Jim an' Barbie an' the children come back every summer; Bill an' Jessamie an' their outfit hop in on me most any time, Ches an' his bunch drop in for a week or so now an' again, an' if I ever do get lonesome I just sneak my full-dress uniform out o' the hay an' go down to Frisco for a little easin' off o' the guy-ropes. Oh, I haven't had to petition to congress to have my name changed; I'm Happy. I'm happier than any human ever had a right to be, an' life never drags none—at least not in the daytimes. The' 's dozens o' boys named after me, an' only the recordin' angel knows how many dogs an' ponies. Take it as a big gatherin', an' if any one yells, "Happy, you rascal, get out o' here," Why the' 's a general stampede.
Barbie's allus extra kind to me, as if she still felt that the' was somethin' left for me to forgive her; but my goodness, the' ain't a thing. It wasn't her fault—she couldn't never have loved me—not in the only way I wanted her to. And it ain't my fault—I couldn't help but love her, an' the' was only one way that I could love her, an' that was world without end. I'm not sorry I loved her; why, the' ain't nothin' in life I'd take for this love of mine—and it is mine. The' ain't nothin' can ever take it away from me, the' ain't nothin' can ever put a limit to it; an' though it has burned in my heart like fire, I reckon the worst it has ever done was to burn up the natural-born evil I started out with. I ain't mean-hearted nor jealous—I can't even understand it.
I can easy see how a feller would kill a man for ill-treatin' the woman he loved; but I can't see how he could marry a girl who didn't love him with all her heart. An' Jim, he's been square. They're happy, an' I stand afar off watchin' 'em; an' some way when I'm out in the starlight—when it seems that I ain't lyin' on the earth at all, but floatin' slow an' easy like an eagle restin' on his wings—I seem to share in their love, an' I don't seem to grow old.
I don't reckon I ever will grow old, 'cause love is—love is—some way MY love is like the starlight itself; an' the starlight don't scorch an' weaken an' pester like the sun; it soothes an' softens an' lifts a man up where it's calm an' steady and—and pure.
The longer I live the fonder I grow o' the stars. It don't take as much sleep for me now as it used to, an' I never was dopey; so the' 's mighty few nights 'at I don't have a little visit with 'em. I know now 'at they keep whirlin' an' circlin' away up there; but they never deceive a body. You can allus keep track of 'm, an' when the seasons change an' you can't see 'em for a while, you know 'at they're tendin' to their duties just the same; an' somehow it kind o' holds a man to the trail when the trail is gettin' rougher than he thinks he can stand.
I've got a heap o' friends, men an' women of all kinds; an' when they come to me ragin' an' bitter, I just take 'em out an' show 'em the stars; tell 'em the ones who are about to go on a long journey, but who will come back again when they're due, an' not a minute late. The' 's something about the stars 'at allus seems to take the wickedness out of a human. I've had 'em come to me—men an' women both—with murder in their hearts; but after we've visited a while with the stars they either sigh or sob—but they allus go away clean an' rested.
It's a funny notion; but sometimes I feet like as if I'd like to be a star myself; away up above the worry an' selfishness of the world, an' helpin' to bring peace an content to those who look up to me. It's a funny notion—especially for a feller what's follered the trail I have.
Me an' the preachers lock horns purty often; but they're all right, most of 'em, when you treat 'em like humans an' make 'em play fair. One of 'em happened out here on a visit, to sort o' rest up, an' he called me some kind of a Persian name an' read me a little book called The Other Wise Man. I reckon I know that book, all except the big names, by heart; an' if one of my stars would ever cut out o' the herd an' go off, slow an' stately on a new trail, why I'd foller that star—God knows I'd foller; an'—I wouldn't let on to no one else except you—but, way down, deep in my heart, I'm hopin' that sometime I'll get the chance.