Achindarroch his father was a Bastard."

One day, while my husband was busily at work, I sat beside him reading

an old cookery book called The Compleat Housewife: or Accomplish'd

Gentlewoman's Companion. In the midst of receipts for "Rabbits, and

Chickens mumbled, Pickled Samphire, Skirret Pye, Baked Tansy," and

other forgotten delicacies, there were directions for the preparation

of several lotions for the preservation of beauty. One of these was so

charming that I interrupted my husband to read it aloud. "Just what

I wanted!" he exclaimed; and the receipt for the "Lily of the Valley

Water" was instantly incorporated into Kidnapped.

F. V. DE G. S.

DEDICATION

MY DEAR CHARLES BAXTER:

If you ever read this tale, you will likely ask yourself more questions

than I should care to answer: as for instance how the Appin murder has

come to fall in the year 1751, how the Torran rocks have crept so near

to Earraid, or why the printed trial is silent as to all that touches

David Balfour. These are nuts beyond my ability to crack. But if you

tried me on the point of Alan's guilt or innocence, I think I could

defend the reading of the text. To this day you will find the tradition

of Appin clear in Alan's favour. If you inquire, you may even hear that

the descendants of "the other man" who fired the shot are in the country

to this day. But that other man's name, inquire as you please, you shall

not hear; for the Highlander values a secret for itself and for the

congenial exercise of keeping it I might go on for long to justify one

point and own another indefensible; it is more honest to confess at once

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