nly an
old frame cottage, such as a rural carpenter might build when left to
his own devices, rude, angular, ugly of line and drab in coloring, but
it stood in the midst of a four-acre field, just on the edge of the
farmland. Sheltered by noble elms and stately maples, its windows
fronted on a low range of wooded hills, whose skyline (deeply woven into
my childish memories) had for me the charm of things remembered, and for
my mother a placid beauty which (after her long stay on the treeless
levels of Dakota) was almost miraculous in effect. Entirely without
architectural dignity, our new home was spacious and suggested the
comfort of the region round about.

My father, a man of sixty-five, though still actively concerned with a
wide wheat farm in South Dakota, had agreed to aid me in maintaining
this common dwelling place in Wisconsin provided he could return to
Dakota during seeding and again at harvest. He was an eagle-eyed,
tireless man of sixty-five years of age, New England by origin, tall,
alert, quick-spoken and resolute, the kind of natural pioneer who
prides himself on never taking the back trail. In truth he had yielded
most reluctantly to my plan, influenced almost wholly by the failing
health of my mother, to whom the work of a farm household had become an
intolerable burden. As I had gained possession of the premises early in
November we were able to eat our Thanksgiving Dinner in our new home,
happy in the companionship of old friends and neighbors. My mother and
my Aunt Susan were entirely content. The Garlands seemed anchored at
last.

II

To the Readers of "A Son of the Middle Border"

In taking up and carrying forward the theme of "A Son of the Middle
Border" I am fully aware of my task's increasing difficulties, realizing
that I must count on the clear understanding and continuing good will of
my readers.

First of all, you must grant that the glamor of childhood, the glories
of the Civil War, the period of prairie conquest which were the chief
claims to interest in the first volume of my chronicle can not be
restated in these pages. The action of this book moves forward into the
light of manhood, into the region of middle age. Furthermore, its theme
is more personal. Its scenes are less epic. It is a study of individuals
and their relationships rather than of settlements and migrations. In
short, "A Daughter of the Middle Border" is the complement of "A Son of
the Middle Border," a contin