The Dedication

           Itwasonlyyesterdayafternoon,dearreader,exactlythreeweeksafterthebirthofBarbara,thatIfinishedthebook,andeventhenitwasnotquitefinished,forthereremainedthededication,atwhichIsettoelatedly.IthinkIhaveneverenjoyedmyselfmore;indeed,itismyopinionthatIwrotethebookasanexcuseforwritingthededication.

           “Madam”(Iwrotewittily),“Ihavenodesiretoexultoveryou,yetIshouldshowalamentableobtusenesstotheironyofthingswereInottodedicatethislittleworktoyou.Foritsinceptionwasyours,andinyourmoreambitiousdaysyouthoughttowritethetaleofthelittlewhitebirdyourself.Whyyousoearlydesertedthenestisnotformetoinquire.Itnowappearsthatyouwereotherwiseoccupied.Infine,madam,youchosethelowerroad,andcontentedyourselfwithobtainingtheBird.MayIpointout,bypresentingyouwiththisdedication,thatinthemeantimeIambecometheparentoftheBook?Toyoutheshadow,tomethesubstance.TrustingthatyouwillacceptmylittleofferinginaChristianspirit,Iam,dearmadam,”etc.

           Itwasheadywork,forthesaucywordsshowedtheirdesignplainlythroughthevarnish,andIwasre-readinginanecstasy,when,withoutwarning,thedoorburstopenandalittleboyentered,dragginginafalteringlady.

           “Father,”saidDavid,“thisismother.”

           Havingthusbrieflyintroducedus,heturnedhisattentiontotheelectriclight,andswitcheditonandoffsorapidlythat,aswasveryfitting,MaryandImaybesaidtohavemetforthefirsttimetotheaccompanimentofflashesoflightning.