At first I thought I should call it "Adventures on the Road," or
"The Country Road," or something equally simple, for I would not
have the title arouse any appetite which the book itself could
not satisfy. One pleasant evening I was sitting on my porch with
my dog sleeping near me, and Harriet not far away rocking and
sewing, and as I looked out across the quiet fields I could see
in the distance a curving bit of the town road. I could see the
valley below it and the green hill beyond, and my mind went out
swiftly along the country road which I had so recently travelled
on foot, and I thought with deep satisfaction of all the people I
had met on my pilgrimages--the Country Minister with his
problems, the buoyant Stanleys, Bill Hahn the Socialist, the
Vedders in their garden, the Brush Peddler. I thought of the
Wonderful City, and of how for a time I had been caught up into
its life. I thought of the men I met at the livery stable,
especially Healy, the wit, and of that strange Girl of the
Street. And it was good to think of them all living around me,
not so very far away, connected with me through darkness and
space by a certain mysterious human cord. Most of all I love that
which I cannot see beyond the hill.

"Harriet," I said aloud, "it grows more wonderful every year how
full the world is of friendly people!"

So I got up quickly and came in here to my room, and taking a
fresh sheet of paper I wrote down the title of my new book:

"The Friendly Road."

I invite you to travel with me upon this friendly road. You may