslynear believing that no man could _know_ anything. He camedangerously near the belief that Knowledge is all a mirage towardwhich men journey hopelessly; a phantom to be grasped by no hand; awill-o'-the-wisp to be followed here and there but leading nowhere.He, for a little, said that Ignorance is the truest wisdom. Hebelieved, for a time, that to say always: "I do not know," is theheight of all intelligence. One by one, he saw his intellectual idolsfall in the dust of the commonplace. Little by little, he discoveredthat the intellectual masters he had served were themselves onlyservants. His intellectual Gods, he found to be men like himself. Andso, for a while, he said: "We can know nothing. We can only think thatwe know. We can only pretend to know. There _is_ no realKnowledge but only Ignorance. Ignorance should be exalted. InIgnorance lies peace, contentment, happiness, and safety." Even of hiswork--of his dreams he said this. He said: "It is no use." To the veryedge of this pit he came but he did not fall in.

  To accept the fact of the unknowable without losing his faith in theknowable: to recognize the unknown without losing in the least hisgrip upon the known: to find the Knowledge of Yesterday becoming theIgnorance of to-day and still hold fast to the Knowledge of thepresent; to watch his intellectual leaders dropping to the rear and tofollow as bravely those who were still in the front: to see hisintellectual heroes fall and his intellectual idols crumbling in thedust and still to keep burning the fire of his enthusiasm: to findKnowledge so often a curse and Ignorance a blessing and still todesire Knowledge: all this, the man learned that he must do if hewould work out his dreams. That which saved the man from the pit ofhopeless disbelief in everything and helped him to a clearunde
rstanding of Ignorance, was this: he went back again into hisYesterdays.

  From sheltered fence corners and hidden woodland hollows, from the leeof high banks, and along the hedge in the garden, the last worn andragged 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 andwas rejoicing boisterously in its freedom. The meadow and pasturelands showed the tender green of the first grass life. Pussy willowbuds were swelling and over the orchard and the wood a filmy veil ofsummer color was dropped as though by fairy hands. In the cherry tree,a pair of brown birds, just returning from their southern home, werediscussing the merits of the nearby hedge as a building site: themadam bird insisting, as women will, that the beautiful traditions ofthe spot made it, for home building, peculiarly desirable. It was awell known fact, said she, that brown birds had builded there for noone knows how many ages. Even in the far away city, the man felt theseason in the air. The reek of city odors could not altogether drownthe subtle perfume that betrayed the near presence of the spring. Asthough the magic of the budding, sprouting, starting, time of the yearplaced him under its spell, the man went back to the springtime of hislife--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 toforget--when his mind and life were as a mountain brook that, clearand 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 ofchildhood--that he found new intellectual faith--that he came to aright understanding of the real wisdom of Ignorance.

  The intellectual giants of his Yesterdays--those wise ones upon whoselearning he looked with childish awe--who were they? Famous scholarswho lectured in caps and gowns and words of many syllables upon themesof mighty interest to themselves? Students who, in their laboratoryworlds, discovered many wonderful things that were not so and solvedmany puzzling problems with solutions that were right and entirelysatisfactory until the next graduating class discovered them to be allwrong and no solution at all? Great religious leaders who weresupernaturally called, divinely commissioned, and armed with holyauthority to point out the true and only way of life until some otherwith the same call, commission, and authority, pointed out a whollydifferent true and only way? Great statesmen upon whose knowledge andleadership the salvation of the nation depended, until the nextelection discovered them to be foolish puppets of a dishonest andcorrupt party and put new leaders in their places to save the nationwith a new brand of political salvation, the chief value of which wasits newness? No indeed! Such as these were not the intellectual giantsof the man's Yesterdays. The heights of knowledge in those days wereheld 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 weregroomed and bedded down for the night. Again the pungent odors fromthe stalls, the scent of the straw and the hay in the loft, the smellof harness leather damp with sweat was in his nostrils and in hisears, the soft swish of switching tails, the thud of stamping hoofs,the contented munching of grain, the rustle of hay, with now and thena low whinny or an angry squeal. And fearlessly to and fro in thisstrange world moved the hired man. In and out among the horses hepassed, perfectly at home in the stalls, seeming to share the mostintimate secrets of the horse life.

