Without action of some sort there would, of course, be no story, but the action,—usually built up of two opposing forces,—must be woven into plot, that is, into a combination of events that lead to a definite result, perhaps not known at first by the reader, but known from the beginning by the author. The plot is somewhat simple, for the story is too short to allow of much complexity. The action and the characters are based on some experience, imaginary or otherwise, and are honestly presented. In the best short story there is no pronounced artificiality or posing. There is always a certain harmony of content, so that plot and characters work together naturally, every detail strictly in keeping with the nature of the story. The best story has an underlying idea,—not necessarily a moral,—a thought or theme, very often concerned with ideals of conduct, that can be expressed in a sentence. Closely associated with everything is an indefinable something, that rises from the story somewhat as the odor of sandalwood rises from an oriental box, a sort of fragrance, or charm, a deeply appealing characteristic that we call “atmosphere.” Some stories may emphasize one point, and others another,—the plot, the characters, the setting, the theme, or the atmosphere. As they vary thus they reveal new lights, colors, and effects. Still more do they vary in the charm that comes from apt choice of words, and originality or beauty of phrasing. Altogether, the best short story is truly an artistic product. The old violins made in Cremona by Antonius Stradivarius have such perfect harmony of material and form, and were made with such loving skill, that they are vibrant with tenderly beautiful over-tones. So the best short story is perfectly harmonious in every part, is made from chosen material, is put together with sympathetic care, and is rich with the over-tones of love, and laughter, and sorrow. V WHAT SHALL I DO WITH THIS BOOK? Here is a book of more than twenty excellent short stories, not one of which was written with the slightest thought that any one would ever wish to study it as part of school work. Every story was written (1) because its author had a story to tell, (2) because he had a definite aim in telling the story, (3) because he felt that by certain methods of form and style he could interest and delight his readers. The magician opens his box, and holds the ring of spectators enthralled. Here is no place for study. One must simply stand in the circle, and look, and wonder, enjoy to his utmost, and applaud the entertainer when he makes his final bow. But the spectator is always privileged to look, not only idly but also as sharply as he pleases. So the reader is entitled to notice in every case the three reasons for writing the story.