Jasper County Democrat, Volume 11, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 October 1908 — The Little Tin Cottages. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Little Tin Cottages.

By Virginia Blair.

Copyrighted, 1908, by Associated Literary Press.

Tbe sky was blue, and the lake was blue, and there were four blue birds against tbe silver gray of the birches. “It’s like a chain of sapphires,” Peggy said as she and her mother followed the narrow,pa th among tbe trees. “Tee,” murmured her mother faintly. Peggy looked back at her. “Mother,” she protested, “you are tired out,” and she took the heavy bag that her mother had carried, and, thus weighted with two, she plodded on until she came to an intersection of the path. ' “I’m not sure which way to turn to go to our eottage,” she said. “Doesn’t

it sound too good to be true to say ‘our cottage,’ mother?" “Yas, itpdoes, and the rent is so cheap," Mrs. Linton said. “We couldn't have come if it hadn’t been cheap," Peggy remarked philosophically. “No, we couldn't," her mother agreed, and again they plodded on. Presently a man appeared among the trees. He wore blue overalls, and be was wheeling a barrow. “Oh, can you tell us where Miss Brownlee’s cottages are?” Peggy called eagerly. » “The tin cottages?" the man inquired.

“The what?” Peggy gasped. The man grinned. “The tin cottages. Those are the ones Miss Brownlee rents. You go on till you come to a path toward the lake, and you’ll find them." •

“Mother,” Peggy demanded when he had gone on, “what do you suppose he meant?” “I’m sure I don’t know, and I don't care,;’ said Mrs. Linton pensively. “Poor little mother,” Peggy worried, "you’re tired out” Again they went on, and at last they saw before them a row of diminutive houses like Inverted bathtubs. They were painted gray, and they were very compact and neat but to Peggy, who had dreamed of a picturesque rustic tmngalow. they were nightmares. “Oh,” she said in dismay, “they are hideous, mother!" And after one glance Mrs. Linton sat down on the moss and laid her umbrella beside her. “It’s the last straw," she said dejectedly. * “Oh, dear!” sighed Peggy. And her mother echoed the plaint. But presently they saw a woman beckoning to them from the porch of a large rustic cottage at the end of a row of tin caricatures. “That must be Miss Brownlee,” Peggy said. “I am going to tell her that I think she should have told us that the cottages were made of tin.” But as 'they came up to the porch the beaming face of the rather massive lady disarmed criticism. t “I thought you would be'here about this time,” she said. “L want you to have lunch with me.” “Oh,” Peggy demurred, “we don’t like to trouble you.” "Pm dead lonesome,” Miss' Brownlee hastened to explain, “and I like company. That’s why I built the cottages.” 4 “Aren’t they a little odd?" Peggy asked. “I think they are beautiful,” Miss Brownlee declared radiantly. “After the big fair they were for sale—they had been models, you know—and I bought them cheap, and they are nice and comfortable inside. I have rented the one next to you to a young man, an artist. He comes tomorrow/’ "Has he seen them?” Peggy Quavered, not daring to look at her mother. “No, but I told him how nice they were.” “Oh,” Peggy murmured, and went on eating hot biscuits. A half hour later she said to Miss Brownlee, “I have never tasted such a perfectly delicious lunch.” Miss Brownlee laughed. “Well, I am a right good cook,” she said. “1 always wanted to have an opportunity to ledrn things, but after mother died I was too did to take up painting or music, so I just went on cooking. After all. I don’t know but It’s just as worth

Hrhile to good cook as a bad artist?’ ‘ “Indeed it is!” said Peggy heartily. ”1 paint some myself. But I wish I could make cake like this.” “Oh, do you paint?” pried Miss Brownlee. “Some time I am going to get you to make a picture of the cottage.” In the morning Peggy set her easel up on the bluff, but the magic of the lake eluded her, and when she came in she bad nothing to show but a sketch of Sally. •' » She gave It to Miss Brownlee. “Well, well,” said that delighted lady, “It’s just like Sally. I’m going to have it framed. By the way,” she added, “it’s time for that young man to come. And there he is now.” And she hurried to the door. He was a handsome young felfow, with a gray cap on the back of bis head. “I wanted to ask about my cottage. Where to it?” ‘"There,” said Miss Brownlee, pointing to the one next to Peggy’s. “That? Oh, by George!” the young man ejaculated, and Peggy laughed to herself. “It’s the one I told you about in my letter,” Miss Brownlee went on. “Yes,” he murmured feebly, “you told me.”

“This young lady and her mother have the one next to it.” And Miss Brownlee stepped back and showed Peggy behind her—Peggy, whose blue eyes danced wickedly. The young man looked at her, taking in with appreciation the grace of the slender girlish figure. “I think I shall like—the cottage,” he said slowly, and when they had talked for a few minutes Peggy went back to her mother. “He is very nice,” she remarked, “and his name is Meredith.” And with that she took her portfolio and started for the bluff. “Look here,” said some one over her shoulder two hours later, “you ought not to try that sort of thing.” It was Mr. Meredith. “Why not?” asked Peggy. “I saw your sketch of Sally,” he told her. “You do it better than water things. Your lake and sky aren’t right.” Peggy flushed. “Oh,” she said, “I don’t want to paint pussy cats! I want to paint the silver water and the silver trees and a silver spirit of the woods.”

“Silver tommyrot!” said the young man. “You ought to do things like the studies your mother showed me just now.” “Pot boilers!” Peggy murmured. “This is the way water ought to be handled,” and he opened bls portfolio and handed her a sketch. “Oh!” Peggy said as she looked at it, and when she bad handed it back to him there was real humility in her tone. “I have never seen anything so wonderful.” “It »is no more wonderful than yours,” he told her, “but I have studied longer—abroad and all that.” “Oh, have you?” said the eager Peggy, and they sat there and talked until the shadows fell.

That night Meredith said to Miss Brownlee, “I think it is beautiful here,” and Peggy, watching the moonlight through the small square window of her room, smiled in the darkness as she thought bow deliciously Mr. Meredith said “By George!” when he looked at her best work. The next morning she took bis advice and sketched the six curly tailed pigs, Sally over a saucer'of milk and Miss Brownlee among her pots and pans. “That’s the best thing you have done yet,” Meredith told her as he examined the sketch of Miss Brownlee. “The light of the fire and the sunlight through the window give a chance for values.” “I wish 1 knew as much as you do about such things,” Peggy sighed. “We wll) work together for awhile,” be said, “and I will teach you ail I know.”

But he taught her other things than art as their easels stood side by side on the bluff, and the white gulls dipped to the sapphire lake, and the wind ruffled the curls on Peggy’s forehead. And one morning as Peggy finished a sketch of sliver birches with a bit of lake beyond he looked over her shoulder. “You are getting on wonderfully,” he said, “but you ought to have a year abroad.” “But I can’t,” Peggy told him. “You can If you will marry me.” was his unexpected proposition. And “Oh!” said rosy Peggy. “And to think,” said the radiant Miss Brownlee when they told her, “that I should have a romance right here tn my tin cottages." “Dear cottages!" murmured Peggy. And as the lovers went down the path the moonlight touched the little gray houses with magic light and made of each of them a castle of dreams.

"THIS IS THE WAY WATER OUGHT TO BE HANDLED.”