All language subtitles for The Waltons S05E25 The Achievement.DVDRip.Non-HI.cc.en

I sent you a book of mine,
about, oh, six weeks ago.

It's called Walton's Mountain,
and I haven't heard anything at all.

Ma'am, I spent five years of
my life working on this book

I've come all the way from Virginia
just to check up on the manuscript.

For all I know, it
might even be lost.

Make an outline
right around his hoof.

Grandpa, what you up to?

I'm doing detective work,
and I am not "Grandpa."

Please address me
as "My dear Watson,"

beloved assistant
to Jessica, Girl Spy.

It came as a coincidence that,

just as I finally
completed my first novel,

Elizabeth, for the first time,
became enthralled with a book.

I wondered if what I had written

would ever be published
and read half so avidly.

Ike? I don't have
anything for you.

But you know, I could
set my watch by you.

No more than this pouch shows
up and presto, there you are.

Don't make any jokes. You know
I'm waiting to hear about the book.

What happens if
they don't like it?

I don't want to think about that. Are
you sure there's nothing here for me?

I said there's nothing for you.

Stop messing around with it.

This is United States
Government property,

and I'm the only one authorized
to touch it. Not even Corabeth.

Well, at least they
haven't sent it back yet.

What's the matter
with Elizabeth?

She hasn't said a word
since she come in here.

She's not likely to, unless it's
"The jig's up," or something like that.

She's been reading that Jessica,
Girl Spy book over and over again.

I think I recognize
one of these men.

Which one? That one.

Ike, her imagination's racing
again. Come on, honey.

Oh. It's just kids' stuff.

Jessica, Girl Spy
is not just kids' stuff.

Well, if you wanted
to turn him in,

who would you turn
him in to? Ep Bridges?

J. Edgar Hoover.

Still reading that dumb book?

I think it's wonderful, Jim-Bob.

It's the first time she's ever
been caught up in a book.

Yeah, but who ever
heard of a girl spy?

Now, you just stop teasing your
sister. When did you last read a book?

We, by Charles A. Lindbergh.

And how many
times did you read it?

A few hundred.

Well, at least my book was real.

I saved some supper for you.

Mama, I don't want
to eat. I'm not hungry.

No word yet? Nope. Nothing.

John-Boy? What?

How would you write a letter to a
person like Edith Catherine Herbert?

Uh, well, you'd probably
send it to her publisher. Here.

Right there. See? There's the publisher and
there's the address. You send it to them.

It says, uh, "Edith Catherine Herbert
lives in New York with her mother."

Think it'd be all right?

Sure. Why not? I think I will.

I'll look it over
for you, if you like.

Nobody's gonna see my letter to
the best writer in the whole world.

John-Boy? Maybe someday
someone will write you a letter.

Sorry, John-Boy. You
must be getting nervous, eh?

Me? No. I'm not in
the least bit nervous.

I wasn't even gonna ask if
there was anything for me.

I just came down here to mail
this letter for Elizabeth, that's all.

Sure hope this doesn't get
lost, like your book probably did.

What?

Lost?

I mean, do you think it
could have been lost?

Oh, my God! I should
have delivered it in person!

How could it be lost?

I mean, after all, it's
been quite a while.

It might be in the dead-letter
office or something.

And I hold myself responsible,

because, after all, I
work for the post office

and I feel responsible, just
like a letter carrier. You know,

through the rain and the...

Erin?

Erin, I want you to
place a long-distance call

to Miss Belle Becker, at
Hastings House in New York City.

New York? I've never
called New York before.

Well, you do it just like
you do any other call.

You call Information and
you get the number. Okay?

And charge it to Ike's store.

Hey, wait!

I'll pay on this end. I
can only wait so long, Ike.

This came special delivery
for you, Miss Maddocks.

Thank you, Tommy.
You're welcome.

Would you hold, please?
I have another call.

Reception, Miss Maddocks.

Hello, my name
is John Walton, Jr.

I sent Belle Becker a
manuscript of my novel

and I haven't
heard anything yet.

When did you mail your
manuscript to us, Mr. Walton?

At least six weeks ago.

Well, sometimes
manuscripts have to wait

for three to four
months for a reading.

Well, that's barbaric!

I'm sure you'll be
notified in due time.

All I can ask is
that you be patient.

Who is it?

May I come in?

Come on in, Son.

I gotta go to New York.

I gotta go find out
about my book.

