LITTLE HOMESPUN - ONE MOMENT PLEASE - In a way, this book, Little Homespun, is a story quite by itself. In another way it is a sequel to Courage, although you can catch its thread without having read a line of Courage. Now some grown people, and I presume some children, do not care for, sequels at all, but I happen to know that the children who are good enough to read and care for my stories are fond of sequels. Those who have taken the trouble to write me, in little letters that are worth their weight in gold many times over, almost invariably ask for another book about the same people. Sometimes they tell me just what to put into the new story and what name to give it. So here lies my excuse if one is needed for writing Little Homespun. Besides, I could hardly help it, for there seemed to be quite a little yet to tell about Courage and Sylvia, and some new lit tle friends of theirs. And one thing more everything i l l tliis htor. t hat ha5 to tlo I-ittl r c l 1 col le or actual events is absoliitel. true lit niost of the info-niationn -- 1897 -- CONTENTS. LITTLE HOMESPUN. everything far and near fairly revelling in the early summer sunshine. The Potoinac, blue as the sky above it, sparkling and dancing, the new young leaves on the oak trees shimmering and shining with the marvellous green of springtime, and the dear old Virginia homestead, overhanging the river, never looking inore homelike and attractive in all its quiet life. The reason for this did not lie all in the sunshine either. Just outside the door, on the wide gallery, a darling old lady sat knitting, for as darlzzzg means dearly beloved, no other word could so truly describe her. Everybocly worshipped her and regarded her-as well they might-with unspeakable devotion for darling old ladies, as you very well know, do not grow on every bush-quite to the contrary - a gi-eat many old ladies bless their tired old hearts grow fretful and nervous and fussy, and are hard to please, not to say cranky. Hut v110 would blame them for this for a minute Just as 1il cly as not you and I will be cranky enough ourselves, when. we have borne the burden of fourscore years, and are pretty well worn out in mind and spirit and body. Rut here was an old lady who was not worn out. Her hair was white with tlle in comparable whiteness of aged hair, and there were the indelible marks of age on the sweet, earnest face, but this dear old lady was 4 4 sunny. She had had her own full share of sorrows and worries, and she had talten them all very much to heart-as people must whose hearts are big enough to take things to at alland as tender as hearts really ought to be. But someho v or other, she had learned the secret of not being overcome by the worries and the sorrows, and so, sitting there knitting that peerless June morning, she and the sunshine together seemed to glorify everything about them. Presently a little specimen appeared in the doorway a handsome little fellow too, though he did not have any curls, as most children do who find their way into story books, but his hair was golden, and, though cut quite short, as he insisted upon llaving it, had a little trick of straying down on his forehead in quite irresistible fashion... --This text refers to the Paperback edition.