“Do you remember, I told you I was keeping minutes of the club?” “Yes, that is why you wanted our papers.” “Well, they are not ordinary minutes. They are an exact account of all we have done and said.” And then I told them of this book. They were delighted. “We are all going to be put into a book,” they said. “Yes,” I answered, “it will be a book, and you are all to be in it. But who knows whether any one else will care? Perhaps it will never be published.” “Even if it isn’t published,” said Henry, “it will be a book.” “What will it be called?” they asked. “‘The Seekers,’ of course.” “You ought to call it ‘The Pathfinder,’” said Henry. “That would sound more romantic and interesting, and attract people.” Would I dedicate it to them? they asked. “No, certainly not,” I said; “you are all helping me write it. We will dedicate it to all Seekers.” What names would I use? they asked. I would use their right first names, I said. Weren’t they willing? Yes, yes, they were willing. “For,” I said, “one could scarcely make up prettier names: I like them all, Marian, Ruth, Florence, Virginia, Henry and Alfred.” “Yes,” answered Marian, “we like our own names.” “And you have really helped me to write it,” I said, “for I have all your papers. That’s why I wanted them, to prove that I was not inventing the whole thing.” “Are you putting them in just as we wrote them?” asked Marian. “Yes, exactly.” “Oh, please,” she begged, “correct my spelling and my bad construction.” “I will correct your spelling and your punctuation, but nothing else.” “Oh, please,” she said, “change the places where I repeated myself. I wrote them so hastily.” “I suppose,” I said, “that what was good enough for me will be good enough for any one. Don’t you think so? I always wanted to write a book like this, and as I didn’t have brains enough to invent it alone, I made you help me. It is a real live book. We have lived it together.” Now they asked me crowds of questions. Had I put in all the nonsense? Yes, every bit. “Then we will laugh at ourselves,” said Marian. Had I put in every time Virginia mentioned animals? Yes, almost every time. It must be very interesting, they said. “Did you write down every time we laughed?” No, I took that for granted. And did I write down when Florence said brother Arthur told her things? Yes. And would I leave that in? Certainly. And would I let them see it? Yes, as soon as possible. APPENDIX