To David, speeding toward the Hill Country on the big express with Johanna, it seemed as if there was not enough left to fill even one of the many empty days that lay before him. One always expects to have–big things like mother and father, home and the boys on the block–why, there is not so very much of the world left. It was late fall when David's world dropped away from him at least to David that is what seemed to happen.
I am making believe now (and so must you, for it never does to let a story get in a bad humor) that after all this is the best beginning. As a result I have become completely cowed and I have given in. I have actually heard it screaming: "No! I won't begin there! I won't–I won't–I won't!" After which it always runs for the door. I have begun this way a hundred times, and every time the same thing happens. "It was the year after last–and the year before next–and just seven days before Christmas–" Now, if I could have had my way, I should have begun with David in the window nook at dusk-hour, looking out on the Hill Country all white with the gathering snow and I should have said: You may try it yourself if you do not believe me. As sure as she tries the story gets sulky or hurt, picks up its beginning and ending, and trails away, never to come back and that story is lost for all time. In a matter of this kind an author is just as helpless as a reader, and there is no use in trying to coax or scold a story into telling itself her way. These have a very unpleasant way of leaving your expectations and your interest all agog and I have not a doubt that you have always blamed the author. Perhaps you have discovered this for yourself you may have in mind this minute some of the stories that you wished had begun long before they did–and others that ended before you thought they had any business doing so. They tell themselves–beginning and ending just where they please–with no consideration at all for the author or the reader. I WONDER if you know that stories have a way of beginning themselves? Sometimes they even do more than this. The author found many fragments of the legend in the north of Ireland, but nowhere was it complete as recorded by Fiona Macleod from the Island of Iona. William Sharpe, who has so kindly given her permission for the adaptation of parts of Fiona Macleod's "Muime Chroisd" for the legend of St. THE author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of Mrs. THE TRAPPER'S TALE OF THE FIRST BIRTHDAY 100 THE LOCKED-OUT FAIRY AGAIN LEADS THE WAY AND DAVID HEARS OF A CHRISTMAS PROMISE 77 THE PATHWAY TO UNCLE JOAB AND A NEW SANTA CLAUS 61 Post 8vo.ĭAVID GOES SEEKING THE WAY TO CHRISTMAS AND FINDS THE FLAGMAN 43 Prejudice and racially offensive languageĪ DOZEN YARDS FROM THE TRAPPER'S HUT THEY PLANTED ONE POST A Celebration of Women Writers This Way To Christmas.
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