by Ruth Sawyer
AFTERWORD
I thought I had to have a better ending to the story than the scraps ofthings I had made over from Leerie's letters and what Peter had told me.So I went to Hennessy.
It was midwinter. I found him cracking the ice on the pond to let theswans in for a cold bath.
"'Tis not docthor's ordthers," he grinned by way of explanation; "but theyget so blitherin' uneasy there's no housin' them. That's the why I givethem a bit of a cold nip onct the while--sure 'tis good threatment for usall--an' then they settle down."
I huddled deeper into a fur coat and tried to agree with Hennessy.
"Did ye see Leerie, then, since she came home?"
"Have you?"
He shirred his lips into an ecstatic pucker and whistled triumphantly."Wasn't I always sayin' she'd marry the finest gentleman in the land, sameas the King o' Ireland's only daughter, and go dandtherin' off to a finehome of her own?"
"And she has."
"She has that."
"And so the story's told, Hennessy."
"Told nothin'. Sure, it isn't half told--it isn't more than half begun,just."
"But you can't end a book that way. You have to end with an ending."
"'Tis the best way to end a book, then. Haven't ye taken the lass over theworst o' the road an' aren't ye leavin' her with the best ahead?"
"But what is there left--to find along the way? She's found herwork--that's over with. She's found her man--that's over with. She's foundlove--that's over--"
Hennessy interrupted me almost viciously. I think he wanted to prod meinstead of the ice. "What kind of talkin' is that for a person who thriesto write books about real folk? Ye harken to me. Do ye think because loveis found 'tis over with? Sure, Leerie's only caught a whiff of ityet--'tis naught but budded for her. By an' by there come the blossom ofit an' the fruit of it. An' when death maybe withers it for aspell--'twill be but a winther-time promise to bud an' blossom again inthe Counthry Beyond. There's no witherin' to love like hers. An' do yethink because she has her man found there's no pretty fancy or adventurestill waitin' them along the way? An' do ye think Leerie's work will everbe done? Tell me that!"
The shirr tightened into something like contempt. Hennessy looked downupon me with undisguised pity.
"Did ye ever know Leerie at all, at all, I'm wondtherin'--to be savin'things like that? Don't ye know for the likes o' her there'll bechildher--Saint Anthony send them a nestful!" He crossed himself tofurther the wish. "An' over an' above the time it takes tendin' an' lovin'them an' rearin' them into the finest parcel o' youngsters God evermade--wi' the help o' their parents--there'll be time left to light theway for every poor, sorry soul within a hundred miles o' her. Ye can takemy word for it; an' if she never did another stroke o' work so long as shelived--bein' Leerie, just, would be enough."
"You may be right, Hennessy, but it's still no way to end a book."
He came a step nearer and shook a warning finger at me. "Will ye listen?Faith, I'm wondtherin' sometimes that folk read your books when ye have solittle sense wi' the endin' o' them. Don't ye know that a book that endswi' the end is a dead book entirely? An' who cares to be readin' a deadbook? Tell me that."
His contempt changed to commiseration. I might have been Brian Boru, thegray swan, the way he looked at me.
"The right way of endin' is with a beginnin'--the beginnin' o' somethingbigger an' betther an' sweeter. 'Tis like ye were takin' a friend with yeup a high hill--showin' him all the pretty things along the way. Then justafore ye get to the top--an' afore ye can look over an' see what's waitin'beyond--ye leave him, sayin', 'Go ye alone an' find whatever ye are mostwishin' for.'"
He stopped, pushed his hat back and pulled his forelock as if for moreinspiration. "Do ye see? Just be leavin' it to folk the world over. Theycan read in a betther endin' than ye can be writin' in in a hundthredyears. An' let Leerie be as I'm tellin' ye--wi' the road windin' over thehill an' out o' sight. Sure the two of us know what she'll be findin'there; an' do ye think the readers have less sense than what we have?"
THE END
