I had been anxious to continue my discussion with a Mrs. Brown on the subject of the relative laying values of Minorcas and Buff Orpingtons, but I had been dragged to the miserable business in spite of myself.
Now they were all gone, and Macdonald had returned to the charge.
"It's hardly a fair question," said Mrs. Macdonald, "to ask an author what he thinks of his own book. No man can judge his own work, any more than a mother can judge her own child."
"That's true!" I said. "A man can't judge his own behaviour, and writing a book is an element of behaviour. Besides, there is a better reason why a writer cannot judge his own work," I added.
"Because he never reads it?" queried Macdonald with a grin.
I shook my head.
"An author has no further interest in his book after it is published."
Macdonald looked across at me. It was clear that he doubted my seriousness.
"Surely you don't mean to say that you have no interest in A Dominie's
Log?"
"None whatever!" I said.