To my little ones, who, as I lay down my pen, come rushing in from the autumn fields, their hands filled with flowers "for the poor children," I inscribe this book. May the love that shines in their eager eyes never grow cold within them; then they shall yet grow up to give a helping hand in working out this problem which so plagues the world to-day. As to their father's share, it has been a very small and simple one, and now it is done. Other hands may carry forward the work. My aim has been to gather the facts for them to build upon. I said it in "How the Other Half Lives," and now, in sending this volume to the printer, I can add nothing. The two books are one. Each supplements the other.…
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