There are many charming and astonishing things to be told of this
ball, and some of them you shall hear.

In the first place, you must know that it is a very big ball; far
bigger than the great soft ball, of bright colors, that little Charley
plays with on the floor,--yes, indeed; and bigger than cousin Frank's
largest football, that he brought home from college in the spring;
bigger, too, than that fine round globe in the schoolroom, that Emma
turns about so carefully, while she twists her bright face all into
wrinkles as she searches for Afghanistan or the Bosphorus Straits.
Long names, indeed; they sound quite grand from her little mouth, but
they mean nothing to you and me now.

Let me tell you about _my_ ball. It is so large that trees can grow on
it; so large that cattle can graze, and wild beasts roam, upon it; so
large that men and women can live on it, and little children too,--as
you already know, if you have read the title-page of this book. In
some places it is soft and green, like the long meadow between the
hills, where the grass was so high last summer that we almost lost
Marnie when she lay down to roll in it; in some parts it is covered
with tall and thick forests, where you might wander like the "babes
in the wood," nor ever find your way out; then, again, it is steep and
rough, covered with great hills, much higher than that high one behind
the schoolhouse,--so high that when you look up ever so far you can't
see the tops of them; but in some parts there are no hills at all, and
quiet little ponds of blue water, where the white water-lilies grow,
and silvery fishes play among their long stems. Bell knows, for she
has been among the lilies in a boat with papa.