  Everything that there was to know about a horse, confidently thoughtthe little boy, this wonderful man knew. The very language that heused when talking about horses was a language full of strange, hard,words, the meaning of which was hidden from the childish worshiper ofwisdom. 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, theintellectual greatness of the one who used them just as words of manysyllables sometimes fix for older children the position on theintellectual heights of those who use them. "Chiaroscuro,""cheiropterous," "eschatology," and the "unearned increment"--who, inthe common, every day, grown up, world, would dare question theartistic, scientific, religious, or political, knowledge of one whocould talk like that?

  Nor did the intellectual strength of this wise one of the Yesterdaysexhaust itself with the scientific knowledge of horses. He was equallyat home in the co-ordinate sciences of cows and pigs and chickens.Again the boy stood in the cow shed laboratory and watched, withchildish wonder, the demonstration of the master's superior wisdom asthe white streams poured into the tinkling milk pail. How did he doit--wondered the boy--where did this wizard in overalls and hickoryshirt and tattered straw hat acquire his marvelous scientific skill?

  In the garden, the orchard, or the field, it was the same. No secretof nature was hidden from this learned one. He knew whether potatoesshould be planted in the dark or light of the moon: whether nextwinter would be "close" or "open": whether the coming season would be"early" or "late": whether next summer would be "wet" or "dry." Alwayshe could tell, days ahead, whether it would rain or if the weatherwould be fair. With a peach tree twig he could tell where to dig forwater. By many signs he could say whether luck would be good or bad.Small wonder that the boy felt very ignorant, very humble, in thepresence of this wise one!

  Then, one day, the boy, to his amazement, learned that this wizard ofthe barnyard knew nothing at all about fairies. Common, every day,knowledge was this knowledge of fairies to the boy: but the wise oneknew nothing about them. So dense was his ignorance that he evenseemed to doubt and smiled an incredulous smile when the boy tried toenlighten him.

  It was a great day in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that thehired man did not know about fairies.

  As the years passed and the time approached when the boy was to becomea man, he learned the meaning of many words that were as strange tothe intellectual hero of his childhood as the language of thatcompanion of horses had once been strange to him. In time, much of theknowledge of that barnyard sage became, to the boy, even as the boy'sknowledge of fairies had been to the man. Still--still--it was a greatday in his Yesterdays when the boy discovered that the hired man didnot know about fairies. Perhaps, though, it was just as well that thehired man did not know. If he had become too familiar with thefairies, his potatoes might not have been planted either in the lightor the dark of the moon and the world's potatoes must be plantedsomehow.

  Equally great in his special field of knowledge was the old, whitehaired, negro who lived in a tiny cabin just a little way over thehill. Strange and awful were the things that _he_ knew about thefearsome, supernatural, creatures, that lived and moved in the unseenworld. Of "hants" and "spirits" and "witches" and "hoodoos" he told theboy with such earnest confidence and so convincing a manner that todoubt was impossible. In the unknowable world, the old negro movedwith authority unquestioned, with piety above criticism, with areligious zeal of such warmth that the boy was often moved by the oldman's wisdom and goodness to go to him with offerings from mother'spantry.

  And then, one day, the boy discovered that this wonderfully wise onecould neither read nor write. Everybody that the boy knew, in thegrown up world, could read and write. The boy himself could even read"cat" and "rat" and "dog." Vaguely the boy wondered, even then, if theold 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 manthat ever lived. The boy wondered, sometimes, why the Bible did nottell about his father. Surely, in all the world, there was no otherman so good as he. And, as for wisdom! There was nothing--nothing--thatfather 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 boydid 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 fathersometimes wish that he could be a boy again. To him, in the ignoranceof his childhood, such a wish was very strange. Not until the boy hadhimself become a man and had learned to rightly value Ignorance did heunderstand his father's wish and in his heart repeat it.

