The purpose of this story is to give you the same idea as that given to Prue by her father, of the thanks which you owe to the world at large; and when I say you I mean all of us, but particularly those living at this moment in England. For I want you to think of Prue as a little girl standing on England in the flat map of the world which we call Mercator's Projection, to whom from all directions steamers and trains are hurrying. Each of these steamers and trains is bringing her something that is necessary for everyday life, to eat or to wear or to use, and were it not for these steamers and trains, and the sailors and engineers on them, and stevedores who loaded them and others who will unload them, and the workmen who made or dug or gathered the articles they are loaded with, that little girl would very likely die or, at any rate, be no better than a savage. And again when I say that little girl I mean you and me and all of us prosperous, protected, English people who have only to go into the Stores and lay down our money to get all we want, and, for the most part, never think of the way in which men have been toiling under hot suns or freezing skies or in stifling cities, mostly on poor wages, to provide us with it. We take such things for granted: just as Prue did until her eccentric Uncle Frank, who always did such odd things, came back from India, where he was a judge, for a holiday, and told her a little about the origin of things, as I am going to tell you. That was the start, and it was very successful, except that the twins both wondered why I had made a little girl the heroine. "Well," I said, "it is because girls are more interesting. I wrote it really for Jill, only she is too young for it at the moment. Little boys don't make such good stories as little girls." "Why?" they asked. "Ah," I replied (for I am not altogether a fool), "you must ask your father. He knows everything." Now for the real beginning, the first chapter: