But I remembered,
too, that Father Josef, mercilessly just to Ferdinand Ramero, had not
even asked Jondo to defend himself from the black charge against him.
The sunny Kansas prairies, the far open plains, and the wild mountain
trails beyond, had brought their blessing to Jondo, whose life had known
so much of tragedy. And my cross was just my love for a girl who could
not love me. That was all. Jondo had never forgotten nor ceased to love
the mother of Eloise St. Vrain. I should be like Jondo in this. But the
world is wide. Life is full of big things. Henceforth, while I would not
forget, I, too, would be big and strong, and maybe, some time, just as
sunny-faced as my big Jondo.
The trail life, day by day, did bring its blessing to me. The clear,
open land, the far-sweeping winds, the solitude for thought, the bravery
and gentleness of the rough men who walked the miles with me, the
splendor of the day-dawn, the beauty of the sunset, the peace of the
still starlit night, sealed up my wounds, and I began to live for others
and to forget myself; to dream less often, and to work more gladly; to
measure men, not by what had been, but by how they met what was to be
done.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345