These men had given their
lives for Freedom; they had lain down to make a pathway before her--
they had filled up a bloody chasm so that she might pass upon her way.
And that was the heritage they handed to their children, to guard and
cherish. That was what it meant to be an American; that one must hold
himself in readiness to go forth as they had done, and dare and suffer
whatever the fates might send.
Such were the things out of which Samuel's life was made; besides
these he had only the farm, with its daily tasks, and the pageant of
Nature in the wilderness--of day and night, and of winter and summer
upon the mountains. The books were few. There was one ragged volume
which Samuel knew nearly by heart, which told the adventures of a
castaway upon a desert island, and how, step by step, he solved his
problem; Samuel learned from that to think of life as made by honest
labor, and to find a thrill of romance in the making of useful things.
And then there was the story of Christian, and of his pilgrimage; the
very book for a Seeker--with visions of glory not too definite,
leaving danger of premature success.
And then, much later, some one left at the place a volume of the "Farm
Rhymes" of James Whitcomb Riley; and before Samuel's eyes there opened
a new vision of life. He had been happy; but now suddenly he realized
it. He had loved the blue sky above him, and the deep woods and the
sparkling lake; but now he had words to tell about them--and the
common tasks of his life were transfigured with the glory of song.
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