[Edgar Allan Poe's Descent into the Maelstrom.] "We had now reached the summit of the loftiest crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too much exhausted to speak."
[Octave Thanet's The Sheriff.] "Sheriff Wickliff leaned out of his office window, the better to watch the boy soldiers march down the street."
[Louisa M. Alcott's Jack and Jill.] "'Clear the track' was the general cry on a bright December afternoon, when all the boys and girls of Harmony Village were out enjoying the first good snow of the season."
Exercise 124.—Sometimes the beginning is so full of meaning that you can almost construct the whole story from it. See if you can finish the stories begun below:—
1. Waking up with a start, he was very much amazed to find himself under the counter and not at home in bed. A little moonlight coming in the grocery window showed him where he was, and he remembered that he had lain down for a moment's nap, just as the clerks were closing the doors. Probably no one had noticed the little errand boy, tired out with his long day's work and with a long evening before spent over his books. Suddenly he noticed that the room was growing lighter, and saw a little tongue of flame shoot up from the floor near him.
2. Jack pulled his hand out of his pocket with a cry of alarm. "Why I've lost my purse and my railway ticket home!" he said, "and I don't know a soul in the city. What shall I do!" As he spoke, he noticed a man step out of a store and try to put up the awning over the door. The rope caught on a nail, and without seeing what was the trouble the man jerked impatiently but uselessly. Jack had been brought up to help people out if he could. "I think I can do that," he said pleasantly, stepping forward. The man stopped and looked at him curiously.
3. The mast broke with a loud report and the sail blew overboard in a breath. The two boys looked at each other with pale faces. "If this wind keeps up, it looks as though we never should get back to shore," said George, looking about him despairingly.
4. When Oliver Whiting realized that he had lived with the Indians for five years, it always surprised him. The time had slipped by very rapidly since that exciting night of the raid on the Puritan settlement, when he had been carried off from his master's house. He had really been happier in the lazy Indian life than in the busy, active, hard-working household of the Puritan farmer. As he lay on the grass one summer evening, listening to the river and watching the stars shine, he reflected that if he could, he would not choose to go away from his kindly Indian captors. A low call made him turn his head, and there, within a few feet of him, stood his old master, Fear-God Elliott.
5. "Run Johnnie, or the tree will strike you," shouted Mr. Edwards to his ten-year-old son, pushing him out of the way. The great tree came crashing down. The child was safe, but the man lay groaning with pain, both legs pinned down by the terrible, crushing weight.
"Johnnie, do you suppose you can find your way five miles to Neighbor Ashley's clearing?" said the man, compressing his pale lips to keep back a shriek of pain. "If you lose yourself, you'll starve to death and so shall I, but there's no other way to save us both."
6. Mary Ellen was thinking of nothing more exciting than her arithmetic lesson, as she looked absently through the open door into the long empty hall of the school building. What she saw there made her catch her breath in horror, but her presence of mind came instantly to her rescue. If she screamed "Fire! Fire!" there would be a panic. What could she do? All at once a bright idea struck her.
In beginning a story of your own, you should take any one of these beginnings as model. You will notice that each of them lets you know at once three main points—the principal character, the place of the action, and the general conditions. It is very important to do this, and, as you notice, these facts can be brought in without stating them definitely and tediously. For instance, the first story given might have begun, "Harry was an errand boy in a grocer's shop. He was poor and had to work hard all day, but he was ambitious, and kept up his studies in the evening. One night he went to sleep under the counter. When he woke up, he saw a tongue of flame darting up from the floor." Do you see how much better the first way of telling you all this about Harry is than the second?
77. The Ending.—The end of a story is also very important. It should contain the point. This is sometimes the explanation of the action, sometimes the summing up of the spirit of the tale, but in any case it is brief and lively.
Exercise 125—See if you can write the stories that go before the endings given below:—
1. I was trembling with terror as the apparition drew nearer, and little Pollie was shaking so she could hardly stand. All at once she burst out in a loud fit of laughter, pointing through the dusk at the white spirit of our fears. "Why, aren't we silly!" she cried. "It's no ghost at all,—only our own old white cow."
2. Pauline had just given up trying to control the maddened horse, when out of a house ahead of them dashed a man with a long rope. Coiling this, he threw it deftly around the horse's neck as it plunged by, and, instantly dropping it about a fence post, he brought the animal to a dead stop so quickly that Pauline was thrown out of the wagon. She was unhurt, however, and the man, who ran to pick her up, exclaimed when he saw who she was. "Well, perhaps you'll take my advice about horses the next time," he said laughingly.
3. I splashed wildly, I kicked up a tremendous foam with my feet, I panted and spluttered like a porpoise; but, looking over my shoulder, I saw I had passed the line of the old oak tree. The deed was done,—very badly it might be, but none the less actually the accomplishment was mine. I had learned to swim at last!
78. The Body.—You have now studied the beginning and the end of a story. The middle part is the easiest of all. You may have learned enough geometry to know that a straight line is the shortest distance between two points. A good story is the shortest distance between a good beginning and a good ending. By that you are not to understand actually the shortest statement you can make of the facts involved, but the shortest treatment of your theme which still slights none of the features necessary to make your ending most effective. Fix your mental eye on your ending, and write your story to make that most full of meaning. For instance, the first of the three endings given above would lose most of its value if you did not, in writing the story, describe the lonely house at twilight, the two dreadfully frightened children, and the shapeless white mass looming up through the dusk. Their relief at finding it to be only a cow is neither amusing nor even interesting unless you have shown by a lively description how terribly alarmed they were. In the same way the last ending must be preceded by a humorous account of the great difficulty a boy had in learning to swim. His joy at finding he could make a little headway is only of interest because it comes as a contrast to former discouragement.
Exercise 126.—Write a story suggested by any of the following titles or phrases:—
1. The first time I was badly frightened. 2. The thing I am proudest of having done. 3. My runaway. 4. How the bird's nest was saved from the snake. 5. When the elephant broke loose from the circus. 6. How the fox got the honeycomb away from the bear by saying it was bad for his health. 7. What I did when our house caught on fire. 8. How our cat got out of the barn when she was shut in. 9. Why I got to the train late. 10. How the children lost in the woods kept house in the cave. 11. What would happen if the statues in our school building could come to life. 12. If the pictures could come to life. 13. Christopher Columbus revisits America. 14. An interesting dream I once had. 15. At this, the Queen of the Fairies touched Hans with her wand. "Oh," he cried, "I'll never put off doing anything again." 16. The old sailor gave a little shiver of recollection. "Well, I hope you'll never be in such a place, sonny," he said to the little boy. 17. The poor old man looked at the kind young lady very intently. "Weren't you in Archester one summer?" he asked. "Why, you must be old Farmer Norton, to whom I owe such a lot of money," she cried. "I never could find you to pay it back."