Hazel

When I was a little girl, my favorite booksdealt with children whose lives were like myown. I smudged with many readings thepages that told of Susy and Prudy and Dottyin Portland, of their visits to the country, oftheir every-day happenings. Their adventureswere far dearer to me than those of foreignlads and lasses and richly clad little princesseswhose ways were not as my ways.

I have thought for some time that the coloredchildren in the United States might also liketo have their intimate books telling of happeningsthat were like their own. They must be tiredof reading always of far-away children. So,out of my years of experience among thesesoft-eyed, velvet-cheeked small friends, I havewritten this story.

I have purposely avoided dialect. CorrectEnglish spelling is difficult enough to youngreaders without superimposing other forms for[vi]the not too-familiar words. I have, however,tried to give the turn of expression in thesouthern speech.

I hope my colored child friends will smudgemy pages. And if the white child stops toread, I trust that she will feel an awakenedsympathy for the dark-faced boys and girlswhose world is outside her own.

M. W. O.

Brooklyn, N. Y.,
    September 15, 1913.