I mean, I feel like my whole
life is hanging in the balance.

I don't know where it is! It could be
lying out there in the rain somewhere.

For all I know, it never even got to
the publishers and it's driving me crazy!

Everything is all set here. All Ben
has to do is run the newspaper off, and...

I've made all the arrangements.

The bus leaves Rockfish
at 8:00 in the morning.

Am I making any sense?

Are writers supposed
to make sense?

Well, we're supposed to try.

You better get some rest.

I'll see you in the
morning. All right, Son.

Here's something to eat
on the bus. Thank you.

Hey, John-Boy, you look great!
- Look at him!

Good luck!

Jim-Bob! Come over here and
say goodbye to your brother!

Thank you, Ben Okay, Daddy.

John-Boy! Yeah?

Remember to find out if Edith
Catherine Herbert has any new books out.

My car ought to be fixed
by the time you get back.

And if she does, where I
can get them. I'll look into it.

Did you hear me about
my car? Yeah, good going!

It's Jim.

Where did we go wrong
naming our children?

Don't worry about the
papers. I'll take care.

Don't forget to call us
on the telephone. I'll call.

- Don't take any wooden nickels!
- All right, Grandpa.

Don't buy the Brooklyn Bridge!

All right, everybody,
stand back.

Good-bye. Bye, Mama!

Good-bye! Have fun, y'all!

Bye!

You know,

I'll bet every one of those
criminals on Ike's poster

are in New York right now,

waiting for some innocent
person to come along.

I know Mr. Sanford
wants to talk to you,

but he's been in
meetings all day long.

I'm sorry, Mr. Benchley, but this
is not a good time to interrupt him.

You know how Fridays are.

Everyone wants
to get out of the city.

You are welcome, Mr. Benchley.

Yes?

Was that Robert Benchley?

May I help you?

Yes, ma'am. My name
is John Walton, Jr.,

and I called from
Virginia the other day

and I spoke to somebody
here about my manuscript.

It's called Walton's Mountain?

I'm the somebody you talked to.

And if I'm not mistaken, I
advised you to wait a while.

Maybe I'd better speak
with Miss Becker herself.

After all, I did mail
it directly to her.

That's not quite
the way it's done.

It was unsolicited, hmm?

In which case it was probably
sent to an assistant editor

for a preliminary reading.

Well, if I could just be sure
it wasn't lost, ma'am, I...

Even that has been
known to happen.

Well, I don't know
why it should happen.

I mailed it to Miss Becker.

I don't see why... Mr. Walton...

Did I hear my name mentioned?

Miss Becker, John Walton,
Jr. Am I glad to see you.

Ma'am, I've come
here to find out

about the manuscript I
sent to you six weeks ago.

It's called Walton's Mountain,

and I haven't heard
anything at all.

I've explained we get
hundreds of submissions like this.

Ma'am, I spent five years of
my life working on this book.

I've come all the
way from Virginia

just to check up
on the manuscript.

For all I know, it
might even be lost.

Well, I had planned to be out
of the city before the rush, but...

Come with me.

Thank you.

Just a moment.

Thank you.

Over there is a slush pile
of unsolicited manuscripts,

which will someday be read.

Seen why it takes so long?

Slush pile, huh?

May I?

Sure.

I don't see it.

Wait a minute.

That's it. That's
it, right there.

What do I do with it now?

Would you like to sit
down and tell me about it?

Yes, ma'am, I would.

Thank you.

Most of what's in
here is the truth.

I mean, I... I
fictionalized parts of it,

but, uh, most of
it really happened.

It's about my family and me.

Start with you.

Well, I've always
wanted to write.

I can't ever remember
wanting to do anything else.

As far back as I can remember,
I always kept a journal,

with my... my thoughts and
feelings about things, and...

But because I felt that no
one would understand that,

I always kept it a secret.

And then one Christmas
Eve, my mother found out.

I don't understand you.

Hiding things under a mattress.
Is it something you're ashamed of?

What's in that tablet, Mama?

All my secret thoughts,

how I feel, and
what I think about.

About what it's
like, late at night,

to hear a whippoorwill call
and hear its mate call back,

or just watching the
water go by in the creek

and knowing someday
it'll reach the ocean.

Wondering if I'll
ever see an ocean,

and what a wonder that would be.

