“Shall you have patience to climb?” asked Mr. Kirby as we stood at the base of the tallest peak, its jagged sides covered with stunted shrubs and shelving rocks as far as the eye could reach, a veil of clouds and mist resting on the summit.
“I shall like it exceedingly. You forget that I am accustomed to climbing.”
“What was it that Miss Grimshaw called you and Jennie the other day?”
“The Climbers.”
“Yes, and the name rather pleased me,” continued Mr. Kirby. “Heights are to be won every day, and our stand-point to-day should be in advance of what it was yesterday. We are, or should be, all climbers, using every incident, occasion, and advantage as a stepping-stone to something better.”
“I fear some of us are doing it at a snail’s pace; a lifetime of such climbing as mine would not amount to much.”
“You remember the hare and the tortoise,” said Mr. Kirby, “and which won the race. The hare started off as some people would to go up this mountain; but he soon grew weary, and lay down to rest. The tortoise began as he could hold out, and the end justified his wisdom.” I now understood why Mr. Kirby was walking leisurely.
“When I was a lad,” continued he, “I often visited my grandfather, who lived on a farm in the country. On one occasion he hired two men to work in the harvest-field. One man looked at the small field of wheat contemptuously, and declared it his opinion the job had better be given to one; he could do it all himself before sundown. Still my grandfather insisted on the two, and accordingly they began. One worked furiously, and at noon he was far in advance of his companion. As the hot hours passed his arm grew nerveless, his back felt as though it was broken, his limbs ached, and his head felt like bursting. Long before sundown he had to withdraw to the house of the farmer; while his companion, who had husbanded his strength, was left to finish the field alone. Patience when we commence is quite as needful in intellectual as in physical effort. The end of the race tells who wins.”
“There is a good deal of consolation in that,” I ventured to remark. “Climbing hills I can easily do; but I am sometimes afraid that is the only climbing that will be allowed me.”
“Not if you wish another. Obstacles vanish before a strong and resolute will.”