Having been written at long intervals during the past seven years, this story is more faulty than any of its very imperfect predecessors but the desire to atone for an unavoidable disappointment, and to please my patient little friends, has urged me to let it go without further delay. To account for the seeming neglect of amy, let me add, that, since the original of that character died, it has been impossible for me to write of her as when she was here to suggest, criticise, and laugh over her name sake. The same excuse applies to marmee. But the folded leaves are not blank to those who knew and loved them, and can find memorials of them in what ever is cheerful, true, or helpful in these pages.