Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 January 1908 — The Little Red House. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Little Red House.

By JEROME SPRAGUE.

Copyrighted, 1907, by Jessie Morgan.

Brady, whizzing along Riverside Id his big automobile, was a lonely man Before be had made his money he had lived on a farm, and In his trips back and forth from town there had been the greetings of good neighbors and the welcome of the farm> hands, and at home the sociability of the meals at the great table, where maids and men gathered with the family. There was no sociability in New York. For days he had wandered into the theaters and through the hotels, avoiding instinctively the men whc would have cultivated him merely foi what they could get out of him, bm finding no friends. At last, in desperation, he had learned to drive an automobile and spent his days In making long trips into the country, hobnobbing with the farmer; who leaned over the fence rails tc talk to him and leaving them wistfully when they returned to their toil. Today as he sped down the drive with Its rows of clifflike buildings, h< yearned for ’some cheery spot where he might eat and drink with a friend And It was at this moment that his eye was caught by a sign in the window of the little red house. The little red house was set at the edge of a vacant lot, and it seemed a very shabby neighbor to the stately white apartment house that flanked 11 on the left. It had a sloping roof, a few vines clung to the porch, and Jusi above the door was the sign that had attracted Brady’s notice, and the sign read, “Fresh Cherry Pies.” Brady swept up to the curb and climbed out of his machine. His great form filled the low doorway and shut

out the sunlight, so that at first he could not see clearly the figure behind the counter. “I came in to ask about the cherry pies,” he said. “Can I eat one here oi must I carry it away with me?” There was a ripple of laughter, and Brady moved to one side and saw that the person in charge was a girl, fresh faced, pretty and trim. “You can eat it here,” she said, taking a pie out of the case. “People usually take them away, but there is a little table and a chair, and I could make you a cup of coffee.” “Could you?” Brady’s tone was eager. “I’m awfully hungry, and it is so pleasant here.” She was cutting the pie, but she looked up as he said that. “Oh, do you like it?” she asked. “I hope every one will. I am just beginning business, and I want to make a fortune.” Brady, who had made his fortune in oil, was much interested in this more picturesque method. “Do you sell many?* he asked. “Twenty yesterday,” she confided. “I worked at night to get them ready, but it seemed as if every one wanted cherry pies. The people in the apartment house came, and I have sold out everything today except this one pie.” It was a beautiful pie, with a delicate brown crust overlaid with pow dered sugar and all rosy and juicy and delicious within. “I don’t wonder that people came,” commented Brady as he sat down at the little table, which she had spread with a spotless cloth. She was like a child in her delight at his compliment “It was the only thing in the world that I knew how to do,” she said, “and when I was left alone and lost the little Income that my father had left me I decided to bake for a living.” She was sitting opposite him, and he liked the unconsciousness with which she gave him her confidence. “I lived in the country when I was a little girl, and my mother taught me to cook.” 'Tm from the country, too,” Brady said. “I thought so,” she said, with a wise nod. “I think that is why I could tell you things. One can’t always bo sure of city men.” "Don’t you hate the city?’ Brady naked. She shook her bead. “No,” she said

“It would be beautiful If one had friends or any one to care.” “Well, that’s what I mean,” Brady said. “It’s so dead lonesome.” He had finished his pie, and he got up reluctantly. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I guess I’d better go.’.’ She went to the door with him. "What a beautiful automobile!” she said when she saw it. “Yes, it’s pretty nice,” Brady agreed, “But It isn’t much fun driving around by myself.” “No, I suppose not,” sympathetically. There was a moment’s silence. Then Brady spoke his thoughts boldly. “Let me drive you out into the coun- ? try.” She hesitated. “I don’t believe 1 ought,” she said. Brady looked down at her. “Can’t you trust me?” he asked. Her eyes met his steady blue ones. “Yes,” she'said simply and went to put on her hat. “You see,” she told him as they swept along between the green fields, "if I sell twenty pies a day at 25 cents that will be $5 a day. I ought to clear SIOO a month.” And she leaned back, with a sigh of content. Brady, whose Income was SIOO or more a day, asked with Interest, “What are you going to do with all that money?’ “Save It and buy a cottage In the country, with a fireplace and a cat and a dog and a cow.” Brady’s soul waifstirred by this picture of domesticity, and he asked enviously: - “Will you bake cherry pies?” “Yes,” she planned. “I am going to have a cherry tree and an apple tree. You have never tasted such apple tarts as I can make.” Brady turned In his seat and looked at her. “I am going to taste them,” he informed her. “I am going to come and see you hi your cottage.” She laughed. “Such air castles!” was her way of settling the question. But Brady’s chin was set with squareness, and there was determination In his tones. “I don’t see how I can wait for you to build that cottage. I shall do it myself, and there shall be a fireplace—such a fireplace—with two big chairs on the hearth”—he paused expressively—“and a cat, a comfortable tabby cat, and a nice, confiding dog. and a mild eyed cow, and I am going to Invite you to my cottage to make my apple tarts.” She smiled at him without self consciousness. “What dreamers we are”’ “Well, maybe you think it’s a dream” —Brady’s tone was dogged—“but some day I shall ask you to come.” There was no mistaking what he meant. “Please don’t,” she begged. Brady gave her a whimsical glance. “Well, I suppose it is too soon to talk about it,” he agreed. “But that cottage will need something besides a cow and a dog and a cat for me to be happy. It will need a wife and a woman worth loving—and until today I hadn’t seen such a woman.” “You have known me but three hours.” “Three hours or three years! What’s the difference when I know I have found the one I want?” They were back again on the city drive, and the little red house was in sight. “We don’t have to settle anything now,” Brady told her quietly. “Of course I couldn’t expect you to feel the way I do. But I want to know is this—may I come again?” She hesitated; then, as he lifted het out of the car with his strong arms, she smiled up at him. “Yes,” she said, “if you like you may come again.”

“I DON’T WONDER THAT PEOPLE CAME," COMMENTED BRADY.