there was once a story-book girl named betty leicester, who lived in a small square book bound in scarlet and white. i, who know her better than any one else does, and who know my way about tideshead, the story-book town, as well as she did, and who have not only made many a visit to her aunt barbara and aunt mary in their charming old country-house, but have even seen the house in london where she spent the winter: i, who confess to loving betty a good deal, wish to write a little more about her in this christmas story. the truth is, that ever since i wrote the first story i have been seeing girls who reminded me of betty leicester of tideshead. either they were about the same age or the same height, or they skipped gayly by me in a little gown like hers, or i saw a pleased look or a puzzled look in their eyes which seemed to bring betty, my own story-book girl, right before me.

now, if anybody has read the book, this preface will be much more interesting than if anybody has not. yet, if i say to all new acquaintances that betty was just in the middle of her sixteenth year, and quite in the middle of girlhood; that she hated some things as much as she could, and liked other things with all her heart, and did not feel pleased when older people kept saying don't! perhaps these new acquaintances will take the risk of being friends. certain things had become easy just as betty was leaving tideshead in new england, where she had been spending the summer with her old aunts, so that, having got used to all the tideshead liberties and restrictions, she thought she was leaving the easiest place in the world; but when she got back to london with her father, somehow or other life was very difficult indeed.

she used to wish for london and for her cronies, the duncans, when she was first in tideshead; but when she was in england again she found that, being a little nearer to the awful responsibilities of a grown person, she was not only a new betty, but london—great, busy, roaring, delightful london—was a new london altogether. to say that she felt lonely, and cried one night because she wished to go back to tideshead and be a village person again, and was homesick for her four-posted bed with the mandarins parading on the curtains, is only to tell the honest truth.

in tideshead that summer betty leicester learned two things which she could not understand quite well enough to believe at first, but which always seem more and more sensible to one as time goes on. the first is that you must be careful what you wish for, because if you wish hard enough you are pretty sure to get it; and the second is, that no two persons can be placed anywhere where one will not be host and the other guest. one will be in a position to give and to help and to show; the other must be the one who depends and receives.

now, this subject may not seem any clearer to you at first than it did to betty; but life suddenly became a great deal more interesting, and she felt herself a great deal more important to the rest of the world when she got a little light from these rules. for everybody knows that two of the hardest things in the world are to know what to do and how to behave; to know what one's own duty is in the world and how to get on with other people. what to be and how to behave—these are the questions that every girl has to face; and if somebody answers, "be good and be polite," it is such a general kind of answer that one throws it away and feels uncomfortable.

i do not remember that i happened to say anywhere in the story that there was a pretty fashion in tideshead, as summer went on, of calling our friend "sister betty." whether it came from her lamenting that she had no sister, and being kindly adopted by certain friends, or whether there was something in her friendly, affectionate way of treating people, one cannot tell.

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