You know, Mama, sometimes
I hike on over to the highway

and I just sit and watch the
buses go by and the people in them,

and I'm wondering
what they're like,

and what they say to each other

and where they're bound for.

Things stay in my mind,
Mama. I can't forget anything.

And it all gets
bottled up in here,

and sometimes I
feel like a crazy man.

I can't rest or
sleep or anything

till I just rush off up here
and write it down in that tablet.

Sometimes I think
I really am crazy.

I do vow.

If things had been
different, Mama,

reckon I could've done
something with my life.

You will, John-Boy.

You have a promising future.

See, in families like mine,

as soon as he's able to,

the oldest boy is supposed to
go to work as soon as he can

to help support the
rest of the family.

Now, I fully
intended to do that,

and I thought that my
father expected that of me.

But on that same Christmas Eve,

I found out that my father
knew all along about my writing.

He'd been working in
Waynesboro that year,

and he had a hard time
getting home that night.

But when he finally did, there
were presents for everybody.

Open yours, Son.

Okay.

I don't know how it got way up to the
North Pole you wanted to be a writer.

Well, I guess he must
be a right smart man.

I don't know much about
the writing trade, Son,

but if that's what
you want to take up,

give it all you got.

Yes, sir, Daddy.

After that, I wrote whenever
I could make the time.

Short stories, poems, scenes,

but I was floundering, I
didn't have a direction.

And then, one day,

I showed one of my short stories
to someone for the first time.

Aside from the grammar
part, though, what do you think?

I find it very moving.

It's a wonderful story.

You really believed
it? Every word.

Well, what do you
know about that?

And the characters of
the mother and father are...

Mmm! Especially fine.

Well, I guess you know where
I got my inspiration for them.

What are you going to
do with your story now?

I don't know. What do you
think I ought to do with it?

I think you ought to try
to submit it to a magazine.

Try to get it published.

Just like a real writer.

You're a real writer.

Young and inexperienced,

but the talent is there.

The gift is there.

Something

totally your own.

Something to guard,
to treasure, and to use.

Thank you.

I sure appreciate
you reading it for me.

Thank you!

One of my best influences

was my teacher, Rosemary Hunter.

And one of the most
unexpected, my own grandmother.

My family were storytellers,

and long before we had luxuries

like electric light, and radio,
and all this modernisms, why,

we used to sit around
the fireplace at night

and each one of us would
take turns at telling stories.

Ghost stories, witch stories,

long-ago stories
of Indians and wars,

and things that happened
in the history of our family.

And I've kept 'em.

And now they're mellow in
my mind and ready to tell again.

You know, Miss Hunter told me

that the talent of
being a writer was a gift.

Now I know where
that gift comes from.

Now, all those
stories I remember,

I'll tell them to you, John-Boy,

and that will be my
inheritance to you.

Grandma, I cherish you.

And I you, boy.

Good night. Good night.

By chance, a professional
writer came to the mountain.

A.J. Covington.

Moral stories are
out of style, John-Boy,

but then so am I.

But my story has a moral.

Don't waste your life

searching for the one big
story you were born to write.

Write the little stories.

Who knows, the sum total
of them may be the big one.

Write about Walton's Mountain.

Your feelings about
your family and this place.

Just the way you've been doing.

Write about how it is to be
young and confused and poor.

Groping,

but supported by a strong
father and a loving mother,

surrounded by
brothers and sisters

that pester you
and irritate you,

but care about you.

Try to capture that
in words, John-Boy.

It's as big a challenge as the
Klondike or the white whale

or flying the Atlantic
Ocean alone.

It was too big for me,

but I think you just
might be up to it.

Reading these should keep me
out of trouble over the weekend.

When I get to
yours, I'll write you.

Ma'am, do you think that
if I stayed over till Monday,

you might be able to read it?

I'll give you an answer Monday.

Thank you very much.

How's it coming along, Jim-Bob?

I'm almost finished.

Looks great!

Stand still.

Hold your horses, you old mule.

Come on, go ahead, there. Make
an outline right around his hoof.

There you go.

What're you doing, Elizabeth?

Jessica. Can't you
ever remember?

Oh, I can remember
it when I want to.

Grandpa, what y'all
doing? Detective work,

and I am not "Grandpa."

Please address me
as "My dear Watson,"

beloved assistant
to Jessica, Girl Spy.

Okay, Watson and Girl
Spy, what are you all doing?

Taking Blue's
hoofprints. Hoofprints?

You were just doing everyone's
fingerprints. Now you're doing hoofprints?

Don't you care if
Blue gets stolen?

Well, of course I care! But
who's going to steal an old mule?

Jessica, Girl Spy will know

and will track down
those mule thieves.

And that's why we're taking Blue's
hoofprints, Chance's, and Myrtle's.

Oh, Elizabeth,
you're crazy! Hey!

Jessica!

"Jessica."

"My dear Watson."

Ike said he hasn't heard
a word from John-Boy.

John-Boy promised he'd
call the moment he arrived.

Oh, don't worry, Ben,
New York's a big place.

Take a while for him
to get settled down.

There must be
telephones all around.

I know what happened to
John-Boy. He's been kidnapped!

Erin? Yeah.

Get John-Boy on the line.

When John-Boy called,
he reversed the charges.

He's probably run out of money.

I hope he bought
a round-trip ticket.

I wouldn't want him to get
stuck up there. She's ringing!

Daddy, can I stay on the
line? JOHN: Yeah, honey.

Hello. ERIN: Hi, John-Boy.

Have you walked
the Great White Way?

And are the buildings
as tall as people say?

- Uh, honey? Erin?
- Here's Daddy.

Hello, Son, how are you? Listen,
I'm sorry about calling collect,

but I'm going to have
to stay through Monday,

and I'm running kind
of short on money.

New York's kind of a
rough place without money.

I want to talk to him. I
don't care how much it costs!

Speak up, Son, your
mother's on the line.

- John-Boy, you all right?
- I'm fine, Mama.

Did you find your novel?

Yeah, well, that's just it.

See, I found it, but the
lady editor hasn't read it yet.

She's promised to
read it over the weekend,

so I really can't leave town till I hear
word from her one way or the other.

You sound kind of down, Son.

Well, I'm not going to like the idea
of waiting. Especially all weekend.

You've worked too long and too hard
on that novel for them to turn you down.

I hope you're right.

Now, remember, Son,
if they don't publish it,

you always got the
newspaper back here.

Well, say hello to everybody.

I don't want to run
the bill up any more.

We love you,
John-Boy. Good luck!

I love you all.

Bye, John-Boy, got to go.
My board's all lighted up.

Bye-bye, Erin.

I could send you a few dollars,

but I don't think the mail
would reach you in time.

Oh, that's all right,
don't worry about it.

I'm just gonna have
to watch my budget.

What are you gonna do in
New York without any money?

I'll just see the city, I guess.

I've got enough money
for subways and ferries.

I thought maybe I'd
try to look up Daisy.

Remember Daisy Garner?

She was the girl I danced with
in that marathon in Scottsville?

Yeah, I remember.

Well, she wrote to me once.

She sent me her address.

Well, take care
of yourself, Son.

I will.

Bye, now.

Love from all of us.

All right. Love to
everybody there. Bye-bye.

Boy, it sure would be fun to
spend a few days in New York.

New York's a tough town
when you're a stranger.

Surely they have churches there.

He could find
somebody in a church.

They got everything in New York.

Taxi! Taxi!

Ma'am, do you know if
Daisy Garner is here?

I was told she works here.

Daisy? She's around
here somewhere.

That's Daisy, dancing with
the tall, gray-haired man.

Oh, yeah. Thank you.

Mister? Hmm?

You buy your tickets here.

But I...

All right, I'll have one.

Thank you.

Daisy?

You been in any
marathons lately?

John Walton. It's you!

How are you?

Not as bad as it looks.

You know I had a feeling you would
turn up in New York one of these days.

Really? Are you still a writer?

Oh, yeah. Well,
that's why I'm here.

I'm waiting to hear if they're
going to publish my book or not.

You finished it! I finished it!

I'm waiting to hear from Hastings House
if they're going to publish it or not.

Daisy, I've been just
walking and walking around

and you're the first familiar
face I've seen out of six million.

You have this dance.

Oh, how nice.

Is this familiar?

Yeah.

I can't tell you how
good it is to see you.

You, too!

Is this your first
time in New York?

The very first time.

Oh, well, welcome
to the magic city.

This is where everything
happens, John.

It's where you really,
really, really begin to live.

Well, don't look at this place!

This is where I earn my living.

And I can take
off when I want to,

which is important
because I'm a dancer.

Uh-huh.

No, I'm a real, real dancer.

I've been in two
musicals so far.

