The Way of Peace
I knew both Michael Hennessey and his wife Katty, though under thelocal pronunciation of the surname-Hinnessey. I had often gone intothe little farmhouse to smoke a pipe with the old man, and to have,before I came away, a glass of milk from the old woman's clean, cooldairy. I had always understood that they were looked upon as a modelcouple; and it was within my knowledge that a little more than ayear ago they had celebrated their golden wedding. But when old LordKillendell - "The Lard" as they called him locally - suggested that Ishould ask old Michael how it was that they had lived such a happylife, there was something in his tone and the quiet laugh whichfollowed it, which made me take the advice to heart. More especiallywhen Lady Killendell, who had always been most kind to me, added withan approving smile -"Do! You are a young man and a bachelor; you will learn somethingwhich may be of some service to you later on in your life."The next time I was near Hennessey's farm the advice occurred tome, and I went in. The two old folk were alone in the house. Theirwork for the day - the strenuous work - was done, and they werebeginning the long evening of rest, which is the farmer's reward forpatient toil. We three sat round the hearth enjoying the glowingfire, and the aromatic smell of the burning turf, which is the onlyfuel used in that part of Ireland.I gradually led conversation round to the point of happy marriagesby way of the Golden Wedding, which was not yet so far off as to havelost interest to the old folk."They tell me," I said presently, "that you two are the happiestcouple in the Country. I hope that is so? You look it anyway; andevery time I have seen you the idea has been with me.""That's true, God be thanked!" said Michael, after a pause."Amin!" joined in Katty, as she crossed herself."I wish you'd tell me how you do it?" I asked. Michael smiled thistime, and his wife laughed."Why do ye want to know, acushla?" she said in reply. This put mein a little personal difficulty. As a matter of fact, I was engaged tobe married, but I had been enjoined not to say anything about it - asyet. So I had to put my request on general grounds, which is never soappealing as when such information is asked for personal reasons."Well, you see, Mrs. Hennessey," I said, stumbling along as wellas I could, "a man would always like to know a secret like that. It isone which might - at some time in his life - be - be useful to him.He - ""Begob it might, yer 'ann'r," broke in Michael. "Divil recave me ifa young man beginnin' life wid a knowledge like that mightn't have allthe young women iv a township follyin' round afther him like a flockiv geese afther a ghander." He was interrupted in turn by Katty -"Ay, or th' ould wans too!" Then she turned to me -"An' so ye're goin' to be married, yer 'ann'r. More power to ye;an' as many childher as there's days in the month.""Hold hard there, ma'am!" I retorted. "That would be an embarrasde richesse." She winced at the foreign phrase, so I translated it -"too much of a good thing - as the French say. But why do you thinkI'm going to be married?""Ah, go on out iv that wid ye! For what would a young man likeyer 'ann'r want to know how marrid people does get on wid wan another,unless he's ceasin' to be a bhoy himself!" (In Ireland a man is a"bhoy" so long as he remains a bachelor. I have myself known a "bhoy"over ninety.) Her inductive ratiocination was too much for me; Iremained silent."Begob, surr, Katty was wan too many for ye there!" chuckled theold man."Quite right, Michael, so she was!" I said. "But now that she hasfound me out, mayn't I have the price of the discovery? Won't you tellme how you have lived together so happily for so many years?""Ay, surr, there hasn't been a harrd wurrd betune us since the dayafther we was married.""The day after you were married?" I commented. "I wonder you didn'tbegin on the wedding-day itself!""Now that's all right, surr, an' mayhap so we would if we wasbeginnin' life out iv a book. Mayhap it was that we found out theway for ourselves, bekase we wasn't lookin' for it on any particularroad. I'm thinkin' that that's the usual way for threasures bein'found 'Tisn't always - aye or mostly - the people that goes aboutshtickin' rods into places or knockin' chunks wid hammers from offiv other people's property that finds hidden money. Sure 'tis thimthat goes about mindin' their own business that comes across it whinthey're laste expectin' it." This was a long speech for Michael;and Katty, with her instinctive wish to please, expressed herself insubtle flattery given in an overt aside -"Mind ye, the wisdom iv him. It does come bubblin' up, like a springout iv a big book full iv writin' what no man can undhershtand!" Then Ijoined in myself -"That is a good idea, Michael. The knowledge that can make twopeople happy is indeed a treasure. Won't you tell me how to find it?The finding, of course, a man must do for himself. But where thereis a road, it is wise to know something about it before you start ona journey.""Thrue for ye, surr. But I'm misdoubtin' meself if there's a roadat all - a high-road iv coorse, I mane. But mind ye, 'tisn't on thehigh-roads that happiness walks. 