Being forbidden to write anything at present I have collected various waifs and strays to appease the young people who clamor for more, forgetting that mortal brains need rest.

As many girls have asked to see what sort of tales Jo March wrote at the beginning of her career, I have added “The Baron’s Gloves,” as a sample of the romantic rubbish which paid so well once upon a time. If it shows them what not to write it will not have been rescued from oblivion in vain.