Oh! Yes.

And tomorrow...

Tomorrow I'm in
the final auditions

for a wonderful,
wonderful new show.

A speaking part this time.

Speaking part, huh? Yes.

Well, I'll tell you, if... if
enthusiasm gets it done,

then you got a good chance.

I hope so!

It's all here, John.

It's a city just
boiling over with life.

Have you seen it? Have
you really, really seen it?

Truth? Yeah.

I've been too busy

thinking about
myself and my book.

No, I haven't seen it. I
haven't seen any of it.

Well, if you're the same
John Walton I knew,

with your imagination,
with your dreams,

you're gonna love New York.

At what time do you get off?

Around 11:00. Will I see you?

Well, I'd dance with you all night,
but I don't have enough dimes.

So, I'll be downstairs.

All right, I'll be
waiting for you.

Dear Lord, we ask thy blessing
on this house and on this food

and we especially ask that you watch
over John-Boy in New York City. Amen.

Amen. GRANDPA: Ah, women.

Mama, is kissing at
the table good manners?

I don't think anybody minds.

Well, I wish they
wouldn't do it in public.

Sorry, Jim-Bob.

Your hair looks
nice, Mary Ellen.

Thanks, Mama.

Mary Ellen, you sure have
changed since you got married.

Seems like only yesterday she
was running around the school yard

playing baseball, catching
bullfrogs and fighting.

Now she just gets
into fights at home.

Do you two really fight?

Once a week.

John, you were there. What do
you think John-Boy's doing now?

I don't know. Things
have changed up there.

I know! I know!

You know. You
know. You know what?

Uh-oh, Jessica, Girl
Spy strikes again!

Daddy, is it dark in New York?

It's dark right about now, yeah.

I can see John-Boy
walking along a dark river.

That's right. I can... I can hear
them tug boats now, down by the river.

And he just happens to see
this big black car pull up and stop.

And then these men in black
hats and black overcoats get out.

They take out a cement
coffin with a body in it.

Where does this
child learn such things?

On the radio, and
it's just getting good!

And then they
dump it in the river.

John-Boy sees them.
They see John-Boy.

They corner John-Boy with guns!

He jumps in the river!
They shoot at him.

They jump in
the river after him!

Either that just happened, or...

Jessica, how about
some more goulash?

Oh, yes, thank
you. It's very good.

Another disastrous thing that
could be happening to John-Boy...

Come on, now, have some
milk, honey, that's enough.

Well, here it is.

Someday people are going to be
paying money to see you in there.

Oh, I can't believe it.

How do you feel?

I am so nervous!

No, you're going
to be just fine.

You're going to do
just great. Whew!

Knocking together!

How do you think I feel?

This is it.

I hope you get
the part. I really do.

Good luck to you, too, John.

Thank you.

I don't really feel like
we're saying good-bye.

You'll be back.

I'll see you.

Here goes.

Are you reading, Miss Becker?

I sure hope you are.

New York City.

Good Lord!

I wonder what you felt, Daddy.

Home from France, and Uncle Ben
left back there in an unmarked grave.

Was it Mama you
were thinkin' of?

Or me, a baby?

What if you could
have known then

that you'd come back to
Walton's Mountain to chop wood?

Well, I'm here, Daddy,
and you were here,

and time has passed,
and I'm a man now,

and I'm going on a
journey of my own.

Yes?

I... I'm sorry to disturb you,

but I'm looking for
Edith Catherine Herbert.

Were you a friend?

Not really.

I'm Edith's mother.

She died nearly two months ago.

Oh, my goodness. I'm sorry.

Why were you looking for her?

Oh, well...

I was just on an errand
for my sister Elizabeth.

Oh? And who might you
be, brother of Elizabeth?

My name is John Walton
Jr., ma'am. I'm from Virginia.

You see, my sister is all wrapped up
in that book that your daughter wrote.

She practically lives the
life of Jessica, Girl Spy.

Won't you come in? Thank you.

My sister asked me to
check in the bookstores

for anything else that
your daughter had written,

but I couldn't find
anything in print.

Oh, well...

This is the book my daughter was
working on when she... when she died.

My sister also wrote
your daughter a letter.

I'm wondering if
you ever received it.

Oh, wait.

Wait.

That's her handwriting.

"I never liked books.

"Mostly I like being up in the
mountains with my grandfather.

"Once we fell in a beaver pond and
swam with the beavers, and they were wild.

