I am aware that truth and fiction are so carefully woven together in
this Story of Kennett, that you will sometimes be at a loss to
disentangle them. The lovely pastoral landscapes which I know by heart,
have been copied, field for field and tree for tree, and these you will
immediately recognize. Many of you will have no difficulty in detecting
the originals of Sandy Flash and Deb. Smith; a few will remember the
noble horse which performed the service I have ascribed to Roger; and
the descendants of a certain family will not have forgotten some of the
pranks of Joe and Jake Fairthorn. Many more than these particulars are
drawn from actual sources; but as I have employed them with a strict
regard to the purposes of the Story, transferring dates and characters
at my pleasure, you will often, I doubt not, attribute to invention that
which I owe to family tradition. Herein, I must request that you will
allow me to keep my own counsel; for the processes which led to the
completed work extend through many previous years, and cannot readily be
revealed. I will only say that every custom I have described is true to
the time, though some of them are now obsolete; that I have used no
peculiar word or phrase of the common dialect of the country which I
have not myself heard; and further, that I owe the chief incidents of
the last chapter, given to me on her death-bed, to the dear and noble
woman whose character (not the circumstances of her life) I have
endeavored to reproduce in that of Martha Deane.

The country life of our part of Pennsylvania retains more elements of
its English origin than that of New England or Virginia. Until within a
few years, the conservative influence of the Quakers was so powerful
that it continued to shape the habits even of communities whose
religious sentiment it failed to reach. Hence, whatever might be
selected as incorrect of American life, in its broader sense, in these