'Tis the boreens in a man's ownhouldin' - nigh to his own home - an' his own heart!" This timeKatty's comment was made directly to her husband -"Begob, Mike, but it's a pote ye're becomin' in yer ould age.Boreens in yer heart! indade! An' here have I been thrampin' for halfa century up an' down our own boreen; an' sorra wance have I seenhappiness walkin' there more than on the mail-road itself."This new philosophy was taking us away from the subject, so I ledthem back to it - "''Well, even if there isn't a high-road - a road for all - won'tyou tell me what road you and Katty took? Then I may be able - someday - to find a road like it." The old man winked at me and chuckled;taking the pipe from his lips he jerked the mouth-piece backwardover his shoulder."Ask her, surr. 'Tis she that can tell you - av she plases.""Won't you tell me, Katty?" I asked.''Wid all the plisure in life, yer 'ann'r. 'Tis not much to tellfor sure - an' mayhap not worth the tellin'; but av ye wish ye shallhear."As that ould man there says, it began the mornin' afther he wasmarried on to me. Mind ye, at the beginnin' - I don't want ye todecave yerself about that bekase that's part iv the shtory - we wasmighty fond of aich other. My! but he was the fine bhoy! Tall an' bigan' shtrong an' mastherful; an' 'tis the proud girrl I was whin heixprissed himself to me. I was that proud that I kem home leppin' sothat me mother noticed it an' said: 'Katty, has that impident villinMike Hinnessey been tellin' ye that ye're a good-lookin' girleen?' -for mind ye I wasn't thin grown up but only a shtep afther askeuneuch. 'H'm'!' sez I. ' 'Tis more than that; he has asked meno less than to be married on to me.' That fetched her up, I can tellye. 'Glory be,' sez she. 'What is the childher comin' to at all atall? You to be marrid that has no more to yer feet nor yer back thana flapper duck on the bog; an' him that can't bring a thing to thefair that he can't carry. Him that has but only yistherday left hisfather's cabin an' got one for himself; widout a shtick in it but thethruckle he lies on, an' the creel he ates aff.' "Instinctively I looked round the fine farm-kitchen in which wesat, with its good, solid, oak furniture, its plentitude of glass andcrockery all daintily clean and bright. Michael noticed my look andsaid, gravely nodding his head as he spoke -"That's all her doin', surr. That's Katty's!""Don't mind him, surr! 'Tis the kind good heart iv him that saysit. But it's not my doin'. That's Michael's own work. Surely I onlywas careful wid the money that he arn'd!" Here I harked back to themain subject with a hint -"And you said to your mother - ?"''Well, yer 'ann'r, I shtood right up to her - wasn't Michael worthit? - an' sez I: 'Michael is the bist man nor iver I see; an' I'm forhim an' for no one else. He's poor I know, an' so am I. But plaze Godhe'll not be poor always; an' I'll wait for him if 'tis all me life!'Well, me mother was a good woman, an' she seen the tears in me eyesan' knew I was in arnest. She kem an' put her arms round me an' sezshe: 'That's right, me child. That's the way to love; an' it's worthall the rist iv the wurrld. He's a good bhoy is Michael; an' 'tisright sure I am that he loves ye. An' whin the both iv ye think thetime has come 'tis not me nor yer poor dead father that'll shtandbetune ye.' I knew - faix only too well - what a harrd time me poormother had, for the times was bad. That was the year of the potato-rot,an' throughout the counthry min an' weemin - an' worse still, the poorchildhers - was dyin' be shcores. An' Michael knew too; an' ere longhe sez to me: 'Katty, come wid me soon. Sure, acushla, if 'tis nothin'else 'twill be wan mouth less for yer poor mother to feed.' WhenMichael shpoke like that I wasn't the wan to say him nay."Both were silent and I waited a while, till, seeing that theyconsidered the tale as told, I ventured to recall them once again -"But you haven't told me about the road yet.""Oh, that, surr," said Katty with a laugh - "that was simpleenough - may I tell him, Michael?""Go an, woman! Go an!" he answered with a growl."As Michael tould ye, surr, it began the day afther our weddin'.Ye know, surr, people like us didn't go off on honeymoons in thimdays - not like they do now, poor or rich. Whin a woman kem into herhusband's home she took life as 'twas to be foreninst her. I cookedMichael's supper an' me own on our weddin' night, just as I've doneiver since. I knew that the fair at Killen was on the nixt day an'that Michael was lookin' to goin' to it; an' I made up me mind thathe'd not go that day. So in the mornin' whin I done me hair - for acoorse I got up first to get the breakfast - I hid the rack. . . .""The rack? Pardon my interrupting, but I don't understand." Shewas not offended but proceeded to explain -"The rack-comb, surr. The thing ye brush yer hair wid. Wid poorfolk it's all the brush-an'-comb they have. It was not thin likeit is now whin ivery wan in a house has their own. Why, me sonfrom Ameriky when he kem to shtay wid us had what he called a'dressin'-bag' wid brushes an' combs enough to clane the heads ivall the parish. But in thim times if the house had wan that wasall that was needed. When I looked back MichaeI was up an' wasshavin' himself." 