. away.

Well, your letter hasn't come, and a number of others are missing. It
looks as if a mail-bag had gone on, so I'll blame nobody, and proceed to
business.

It looks as if I was going to send you the first three chapters of my
Grandfather.... If they were set up, it would be that much anxiety off
my mind. I have a strange feeling of responsibility, as if I had my
ancestors' _souls_ in my charge, and might miscarry with them.

There's a lot of work gone into it, and a lot more is needed. Still
Chapter I. seems about right to me, and much of Chapter II. Chapter III.
I know nothing of, as I told you. And Chapter IV. is at present all ends
and beginnings; but it can be pulled together.

This is all I have been able to screw up to you for this month, and I
may add that it is not only more than you deserve, but just about more
than I was equal to. I have been and am entirely useless; just able to
tinker at my Grandfather. The three chapters--perhaps also a little of
the fourth--will come home to you next mail by the hand of my cousin
Graham Balfour, a very nice fellow whom I recommend to you warmly--and
whom I think you will like. This will give you time to consider my
various and distracted schemes.

All our wars are over in the meantime, to begin again as soon as the
war-ships leave. Adieu.

R. L. S.

TO A. CONAN DOYLE

_Vailima, August 23rd, 1893._

MY DEAR DR. CONAN DOYLE,--I am reposing after a somewhat severe
experience upon which I think it my duty to report to you. Immediately
after dinner this evening it occurred to me to re-narrate to my native
overseer Simele your story of _The Engineer's Thumb_. And, sir, I have
done it. It was necessary, I need hardly say, to go somewhat farther
afield than you have done. To explain (for instance) what a railway is,
what a steam hammer, what a coach and horse, what coining, what a
criminal, and what the police. I pass over other and no less necessary
explanations. But I did actually succeed; and if you could have seen the
drawn, anxious features and the bright, feverish eyes of Simele, you
would have (for the moment at least) tasted glory. You might perhaps
think that, were you to come to Samoa, you might be introduced as the
Author of _The Engineer's Thumb_. Disabuse yourself. They do not know
what it is to make up a story. _The Engineer's Thumb_ (God forgive me)
was narrated as a piece of actual and factual history. Nay, and more, I
who write