t of man for which his intellect
gives no reason. There is the daily miracle of the human will, the
power of free choice, for which no one can account, and which
sometimes flashes out the strangest things. There is the secret,
incalculable influence of one life on another. There is the web of
circumstance woven to an unseen pattern. There is the vast, unexplored
land of dreams in which we spend one-third of our lives without even
remembering most of what befalls us there.

I am not thinking now of the so-called "realm of the occult," nor of
those extraordinary occurrences which startle and perplex the world
from time to time, nor of those complicated and subtle problems of
crime which are set to puzzle us. I am thinking of much more human and
familiar things, quite natural and inevitable as it seems, which make
us feel that life is threaded through and through by the unknown
quantity.

This is the thread that I have followed from one to another of these
stories. They are as different as my lakes in the North Country; some
larger and some smaller; some brighter and some darker; for that is
the way life goes. But most of them end happily, even after sorrow;
for that is what I think life means.

Four of the stories have grown out of slight hints, for which I return
thanks. For the two Breton legends which appear in "The Wedding-Ring"
and "Messengers at the Window," I am indebted to my friend, M. Anatole
Le Braz; for an incident which suggested "The Night Call," to my
friend, Mrs. Edward Robinson; and for the germ of "The Mansion," to my
friend, Mr. W. D. Sammis. If the stories that have come from their
hints are different from what my friends thought they would be, that
is only another illustration of the theme.

Between the longer stories there are three groups of tales that are
told in a briefer and different manner. They are like etchings in
which more is suggested than is in the picture. For this reason they
are called Half-Told Tales, in the hope that they may mean to the
reader more than they say.

Without the unknown quantity life would be easier, perhaps, but
certainly less interesting. It is not likely that we shall ever
eliminate it. But we can live with it and work with it bravely,
hopefully, happily, if we believe that after all it means
good--infinite good, passing comprehension--to all who live in love.

AVALON,

_June 1, 1912_.

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