'Gettin' ready for the fair?' sez I to him." 'Yiz!' sez he, not sayin' much for the lip iv him was thattwitched up to get smooth for the razor." 'Ye're not!' sez I." 'I am!' sez he." 'Ye're not!' sez I again."I don't suppose ye undhershtand, surr, the feelin' iv a youngwife when she knows that her man is her own. I had only been marridon the yistherday, an' whin I knew how Michael loved me I thought Iwas him as well as meself too. When a woman is marrid she thinks -an' never more than the day afther - that what she wishes is fixedan' done. She manes so well be her man - an' for all her life, mindye - that she has no thought that everything isn't right. She has tolarn! She has to larn; an' the sooner that she larns the betther forherself an' ivery wan else! Whin Michael had wiped his razor he puthis hand on the windy-sill to take up the rack where it always lay.Not findin' it, he sez to me -" 'Katty, where's the rack?'" 'I won't tell ye,' sez I. I was up in meself afther me wan dayiv a wife." 'I want the rack, Katty,' he sez quite quiet." 'Ye'll not get it,' sez I. . . . 'Ye're not goin' to the fairtoday!'" 'I'm goin' to the fair to-day, an' ivery day I like!' he sezquieter nor iver, 'an' I want the rack.'" 'Ye'll not get it,' sez I. Wid that he took me face in his handsan' kissed me on the mouth. An' thin whin I let him go afther I hadgiv it back, he fetched me a shlap on the side iv me head that made methink that the house was full iv bells all clattherin' away at wanst,as sez he -" 'Katty, bring me the rack!'She stopped and sat down, resuming her knitting as though she hadsaid all she intended."And then?" I ventured to hint. She looked up at me and then overat Michael and said -''Well, I wint acoorse an' brung him the rack. An' from that dayto this we niver had a harrd wurrd wan for th'other." Michael chuckled."That's the road, surr. Some wan must be masther iv th' house. Thattime it had got to be me. An' I was - an' I am!" Here he stood up andbent over and kissed the old lady heartily. "An', surr, take it tomind that there's been no happier woman in Ireland - no, nor out ofit - nor Katty."It didn't seem quite a sufficient charting of the Road, so Iventured to appeal to Mrs. Hennessey again: -"Did he go to the fair?" She had evidently been thinking, for shebegan almost at my first word. Since then, in trying to find a motivefor her interruption, I have concluded that she thought her wordsmight put Michael in a bad light; as one who was more or less of abully."He combed his hair an' his moustache, an' he put on his coat widthe tails, an' shtuck his pipe in the front iv his caubeen, an' tukhis blackthorn. Thin he kissed me an' wint out. I looked out iv thedoor afther him, an' saw him turn the comer; an' then I kem in an'began to tidy up the house."Thin the door darkened, an' in kem Michael. He flung his caubeenan' his blackthorn in the corner, an' tuk me in his arrms, an' sez he -" 'Katty, alana-ma-chree, I'm not goin' to the fair this day.Bekase ye don't wish it, me darlin', not bekase ye merely want tokape me from it. Shure I love you alone, an' I wouldn't do nothin'to hurt ye. But always remimber that I'm a man an' used to man'sways; an' a man doesn't like bein' ordhered about be any wan - evenbe a wife that he loves an' that loves him.' " Her eyes were softand shiny, and she looked affectionately at the sturdy old man. Thenshe turned to me and went on -"An' that's the sort iv man that I've kep the peace wid for allthese years. An' isn't he worth it? An' doesn't he desarve it - aman like that? I tell ye, surr, that's the way to thrate a woman;an' that's the way that a woman ought to be thrated. Sure, aftherall, they're but childher iv a bigger kind. An' what's the way tothrate childher? 'Tisn't all done be shmiles an' pettin', an' bebread an' sugar. They want to get the hard hand now and again, an'they does the same whin they're grown into min and weemin. 'Tis thehand iv the mother that's the most tindher. Thin, whin that's notenough, the father has to give thim a clip on the ear if it's agirrl, or a cut wid a switch if it's a bhoy."An', mind ye, that's the aisiest punishment they iver gits. Whinthey don't larn things from them 'tis harder they git it whin theycome to larn from the warld!"
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