y
never read it, or to some dear friend who had passed away and had no
relatives living.

Several others approached did not seem to crave the honor, therefore I
herewith dedicate this book to Court; not that he is the best and truest
friend I ever possessed, but for the reason that should the book not be
received with favor he will respect me just the same. He will hunt for
me, he will watch for me, he will love me all the more devotedly, serve
me all the more faithfully, though the book were discredited. The more I
see of dogs, the better I like dogs.

It is claimed there is a kind of physiognomy in the title of a book by
which a skilful observer will know as well what to expect from its
contents as one does reading the lines. I flatter myself this claim will
be disproved in this book.

I am proud of the book, not that it contains much of literary merit, not
that I ever hope it will be a "best seller," but for the reason it has
afforded me days of enjoyment. In the writing of it I have communed with
those whom I love.

If those who peruse this book extract half the pleasure from reading its
pages that has come to me while writing them, I will be satisfied.

AL. G. FIELD.

Maple Villa Farm,
July 4, 1912.

WATCH YOURSELF GO BY

AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER ONE

Trust no prayer or promise,
Words are grains of sand;
To keep your heart unbroken
Hold your child in hand.

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!!" "Al-f-u-r-d!!!"

The last syllable, drawn out the length of an expiring breath, was the
first sound recorded on the memory of the First Born. Indeed, constant
repetition of the word, day to day, so filled his brain cells with
"Al-f-u-r-d" that it was years after he realized his given patronymic
was Alfred.

[Illustration: The Old Well]

"Al-f-u-r-d!" "Al-f-u-r-d!"--A woman's voice, strong and penetrating,
strengthened by years of voice culture in calling cows, sheep, pigs,
chickens and other farm-yard companions. The voice came in swelling
waves, growing in menace, from around the corner of as quaint an old
farm-house as ever sheltered a happy family. In the wake of the voice
followed a round, rosy woman of blood and brawn, with muscular arms and
sturdy limbs that carried her over grass and gravel at a pace that soon
brought her within reach of the prey pursued--a boy of four years, in
flapping pantalets and gingham frock.

The "boy" was headed for the family well as fa