YANKEE ENCHANT - PREFACE - Dear Children D 0 you think you can stand twenty stories in a bunch Wouldnt you better take them one at a time I did not write them all at once, so why should you read them all at once I have tried to make them as true as possible. I will not vouch for all the incidents, but the children are as true as I could make them. I dare say that there are some of you who are too old for fairy stories, and if that is the case I know you will pity me who have been reading them for thirty years and still want more. But even though you may have passed beyond the age of fairy tales you certainly have not outgrown your love for charming pictures, and the book is full of them. I wish I might have seen the illustrations before I told the stories because then the stories would have been twice as good. Oh, by the way, you children who are too old for the stories, wont you please read them out loud to your father and mother and show them the pictures Tour sincere friend, THE AUTHOR. A T A B L E OF THE C O N T E N T S PACE ING . THE BOY WHO TURNE B D OO KS INTO FOOD . PACE THE G R E E N BOY F R O M H A R R A H 0 H, how it rained And how the wind blew Sandy McMichael stood at the window of his bedroom, wondering whether there would be another flood, and rather hoping that there would be because he should like to see the animals going in two by two. It had rained for three days. He had read until he was tired, he had played with his lead soldiers until he had fought three Spanish wars and had never lost an American, and now he was ripe for the fellowship of any kind of boy. He peered up into the sky at the large drops that grew larger as they descended, and wished that he might be a drop of rain to have such a lovely long jump from the clouds to the earth. It would be better than jumping off the rafters in the barn. Hullo there was a drop way up that must be the great-grandfather of the rest. How high it was and how it was growing Sandy opened the window to watch it better, and the next minute a funny-looking little boy, with a skin as green as a maple leaf in mid-summer, and wearing a silken cloak of the color of old gold, landed on his feet upon the carpet beside Sandy. cc Ive done it at last, said he in a piping voice that, while not unmusical, was different from any that Sandy had ever heard.