some of the burdens which were
weighing heavily on her beloved mother, she turned to the talent which
had recently yielded her the magnificent sum of five dollars. In the
days at Concord she had told many stories about fairies and flowers
to the little Emerson children and their friends, who eagerly drank in
all the mystic tales in which wood-nymphs, water sprites, giants and
fairy queens played a prominent part, and the stories were thrilling,
because their teller believed absolutely in the fairy creatures she
pictured in a lovely setting of woodland glades and forest dells.
These stones, which she had written down and called "Flower Fables,"
she found among her papers, and as she read them again she felt that
they might interest other children as they had those to whom they were
told. She had no money to publish them, however, and no publisher
would bear the expense of a venture by an untried writer. But it took
more than that to daunt Louisa when her mind was made up. With great
enthusiasm she told a friend of the family, Miss Wealthy Stevens, of
her desire, and she generously offered to pay for publication, but it
was decided not to tell the family until the book should come out.
Then in radiant secrecy Louisa burned the midnight oil and prepared
the little book for the press. One can fancy the proud surprise of
Mrs. Alcott when, on the following Christmas morning, among her pile
of gifts she found the little volume with this note:

December 25, 1854.

DEAR MOTHER:

Into your Christmas stocking I have put my first-born,
knowing that you will accept it with all its faults (for
grandmothers are always kind) and look upon it merely as an
earnest of what I may yet do; for with so much to cheer me
on, I hope to pass in time from fairies and fables to men
and realities. Whatever beauty or poetry is to be found in
my little book is owing to your interest in, and
encouragement of, my efforts from the first to the last, and
if ever I do anything to be proud of, my greatest happiness
will be that I can thank you for that, as I may do for all
the good there is in me, and I shall be content to write if
it gives you pleasure.

Jo is fussing about,
My lamp is going out.

To dear mother, with many kind wishes for a Happy New Year
and Merry Christmas,

I am