my dear gilbert:

i dedicate this story to you. first: because the only really noble motive i had in writing it was the hope that you would enjoy it. second: because i owe you a book in return for "the man who was thursday." third: because i said i would when i unfolded the plan of it to you, surrounded by frenchmen, two years ago. fourth: because i remember the past.

i have been thinking again to-day of those astonishing times when neither of us ever looked at a newspaper; when we were purely happy in the boundless consumption of paper, pencils, tea and our elders' patience; when we embraced the most severe literature, and ourselves produced such light reading as was necessary; when (in the words of canada's poet) we studied the works of nature, also those little frogs; when, in short, we were extremely young.

for the sake of that age i offer you this book.

yours always,

e. c. bentley.