“O dear, I had not thought about that. Yes, I suppose I should need some one to look after me.”

“I will look after you, little heart, if Cousin Richard will let me,” said Ian softly.

Richard Mowbray laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I agree,” he said.

Aline put up her hands and drew down Ian’s face till their lips met. A look of happy content shone in her eyes. “Then I shall be well protected,” she said.

My dear Children:

The time has now come to say good-bye, both to you and Aline; but it might interest you to know that I read the story to a little girl before it was quite finished and asked her if there was anything she would like to suggest. “Yes,” she said, “a birthday party.”

Now a sixteenth century birthday party was rather a difficulty as I never saw one described; but then there were so many difficulties of that sort. People in those days, for instance, thought that shaking hands was a much warmer sign of affection than kissing. You probably know that in France men still kiss each other at the railway station. But that would not do for my story. So, as in the case of language, I have modernized to suit my purpose. When, therefore, your learned uncle tells you that the story is all wrong and that they did not fence with helmets and that the curtsey was not invented till much later and that the library is far too big and so on; you just tell him to write you a sixteenth century story and then you send it to me, and we will see how he gets along.

If any of you would write to me and tell me what you would like altered or what else you would like put in, I should be delighted. The story is only written to please you and I wish I could see you and tell it to you myself. Also you might let me know what you think ought to happen to Aline and then, if you like the story, I will write you a sequel. But you must tell me how old you are, that is a very important point.

With best wishes from Avis and myself;—now do not tell me that you do not know who Avis is,—look at the dedication and the first chapter and guess.

Yours aff’ly,

Ian B. Stoughton Holborn.

1735 Grand Central Terminal,
New York City.

(or, in Britain, Merton College, Oxford).

Transcriber’s Note:

The following are changes known to have been made to the text as it appears in the original publication: