"Then it is a lesson-book?" I hear you say.

Yes, in one way, and yet not quite all lessons, for you will find some
stories here too.

And now I must answer the (_b_) question about these same stories, for I
want you to know, before you begin to read them, that they are all true,
and there is no pretending or making-up about them.

Question (_c_), about the pictures, you can soon answer for yourself; so
now I have only the (_d_) question to answer, and I can only say for my
book, that I do not know whether or not you will care for it; but I do know
that the person who made it loves children, and very much likes teaching
them and talking to them. And that you may better understand that I know
something about children, I will explain that, though I am only talking
to you just now, I shall tell you in this book the very same things which
I told to some children who came every morning to do their lessons at my
house, three or four years ago--at least, I will write down for you all I
can remember of the talks these children and I had together, and I will
tell you the same true stories which I told them. I used to ask them to
give me their ears, and I must ask you to give me your eyes; for writing is
different from talking, is it not? You cannot look up in my face and ask me
questions as my children did; and when I ask you a question, I cannot hear
you answer, but am obliged to fancy what you would be likely to say. Still,
I think we shall be friends, and get to know each other a little, even by
means of this dumb-show talk, as I speak to you with my hand and you listen
to me with your eyes.

And now I want to tell you about my children. It was a beautiful morning in