mind to that bill of fare, and then, on coming to the table, find that
it is beefsteak and tomatoes, you may be out of sorts; _not_ because
beefsteak and tomatoes are not respectable viands, but because they
are not what you have made up your mind to enjoy.

Now, a novel, in our days, is a three-story affair,--a complicated,
complex, multiform composition, requiring no end of scenery and
_dramatis personae_, and plot and plan, together with trap-doors,
pit-falls, wonderful escapes and thrilling dangers; and the scenes
transport one all over the earth,--to England, Italy, Switzerland,
Japan, and Kamtschatka. But this is a little commonplace history,
all about one man and one woman, living straight along in one little
prosaic town in New England. It is, moreover, a story with a moral;
and for fear that you shouldn't find out exactly what the moral is,
we shall adopt the plan of the painter who wrote under his pictures,
"This is a bear," and "This is a turtle-dove." We shall tell you in
the proper time succinctly just what the moral is, and send you off
edified as if you had been hearing a sermon. So please to call this
little sketch a parable, and wait for the exposition thereof.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER

I. FALLING IN LOVE
II. WHAT SHE THINKS OF IT