* * * *

After many discouragements, the author of David Harum lived long enough
to know that his book had found appreciation and was to be published,
but he died before it appeared.

Edward Noyes Westcott, the son of Dr. Amos Westcott, a prominent
physician of Syracuse, and at one time mayor of the city, was born
September 27, 1846. Nearly all his life was passed in his native city of
Syracuse. His active career began early at a bank clerk's desk, and he
was afterward teller and cashier, then head of the firm of Westcott &
Abbott, bankers and brokers, and in his later years he acted as the
registrar and financial expert of the Syracuse Water Commission. His
artistic temperament found expression only in music until the last years
of his life. He wrote articles occasionally upon financial subjects, but
it was not until the approach of his last illness that he began David
Harum. No character in this book is taken directly from life. Stories
which his father had told and his own keen observations and lively
imagination furnished his material, but neither David Harum nor any
other character is a copy of any individual. No trace of the author's
illness appears in the book. "I've had the fun of writing it, anyway,"
he wrote shortly before his death, "and no one will laugh over David
more than I have. I never could tell what David was going to do next."
This was the spirit of the brave and gentle author, who died March 31,
1898, unconscious of the fame which was to follow him.

R. H.

NEW YORK, _August, 1900._

[Illustration]

[Illustration: Wm. H. CRANE Edition]

The Christmas Story from David Harum

CHAPTER I

It was the 23d of December, and shortly after the closing hour. Peleg
had departed and our friend had just locked the vault when David came
into the office and around behind the counter.

"Be you in any hurry?" he asked.

John said he was not, whereupon Mr. Harum hitched himself up on to a
high office stool, with his heels on the spindle, and leaned sideways
upon the desk, while John stood facing him with his left arm upon the
desk.

"John," said David, "do ye know the Widdo' Cullom?"

"No," said John, "but I know who she is--a tall, thin woman, who walks
with a slight stoop and limp. I noticed her and asked her name because
there was something about her looks that attracted my attention--as
though at some time she might have seen better days."

"That's the par