“Yes, he loved birds just as you do. Dick had to write a composition about Audubon last spring, and I helped him in reading up for it. That’s how I happen to know so much about him.”
With this preface Peggy began. The life of the great ornithologist would need to be told very unsympathetically, not to be a dramatic and appealing recital. The story of the enthusiast who found no toil irksome which furthered his research, however unreliable he might prove in the humdrum occupation of earning a livelihood, was calculated to impress the boy who realized that his matter-of-fact neighbors had long before catalogued him as a thriftless ne’er-do-well. The great man’s hardships, his persistence, and his prosperous and honored old age, made up a fascinating story. Peggy, noticing the effect upon her listener, was more than satisfied.
“Well, he got there, didn’t he?” Jerry kicked a pebble out of his way, and frowned reflectively. “I guess the folks that thought him a good-for-nothing must ’a’ been surprised.”
“But there were a great many who believed in him,” Peggy suggested. “I think he was very fortunate in his friends. In fact, that was one of the things that helped him. He made friends wherever he went.”
“Well, that ain’t like me.” Jerry’s tone indicated a grim satisfaction in the extent of his unpopularity, which Peggy recognized as a bad sign.
“That’s a pity,” she said gravely. “Because nobody’s big enough to get along all by himself. Everybody needs friends to help him.”
Jerry became meditative. That he had rightly interpreted the meaning of Peggy’s story, and applied it as she wished, was apparent when he broke out impatiently, “Why, if I should try to draw pictures of birds, folks would just laugh at me. I couldn’t make ’em look like anything.”
“No, I suppose not. Audubon had to learn. That’s another mistake of yours, Jerry, to think that you can get along without books and teachers. You’ve found out a lot by yourself, but that’s no reason why you shouldn’t have the help of all the things other people have been discovering. It’s just as I said about friends. Everybody can help, and everybody needs to be helped.”
“I’m too old to go to school,” Jerry replied despondently. And the answer, coupled with his dejected manner, was to Peggy an indication of a success she had hardly dared to hope for. Jerry realized his lacks. The armor of his complacency had been pierced. Then there was hope for him.
“How old are you, Jerry?”