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The Dedication

           

           “ItwasneverofmylittlewhitebirdIwantedtowrite,”shesaid.

           Ilookedpolitelyincredulous,andthenindeedsheoverwhelmedme.“Itwasofyourlittlewhitebird,”shesaid,“itwasofalittleboywhosenamewasTimothy.”

           ShehadaveryprettywayofsayingTimothy,soDavidandIwentintoanotherroomtoleaveheralonewiththemanuscriptofthispoorlittlebook,andwhenwereturnedshehadthegreatestsurpriseofthedayforme.Shewasbothlaughingandcrying,whichwasnosurprise,forallofuswouldlaughandcryoverabookaboutsuchaninterestingsubjectasourselves,butsaidshe,“Howwrongyouareinthinkingthisbookisaboutmeandmine,itisreallyallaboutTimothy.”

           AtfirstIdeemedthistobeuncommonnonsense,butasIconsideredIsawthatshewasprobablyrightagain,andIgazedcrestfallenatthisverycleverwoman.

           “Andso,”saidshe,clappingherhandsafterthemannerofDavidwhenhemakesagreatdiscovery,“itprovestobemybookafterall.”

           “Withallyourprettythoughtsleftout,”Ianswered,properlyhumbled.

           ShespokeinalowervoiceasifDavidmustnothear.“Ihadonlyoneprettythoughtforthebook,”shesaid,“Iwastogiveitahappyending.”ShesaidthissotimidlythatIwasabouttomelttoherwhensheaddedwithextraordinaryboldness,“Thelittlewhitebirdwastobearanolive-leafinitsmouth.”

           Foralongtimeshetalkedtomeearnestlyofagrandschemeonwhichshehadsetherheart,andeverandanonshetappedonmeasiftogetadmittanceforherideas.

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