  But there was one in those Yesterdays, upon whose knowledge the boylooked in admiring awe, who taught him that which he could neveroutgrow. Very different from the wisdom of the hired man was thewisdom of this one. Very different was his knowledge from theknowledge of the old negro. Nor was his learning like, in any way, tothe 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 himinto the house, and often she explained to him that the one whom he soadmired was a bad boy and that she did not wish her little son to playwith him. So this intellectual leader of the Yesterdays was forced tocome, stealthily, through the orchard, dodging from tree to tree,until, from behind the woodshed, he could, with a low whistle, attractthe 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 behindthe barn where, safe from mother's watchful eye, the boy could enjoythe companionship of this one whom Knowledge had so distinguished.

  And often the older boy laughed at the Ignorance of his youngercompanion--laughed and sneered at him in the pride of superiorlearning--while the little boy felt ashamed and, filled withadmiration for his forbidden friend, wondered if he would ever grow tobe as wise. Scarcely could he hope, for instance, to be able, ever, tosmoke and chew and swear in so masterful a way. And the littlelearner's face would beam with timid adoration and envy as he listenedto the tales of wicked adventures so boastfully related by histeacher. Would he, could he, ever be so bold, so wise in knowledge ofthe world?

  Poor little boy in the Yesterdays who knew nothing of the value ofIgnorance! Poor boys in the grown up world--admiring and envying thosewho know more of evil than themselves!

  So, always, secretly, the boy, as the years passed, gained theknowledge 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 inhis manhood the value of Ignorance, wished that he could be a boyagain, the little girl came to take her place in his intellectual lifeeven as she took her place in all the life of his boyhood. Again hesaw her wondering eyes as she stood with him in the stable door towatch the hired man among the horses. Again he felt her timid hand inhis as he led her to a place where, safe from horns and heels, theycould observe, together, the fascinating operation of milking.Together they listened to the words of strange wisdom and marveled atthe knowledge of the barnyard scientist.

  All that the boy learned from the old negro, of the fearsome creaturesthat 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 overthe hill; there to gaze, half frightened, at the black-faced seer whohad such store of awful wisdom.

  The boy's pride in his father's superior goodness and wisdom sheshared fully--because he was the father of the boy.

  All the sweet lore of childhood was theirs in common. All the wiseIgnorance of his Yesterdays she shared.

  Only in the boy's forbidden friendship with that one who had suchknowledge of evil the little girl did not share. This knowledge--theknowledge that was to go with him, even in his manhood years, andwhich, at last, would teach him the real value of Ignorance--the boygained alone. Sadly, the man remembered how, sometimes, when the boyhad stolen away to drink at that first muddy fountain of evil, hewould hear her calling and would be held from answering by the jeersof his wicked teacher. But never when he was playing with the littlegirl did the boy answer the signal whistle of that one whose knowledgehe envied but of whose friendship he was ashamed.

  In his Yesterdays, the ignorance of his little girl mate was an anchorthat held the boy from drifting too far in the current of evil. In hisYesterdays, the goodness and wisdom of his father was not awill-o'-the-wisp but, to the boy, a steady guiding light. Whatmattered, then, if the knowledge of the old negro _was_ but afoolish mirage? What mattered if the hired man did _not_ knowabout fairies or if he _did_ know so many things that were notso? So it was that the man came to know the value of Ignorance. So itwas that the man did not fall into the pit of saying: "There is onlyIgnorance."

  And so it was, as he returned again from his Yesterdays, that day wheneven the reeking atmosphere of the city could not hide, altogether,the sweetness of the spring, that the memory of the little girl waswith 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 wasreturning to the place where she worked. A crowd had gathered,blocking the sidewalk, and she was forced to stop. Quickly, as if bymagic, the people came running from all directions. The woman wasannoyed. Her destination was only a few doors away and she had muchwork, still, to do before the remaining hours of the afternoon shouldbe gone. She could not cross the street without going back for thetraffic 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 couldsee, already, the helmets of the police clearing the sidewalk. Pushinginto the jam, she worked slowly forward.

