my own town_ are plain, unpretentious people.

Second, I am not a popular writer, since my name has never been mentioned
in the "Atlantic," "Scribner's," "Harper's," "The Century" or the
"Ladies' Home Journal." But as a matter of truth, it may not be amiss for
me to say that I have waited long hours in the entryway of each of the
magazines just named, in days agone, and then been handed the frappe.

Third, I am not rich, as the world counts wealth.

Fourth, as an orator I am without the graces, and do scant justice to the
double-breasted Prince Albert.

Fifth, the Roycroft Shop, to the welfare of which my life is dedicated,
is not so large as to be conspicuous on account of size.

Sixth, personally, I am no ten-thousand-dollar beauty: the glass of
fashion and the mold of form are far from mine.

Then what have I done concerning which the public wishes to know? Simply
this:

In one obscure country village I have had something to do with stopping
the mad desire on the part of the young people to get out of the country
and flock to the cities. In this town and vicinity the tide has been
turned from city to country. We have made one country village an
attractive place for growing youth by supplying congenial employment,
opportunity for education and healthful recreation, and an outlook into
the world of art and beauty.