TO THE SAINTED MEMORY OF HER WHOM, IN THE DAYS BACK HOME, I KNEW AS “MY MA MAG” AND WHO WAS MORE TO ME THAN I CAN TELL, EVEN IF MY TARDY WORDS COULD REACH HER THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED “That she who is an angel now Might sometimes think of me”
GENTLE READER:—Let me make you acquainted with my book, “Back Home.” (Your right hand, Book, your right hand. Pity's sakes! How many times have I got to tell you that? Chest up and forward, shoulders back and down, and turn your toes out more.)
It is a little book, Gentle Reader, but please don't let that prejudice you against it. The General Public, I know, likes to feel heft in its hand when it buys a book, but I had hoped that you were a peg or two above the General Public. That mythical being goes on a reading spree about every so often, and it selects a book which will probably last out the craving, a book which “it will be impossible to lay down, after it is once begun, until it is finished.” (I quote from the standard book notice). A few hours later the following dialogue ensues:
“Henry!”
“Yes, dear.”
“Aren't you 'most done reading?”
“Just as soon as I finish this chapter.” A sigh and a long wait.
“Henry!”
“Yes, dear.”
“Did you lock the side-door?” No answer.
“Henry! Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Did you lock the side-door?”
“In a minute now.”
“Yes, but did you?”
“M-hm. I guess so.”
“'Guess so!' Did you lock that side-door? They got in at Hilliard's night before last and stole a bag of clothes-pins.”
“M.”
“Oh, put down that book, and go and lock the side-door. I'll not get a wink of sleep this blessed night unless you do.”
“In a minute now. Just wait till I finish this...”
“Go do it now.”
Mr. General Public has a card on his d