  Clang, clang, clang, with a rattle and clatter and crash, a patrolwagon swung up to the curb--so close that a spatter of mud from thegutter fell on the woman's skirt. The wagon wheeled and backed. Thepolice formed a quick lane across the sidewalk. The crowd surgedforward and carried the woman close against the blue coated barrier.Down the lane held by the officers of the law, so close to the womanthat she could have touched them, came two poor creatures who were notignorant of what is commonly called the world. They had seen life--sothe world would have said. They were wise. They had knowledge of manythings of which the woman, who shrank back from them in horror, knewnothing. Their haggard, painted, faces, their disheveled hair, theirtawdry clothing, false jewels, and drunken blasphemies, drew a laughfrom the crowd.

  Upon the soul of the woman the laughter of the crowd fell like a demonlaugh 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 itsburden of woe. The crowd melted as magically as it had gathered. Atthe entrance of the building where she worked, the woman turned tolook back, as though fascinated by the horror of that which she hadseen. But, upon the surface of that sea of life, there was not thefaintest 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 inwhich she worked. Several times, each day, she passed the swingingdoors 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 occupiedthe rooms above as they watched at the windows. When first she went towork she had known little of such things, but she was learning. Notbecause she wished to learn but because she could not help it. But theknowledge of such things had come to her so gradually that she hadgrown accustomed to knowing even as she came to know. She had becomefamiliar with the fact without being forced to feel.

  Perhaps, if the incident had occurred a few years later, when thewoman's knowledge was more complete, she, herself, might have beenable to laugh with the crowd. This knowledge that enables one so tolaugh is, seemingly, much prized these days among those who have notthe wisdom to value Ignorance.

  The afternoon passed, as such afternoons must, and the woman did herwork. What mattered the work that was bein
g wrought in the soul of herwomanhood--the work committed to her hands--the work that refused torecognize her womanhood--_that_ work was done--and that is allthat seems to matter. And, when her day's work was done, the womanboarded a car for her home.

  It was an hour when many hundreds of toilers were going from theirlabor. So many hundreds there were that the cars could scarcely holdthem and there were seats for only a few. Among those hundreds therewere many who were proud of their knowledge of life. There were notmany who knew the value of Ignorance. The woman who knew that she wasa woman was crowded in a car where there was scarcely room for her tostand. She felt the rude touch of strangers--felt the bodies ofstrange men forced against her body--felt their limbs crushed againsther limbs--felt their breath in her face--felt and trembled infrightened shame. In that car, crowded close against the woman, therewere men whose knowledge of life was very great. By going to thelowest depths of the city's shame, where the foulest dregs of humanitysettle, they had acquired that knowledge.

  At first the woman had dreaded those evening trips from work in thecrowded cars. But it was an everyday experience and she was becomingaccustomed to it. She was learning not to mind. That is the horror ofit--_she was learning not to mind._

  But this night it was different. The heart of her womanhood shrankwithin her trembling and afraid--cried out within her in protest atthe outrage. In the fetid atmosphere of the crowded car; in the roughtouch of the crushing bodies of sweating humanity; in the coarse, low,jest; she felt again the demon that she had heard in the laughter ofthe crowd. She saw again the horror of that which had leered at herfrom out the disfigured, drunken, faces of the poor creatures taken bythe police.

