  I suppose the very best pay that ever comes to anyone who writes a book is to know that the ones he wrote it for really like it. When they like it well enough to write and tell him so, though they have never seen him, and perhaps never will, then he feels very proud indeed, and happy. Perhaps he even looks at himself in the looking-glass to make sure he is really the one who did it, though of course he wouldn't have anyone see him doing it, or think him vain, for anything. The publisher is only going to let me print one of the ever-so-many nice letters that have come for the man who wrote the Hollow Tree stories and the other man who drew the pictures for them. So I've picked out one that is for both of us, and that is signed by three, which makes it equal to six letters, three for each of us, and as nice letters as anyone who writes books for other folks to read could ever wish to have. New York City, 107 Sixty-ninth Street, East, Dear Mr. Paine: Won't you please write another book about the 'Coon and the 'Possum and the old black Crow? We know these two by heart, now. We like that story about the "Rain In The Night" because that is the way we do when there is a thunderstorm. Please write some more and make them friends with poor Mr. Dog, and we want Mr. CondÉ to draw the pictures, too. Your sincere friends, Don't you think that is a very nice letter to get? I am sure no one could be blamed for taking just one little look in the glass after that, or for trying to "write another book" to please readers who have learned the others "by heart." But, dear me, it couldn't be done, because you see there were only just so many of the Hollow Tree stories that ever happened, and when they were all written there weren't enough to make another book. So we have taken what were in the first two books, "The Hollow Tree" and "In the Deep Woods," and we have put them together in one big book, and added the three new ones, which were every one to be had, and now here they are with a nice new cloth cover and very cheap when you consider how many there are of them, and that there are no more to be had anywhere, and that there never will be any more, as the Little Lady has said, "even in a thousand days." You will know why, too, when you get to the very last story in the book, and until then, and for a long time after, I wish you, and Mr. CondÉ wishes you the happy quiet of the Deep Woods, and the pleasant peace of the Hollow Tree. THE AUTHOR. |
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