Publisher's Synopsis
Grace and Horace Clifford lived in Indiana, and so were called "Hoosiers." Their home, with its charming grounds, was a little way out of town, and from the front windows of the house you could look out on the broad Ohio, a river which would be very beautiful, if its yellow waters were only once settled. As far as the eye could see, the earth was one vast plain, and, in order to touch it, the sky seemed to stoop very low; whereas, in New England, the gray-headed mountains appear to go up part way to meet the sky. One fine evening in May, brown-eyed Horace and blue-eyed Grace stood on the balcony, leaning against the iron railing, watching the stars, and chatting together. One thing is very sure: they never dreamed that from this evening their sayings and doings-particularly Horace's-were to be printed in a book. If any one had whispered such a thing, how dumb Horace would have grown, his chin snuggling down into a hollow place in his neck! and how nervously Grace would have laughed! walking about very fast, and saying, - "O, it's too bad, to put Horace and me in a book! I say it's too bad! Tell them to wait till my hair is curled, and I have my new pink dress on! And tell them to make Horace talk better! He plays so much with the Dutch boys. O, Horace isn't fit to print!