  Must she--must she learn to laugh that laugh with the crowd? Must shegain knowledge of the unclean, the vicious, the degrading things oflife by actual contact? Was it not enough for her to know that thosethings were in the world as she knew that there was fever in the marshlands; 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 notcrave Knowledge, but Ignorance. She prayed to be kept from knowing toomuch. 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 herdream life that was to be beyond the old, old, door. She feared forthat one who, perhaps, would come to cross with her the threshold forit was given this woman to know that only with one in whose purity oflife she believed could she ever enter into the life of her dreams.The Master of Life, in His infinite wisdom, made the heart ofwomanhood divinely selfish. This woman knew that her dreams couldnever be for her save through her belief in the one who should ask herto go with him through that old, old, door. And the things that thewoman found herself learning made it hard for her to believe in anyman. The knowledge that was forced upon her was breeding doubt anddistrust and denial of good. The realization of her womanhood'sbeautiful dream was possible only through wise Ignorance. She mustfight to keep from learning too much.

  And in the woman's fight there was this to help her: in the crowd thathad laughed, her startled eyes had seen one or two who did notlaugh--one or two there were whose faces were filled with pity andwith shame. Always, in the crowded cars, there was some one who triedquietly to shield her from the press--some one who seemed tounderstand. It was this that helped. These men who knew the value ofIgnorance kept the spark of her faith in men alive. The faith, withoutwhich her dreams would be idle dreams, impossible of fulfillment, waskept for her by those men who knew the value of Ignorance.

  The woman went to her work the next morning with a heart that washeavy with dread and nerves that were quivering with fear. Thebrightness, the beauty, and the joy, of her womanhood, she felt to begoing from her as the sunshine goes under threatening clouds. Theblackness, the ugliness, and the sorrow, of life, she felt coming overher as fog rolls in from the sea. The faith, trust, and hope, that isthe soul of womanhood was threatened by doubt, distrust, and despair.The gentleness, sensitiveness, and delicacy, that is the heart ofwomanhood was beset by coarseness, vulgarity, and rudeness. Could sheharden her woman heart, steel her woman nerves, and make coarse herwoman soul to withstand the things that she was forced to meet andknow? And if she could--what then--would she gain or lose thereby? Forthe 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, thather own eyes filled with tears.

  "Come, come," said the voice, "this won't do at all. You must not loseyour grip, you know. It will be all right to-morrow. Take theafternoon off and get out into the fresh air."

  And something in his voice--something in his grave, steady, eyes--toldher--made her feel that he understood. It helped her to know that thisman of large affairs, of power and authority, understood.

  So, for that afternoon, she went to a park in a distant part of thecity to escape, for a few hours, the things that were crowding her tooclosely. Near the entrance of the park, she met a gray hairedpoliceman who, looking at her keenly, smiled kindly and touched hishat; then, before she had passed from sight, he turned to followleisurely the path that she had taken. Finding a quiet nook on thebank of a little stream that was permitted to run undisturbed by thewise makers of the park, the woman seated herself, while thepoliceman, unobserved by her, paused not far away to watch a group ofchildren at play.

  The life that crowded her so closely drifted far, faraway.]

  Perhaps it was the blue sky, unstained by the city smoke: perhaps itwas the sunbeams that filtered through the leafy net-work of the treesto fall in golden flakes and patches on the soft green: perhaps it wasthe song that the little brook was singing as it went its merry way:perhaps it was the twittering, chirping, presence of the feathery folkwho hopped and flitted so cheerily in and out among the shrubs andflowers--whatever it was that brought it about, the life that crowdedher so closely drifted far, far, away. The city with its noisy clamor,with its mad rush and unceasing turmoil, was gone. The world ofdanger, and doubt, and fear, was forgotten. The woman lived again thedays that were gone. The sky so blue above her head was the sky thatarched her days of long ago. The sunshine that filtered through thetrees was the same golden wealth that enriched the days of herchildhood. The twittering, chirping, feathery, folk were telling thesame old stories. The little brook that went so merrily on its way wassinging a song of the Yesterdays.

  They were free days--those Yesterdays--free as the days of thefeathery folk who lived among the shrubs and flowers. There was noneof the knowledge that, with distrust and doubt and despair, shuts inthe soul. They were bright days--those Yesterdays--as bright as thesunlight that out of a clear sky comes to glorify the world. There wasnone of that dark and dreadful knowledge that shrouds the soul ingloom. And they were glad days--those Yesterdays--glad with thegladness of the singing brook. There was none of that knowledge thatstains and saddens the heart.