"Then I read your
book, Jessica, Girl Spy.

"When I go to bed at
night, I dream I am Jessica.

"And when I wake
up in the morning,

"I am Jessica."

Won't even answer to
her right name anymore.

"My brother is a writer, too.

"But he writes about us,
not about real people like you.

"He is a bigshot and
writes a newspaper,

"but he's all right and
listens when he isn't too busy.

"Your book has changed
my life, and I hope you will

"never stop.

"Thank you for
reading my letter.

"Love, Jessica Elizabeth Walton,
Walton's Mountain, Virginia,

"not far from Rockfish."

She's 12 years old, and
she's small for her age.

She's got beautiful, beautiful
red hair, and a kind of impish face.

She's full of surprises.
A wonderful girl.

Well, I should like to do
something special for Elizabeth.

Here's a... a copy of Jessica,
Girl Spy, autographed by Edith.

Oh, she'll treasure that.

And here's a page in
Edith's own handwriting,

from her unfinished manuscript.

Oh! Oh, no, that's
too kind, ma'am. I...

For Elizabeth.

I, uh, miss the
company of writers.

Tell me what you're
working on now.

Well, it's, uh, my first novel.

Actually, I've... I've
finished... finished the novel

and I'm in New
York waiting to hear

whether Hastings
House is gonna publish it.

Hastings House? Mmm-Hmm.

You could almost say
it's my second novel,

because I... I finished
it over a year ago,

but I had to rewrite every page

because the manuscript was burned
up when our house caught on fire.

I'm coming!

It's useless.

I've tried and tried to rewrite
the first page of my novel,

the first paragraph,
the first sentence.

It always comes out
the same. Flat, empty.

I feel as if there was a band
of steel, twisted, tied inside me,

shuttin' off the flow
of words and feelings.

Somehow I have to find
an answer for that feeling.

When something's wrong, I want
to turn my back on it and walk away.

That's just how I
feel about my book.

But I found out what was wrong.

I was trying to
rebuild this house

exactly like it was before.

Well, you can't do it.

You just can't get back
that same excitement.

No, I'm not the same
man that built this.

I can't get the same materials.

I just got to get a
roof over our heads.

That's true.

Point is, there's
a job to be done.

You're a better man than I am.

I was on the point of givin' up,

but I knew that if I was
ever gonna write again,

I had to do it right
then and there, so...

I took a tablet,

and I walked out in the middle
of the woods and I sat down,

and sure enough...

I don't know how, but the
words just started to come back.

"The dull and heat-laden days
of August vanished in a rainstorm,

"and September dawned,
bright and sparkling and sunny.

"The foliage began to turn,

"lemon-yellow, watermelon-red,
russet and gold and bronze.

"The woods were
afire with color,

"but clean and chilled
by an autumn wind."

And so, I'm in New York
City, just waitin' to hear.

Oh, my dear boy, I'm
so glad you came by.

I do wish you well.

Thank you.

Uh, Tommy, take
these to Editorial,

and this to the
mailroom. Yes, ma'am.

Miss Maddocks? Well,
good morning, Mr. Walton.

Good morning. Miss
Becker is in, isn't she?

She is in.

Belle, Mr. Walton is here.

Won't you have a
seat? Thank you.

Good morning, Hastings House.

Yes, I'll ring him, Mr. Adams.

Franklin P. Adams?

Franklin P. Adams.

Ma'am.

Won't you come in, Mr. Walton?

Thank you, ma'am.

Jim-Bob!

Jim-Bob!

I can't believe you got
this old wreck to running!

It's not an old
wreck if it runs, is it?

No, I guess not.

Oh, you gotta see, Daddy
got me some license plates.

Look at that.

Well! How about that?
Jim-Bob got his own car.

What do you think?
I think it's great.

Now, you choke and I'll crank.

All right. I'll choke
and you crank.

All right, you ready?
Nope. Just a second.

All right.

Jim-Bob, that's great!

Okay.

Can I honk the horn?

All right, let's do this.

They're gonna publish my book!

They're gonna publish it!

Congratulations! Thank you.

They think it's great.
Aw, that's great.

They think Walton's
Mountain is a great title.

And guess what? They gave me
an advance on royalties of $150.

They want me to
write another book.

Can you write two books?

I can write 100 books
if they want me to.

When are we gonna get to read this
one? They're gonna send me a copy.

