My first novel! Alas! for that first story of mine--the raven I sent out of my ark and never see again! Unlike the proverbial curse, it did _not_ come home to roost, it stayed where I had sent it. The only thing I ever heard of it again was a polite letter from the editor in whose office it lay, telling me I could have it back if I enclosed stamps for the amount of twopence halfpenny, otherwise he should feel it his unpleasant duty to "consign it to the waste-paper basket." I was only sixteen then, and it is a very long time ago; but I have always hated the words "waste-paper" ever since. I don't remember that I was either angry or indignant, but I _do_ remember that I was both sad and sorr…
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