  The woman, sitting there so still by the little brook, did not noticea well dressed man who was strolling slowly through the park. A littleway down the walk, the man turned, and again went slowly past theplace where the woman sat. Once more he turned and this time seatedhimself 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 startingleisurely toward her when the gray haired policeman came suddenly intoview around a turn in the path. The officer did not hesitate; nor washe smiling, now, as he stepped in front of the man. A few crisp wordshe spoke, in a low tone, and pointed with his stick. There was noreply. The fellow turned and slunk away while the guardian of the law,with angry eyes, watched him out of sight, then turned to look towardthe woman. She had not noticed. The officer smiled and quietlystrolled on down the path.

  The woman had noticed neit
her the man nor her protector because shewas far, far, away in her Yesterdays. She did not heed the incidentbecause she was a little girl again, playing beside the brook thatcame across the road and made its winding way through the field justbelow the house. It was only a little brook, but beautifully clear andfresh, for it had come only a short distance from its birth place in aglen under the hill that she could see from her window. In someplaces, the long meadow grass, growing close down to the edge, almosttouched above, making a cool, green, cradle arch through which thepure waters flowed with soft whispers as though the baby stream werecrooning to itself a lullaby. In other stretches, the green willowsbent far over to dip their long, slim, fingers in the slow currentthat crept so lazily through the flickering light and shade that itseemed scarce to move at all. And other places there were, where thestreamlet chuckled and laughed over tiny pebbly bars in the sunlightor 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 theflags or willows to dry; resting often to listen to the fairy song thewater sang; or to whisper to the brook the secrets of her childhooddreams. The drowsy air was full of the sweet, grassy, smell mingledwith the odor of mint and the perfume of the willows and flags andwarm moist earth. Gorgeous winged butterflies zigzagged here and therefrom flower to flower--now near for a little--then far away. Honeybeesdroned their hymns of industry the while they searched for sweettreasures. And now and then a tiny green frog would come out of ashadowy nook in the bank of the stream to see what the little girl wasdoing; or a bird would drop from out the blue sky for a drink or abath in the pebbly shallows. And not far away--easily withincall--mother sat on the shady porch, with her sewing, where she couldwatch over her little girl.

  Dear, innocent, sheltered, protected, Yesterdays--when mother told herchild all that was needful for her to know, and told her in a mosttender, beautiful, way. Dear, blessed, Yesterdays--when love did notleave vice to teach the sacred truths of love--days that were days ofblissful Ignorance--not vicious Ignorance but ignorance of thevicious. There was a wealth of Ignorance in those Yesterdays that isof more worth to womanhood, by far, than much knowledge of the world.

  And often the boy would come, too, and, together, they would wade handin hand in the clear flood, mingling their shouts and laughter withthe music of their playmate brook, while the minnows darted to and froabout their bare legs; or, they would build brave dams and bridges andharbors with the bright stones; or, best of all, fashion and launchthe ships of childhood.

  Oh, childish ships of the Yesterdays! What precious cargoes theycarried! What priceless treasures they bore to the far away port ofdreams!

  The little brook was a safe stream for the boy and the girl to playbeside. Nor did they know, then, that their streamlet flowed on and onuntil it joined the river; and that the river, in its course, led itpast great cities that poured into it the poisons and the filth oftheir sewers, fouling its bright waters, until it was unfit forchildren 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 ofthe boy who had played with her beside the brook? He, too, must havelearned what happened to their brook. In learning, what had happenedto him--she wondered--and wondering, she was afraid.

  Because she was no longer ignorant, she was afraid for the mate of herYesterdays. Not that she thought over to meet him again. She did notwish, now, to meet him for she was afraid. She would rather have himas he was in her Yesterdays.

  Slowly the woman turned away from the quiet seat beside the brook. Itwas time for her to go.

  Not far away, she passed the gray haired policeman, who again smiledand 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 whounderstand.