n, and Buttercup; although, to be sure, such titles
might better suit a group of fairies than a company of earthly
children.

It is not to be supposed that these little folks were to be permitted
by their careful fathers and mothers, uncles, aunts, or grandparents,
to stray abroad into the woods and fields, without the guardianship of
some particularly grave and elderly person. Oh, no, indeed! In the
first sentence of my book, you will recollect that I spoke of a tall
youth, standing in the midst of the children. His name--(and I shall
let you know his real name, because he considers it a great honor to
have told the stories that are here to be printed)--his name was
Eustace Bright. He was a student at Williams College, and had reached,
I think, at this period, the venerable age of eighteen years; so that
he felt quite like a grandfather towards Periwinkle, Dandelion,
Huckleberry, Squash-Blossom, Milkweed, and the rest, who were only
half or a third as venerable as he. A trouble in his eyesight (such as
many students think it necessary to have, nowadays, in order to prove
their diligence at their books) had kept him from college a week or
two after the beginning of the term. But, for my part, I have seldom
met with a pair of eyes that looked as if they could see farther or
better than those of Eustace Bright.

This learned student was slender, and rather pale, as all Yankee
students are; but yet of a healthy aspect, and as light and active as
if he had wings to his shoes. By the by, being much addicted to
wading through streamlets and across meadows, he had put on cowhide
boots for the expedition. He wore a linen blouse, a cloth cap, and a
pair of green spectacles, which he had assumed, probably, less for the
preservation of his eyes than for the dignity that they imparted to
his countenance. In either case, however, he might as well have let
them alone; for Huckleberry, a mischievous little elf, crept behind
Eustace as he sat on the steps of the porch, snatched the spectacles
from his nose, and clapped them on her own; and as the student forgot
to take them back, they fell off into the grass, and lay there till
the next spring.

Now, Eustace Bright, you must know, had won great fame among the
children, as a narrator of wonderful stories; and though he sometimes
pretended to be annoyed, when they teased him for more, and more, and
always for more, yet I really doubt whether he liked anything quite so
well as to tell