You could read
the copy I've got.

But you don't want to read it with
the spelling mistakes and everything.

I want to read it just
the way you wrote it.

Well, Mama, uh, you know, I... I wrote
you out to be kind of a Baptist in it.

That's fine with me!

Daddy, you appear to be a bit
of a heathen from time to time.

Where'd you ever
get an idea like that?

You must be hungry. I bet you haven't
had a solid meal since you left home.

Well, a home-cooked
meal'd be just great.

Okay, I'm gonna get my
bags, all right? I'll be right in.

Did you talk to Edith
Catherine Herbert?

I got somethin'
for you, Elizabeth.

Here you go.

But this is Jessica, Girl Spy.

I have this one. I
wanted her new one.

Well, this isn't exactly the
same as the one you have.

See, this one is personally
autographed by Edith Catherine Herbert.

Did you see her write it?

No, honey, I didn't.

Elizabeth, she
died a while back.

But I did get to see her mama,

who got your letter,

and she gave me this
autographed copy to give to you.

So there won't be any
more books by her?

No.

But I got something
else for you.

This is a page
from the manuscript

of the book she was
workin' on when she died.

It's in her own handwriting.

And her mama
wanted you to have it.

John-Boy, I don't wanna cry,

but I feel like I've lost something
that was real close to me.

Are you all right?

I think I'll always miss her.

I'm sure you will.

Maybe I'll like your book.

I hope you do.

I really hope you do.

I don't know how
they get it to work.

I don't know how they send enough
food in there to feed all those people.

And I don't know how they get enough
water in there to keep everybody clean.

I did a lot of things. I went down
to the Statue of Liberty, like you did,

and, uh, I went to
Times Square, and...

The greatest thing of all, of course,
was walking out of Hastings House

with their contract and a
copy of my book under my arm.

Felt like I was
carryin' my own baby.

Well, it's not quite
the same thing,

but I think I know how you feel.

Mama? Daddy? Everybody?

I'm pregnant.

Mary Ellen!

We're gonna be uncles!

Mary Ellen, you're
pregnant! Congratulations!

We're gonna be uncles!

I declare!

This is unbelievable! You're
gonna be a great-grandpa!

Sometimes it pays
to be an old heathen.

Isn't that right, Grandma?

Are you gonna call
him Zebulon, Jr.?

Uh, excuse me, excuse...

Who... Who's the father
of this child, anyway?

Congratulations!

It's gettin' chilly.
Winter is a-comin' on.

Wild geese'll be flying
south any day now.

John-Boy, you're
awful quiet tonight.

I got a lot on my mind.

Nothing's ever stirred
me up in my whole life

like seeing that
city for the first time.

I reckon

if you were born there,
you might take it for granted.

But bein' a country boy,

it's a love affair
right from the start.

Just bein' on that island

gave me such a feeling
of promise and adventure,

like the wildest things I ever
dreamed in my whole life could happen.

There's a hotel
called The Algonquin,

and that's where a lot of
real great writers get together.

I stood across the street
from them for a long time.

And I'm not sure,

but I think I saw Dorothy Parker
and Robert Benchley come out

and get into a taxicab.

It's the same sky lookin'
down on Times Square,

but it seems like a whole
different world to me.

Well, now.

How do you young folks feel
about your first-born flying the coop?

I don't think we'd get him
to stay, Pa, even if we tried.

I've been meanin' to, uh...

There's no need to, Son.

Guess I'd better get
busy darning your socks.

I don't think there's a one of
'em that doesn't have a hole in it.

Well, don't forget
your way home, Son.

I never will.

I did leave Walton's Mountain

to live and work
in New York City.

I wrote more novels and
raised a family of my own.

Today, we live in California,
but no matter where I am,

the call of a night bird, the
rumble of a train crossing a trestle,

the scent of crabapple,
the lowing of a sleepy cow,

can call me home again.

In memory, I stand before
that small white house,

and I can still hear
those sweet voices.

Goodnight, Mama.

Good night, Ben.
Good night, Jim-Bob.

Good night, Mama.
Good night, Erin.

Good night, Jim-Bob.
Good night, Grandpa.

Good night, Erin.
Good night, Jason.

Good night, Grandpa.
Good night, Daddy.

Good night, Jason.
Good night, Elizabeth.

Good night, Daddy.
Goodnight, John-Boy.

Good night, everybody.

I love you.