Dedication
TO THE SAD-EYED MOTHERS,
WHO, LIKE CICELY,
ARE LOOKING ACROSS THE CRADLE OF THEIR
BOYS INTO THE GREAT WORLD OF TEMPTATION AND DANGER,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED.
Preface
Josiah and me got to talkin’ it over. He said it wuzn’t right to think more of one child than you did of another.
And I says, “That is so, Josiah.”
And he says, “Then, why did you say yesterday, that you loved sweet Cicely better than any of the rest of your thought-children? You said you loved ’em all, and was kinder sorry for the hull on ’em, but you loved her the best: what made you say it?”
Says I, “I said it, to tell the truth.”
“Wall, what did you do it for?” he kep’ on, determined to get a reason.
“I did it,” says I, a comin’ out still plainer,—“I did it to keep from lyin’.”
“Wall, when you say it hain’t right to feel so, what makes you?”
“I don’t know, Josiah,” says I, lookin’ at him, and beyend him, way into the depths of emotions and feelin’s we can’t understand nor help,—
“I don’t know why, but I know I do.”
And he drawed on his boots, and went out to the barn.