A grandfather and his grandson were making a journey on foot together from Anseo to Ansin. The boy had never been far from Anseo before, which was his home, and so he was very excited. The road was fairly busy with foot and horse traffic, and his eyes were wide in wonder to see so many other people, some the likes of which he had never seen before; some ladies in fancy carriages, some finely dressed young men on horseback, others with less finery walking along at a brisk pace. Since the old man was not quick and walked with the help of an old blackthorn cane, many other walkers overtook them and went on past, on their way to their own destinations. All of them seemed in a terrible hurry and barely called out a 'good morning.' The boy and his grandfather travelled along a while, the grandfather intent on his forward momentum and so not saying much to the boy, for it was hard for his old bones to carry him along on the road.

     Soon a young man in rather worn clothes took notice of them as he passed, asking where they were headed. The grandfather, without looking up, said, "Ansin."

     "Then you've missed your turn, Seanathair," the young man called back kindly as he sped on his way. "You should have turned back there on the left."

     The grandfather smiled and thanked the young man, still without glancing up, and yet he continued on his steady course long after the young man was a dot in the distance. The boy, confused, turned to his grandfather.

     "Athair Mór," said the boy, tugging on the old man's sleeve, "shouldn't we go back and find the way?"

     Without looking up, keeping to his pace, the grandfather smiled gently and replied, "I know the way, Mac Óg."

     "But that young man said --"

     "Yes, he did. It was marvelous kind of him, wasn't it, to want to help us find our way?" And yet the old man continued on his chosen way. The boy fell silent again and, being just a small boy after all, followed along.

     After a long time walking, the boy was bored. He had seen enough of this dusty road, and the trees that lined it all eventually began to look the same. Occasionally the two would come to a crossroad and meet other travellers, and now the boy, hungry for conversation, began to hail those he met on the road.

     "Goodday, sir," he called out to a gentleman on a fine black horse. The gentleman tipped his hat and passed on. The boy called out happily, "We are going to Ansin!"

     The gentleman stopped his horse in the crossing and pointed in the direction he was heading.

     "But Ansin is this way," he said. "You'd better come along with me; I'll see you safely to it."

     But when the boy turned to look at his grandfather, the old man was already through the crossroads and beyond, keeping his steady pace, the blackthorn cane clicking along beside him. The boy had to run to catch up, and the gentleman on the horse continued on his way.

     "Athair Mór!" the boy cried when he reached his grandfather. "We are going the wrong direction for Ansin."

     "I know the way, Mac Óg," the old man replied again, never looking up from his steady walking, but with the tiniest of smiles playing at the corners of his mouth.

     The boy fell in next to him, and was silent for a time, being only a very small boy, after all, and not knowing the ways of travel.

     A very beautiful lady in a fine carriage pulled up alongside shortly. She smiled with pity down on the old man and the boy, and when she reached her hand out of the carriage to hail them the jewels on her fingers glistened in the sunlight.

     "Where are you headed, Seanathair?" she called out.

     The boy, eyes wide, answered out of turn, such was his excitement. "We are going to Ansin, Lady."

     The grandfather kept walking.

     "Oh dear," said the Lady in the carriage. "That is a long enough journey on foot, especially for your grandfather." Then she said to the old man, "Seanathair, I would be happy if you would ride with me to Ansin."

     The old man nodded and smiled, but he never lost his pace and he continued on his way with the blackthorn cane clicking along beside him as he asked,

     "And will you be going directly to Ansin, Lady?"

     "Well, I just bought these fine horses and I'd like to try them out a bit," she replied, "but we'll surely get to Ansin eventually, and sooner than walking."

     The old man politely declined, and kept his pace.

     "Oh well," said the Lady with a toss of her head, "You're headed the wrong direction for Ansin anyway."

     The boy, eyeing that fine carriage wistfully as it moved off, had to run again to catch up with his grandfather.

     "Athair Mór," the boy said when he had caught up, "I would have liked to arrive at Ansin in a fine carriage."

     The grandfather smiled and said,

     "It was a fine carriage."

     "And that Lady was the third person who said we are going in the wrong direction," the boy added as he trotted along beside the old man.

     "Perhaps they are mistaken, Mac Óg," the grandfather replied without raising his head, but with barely the hint of a twinkle in his eye. "I know the way."

     After what seemed like forever to the boy, but which was really only less than half of the day, the grandfather and his grandson arrived at Ansin. Before they entered the gates of the village, the boy turned to his grandfather with a puzzled expression and said,

     "Athair Mór, is this Ansin? Why then did all those people tell us we were going wrong?"

     The grandfather turned now and brought his full gaze to bear on his grandson.

     "Mac Óg," he said, laying a hand on the young boy's shoulder, "I knew the way. Never let anyone tell you that you are going wrong when you know the way. Tell me, where might you be now if you had listened to those well-intentioned but mistaken folks?"

     The boy considered.

     "I would probably be lost!"

     The grandfather nodded, still looking his grandson directly in the eye. The boy suddenly smiled with understanding, and took the old man's hand as they walked together into Ansin, the blackthorn cane clicking along beside them.

© 1999, C. Leigh McGinley