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Sometime ago I laid aside pretty dreams and fancies and began to think of the live problems of my Motherland. While writing Renascent India, The Next Rung came bubbling up and covered the churn-pot with a thin layer of philosophic cream. Renascent India and The Next Rung had a common birth and I left the twins in the same cradle putting but a thin screen of feather-weight paper between. Now the time has come for them to come out of the cradle and to go apart each on his own infant way in this crowded world. I have used the occasion to bless the elder with a parting gift, to dress him now in a few more clothes, all truly home-spun. Kind reader, pray give him a nod of welcome and shelter for an hour if you happen to cross his infant way in the busy thoroughfares of men.

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