The national leader., 1889-03-30
THE SOLITARY COTTAGE.

house very much.
lido not deny that 1t had been sort
of experiment, me buying that solitary
cottage among the sand.dunes of the
Long Island coast where the breakers
of the Atlantic washed the shore. and
one tall lighthouse kept Its fiery watch
on the long tongue Of land which
people call 1.-THE DEVILS Point" But
the doctor had told me that sea air and
quiet were what needed, and here.
surely, should find them both.
1t was a very old-fashioned house,
with low ceilings, small, lozenge-
windows and wainscoted rooDs.
The little parlor was in front. look
Ing out upon the ocean. Beyond this
was a small room in which decided to
put my sewing machine and writing
desk; then came long, dark hall, also
wainscoted on either side, and lighted
only by odd, little, round windows,
placed high up; and the kitchen-a sort
Of wing finished the lower part of the
house.
The second story was a mere attic,
but it served very well for bed rooms
for me and Betsey Balmford, my SER
want.
'S'pose it's altogether safe for you
two women to live all alone out here?'
said Old Peter Smith, whose itinerant
wagon served us with butchers meat,
groceries, kerosene, and all sorts OF
things, every other day.
OF course it's safe,' said I. why
notP'
Sort o'lonescme. amt itP' squeaked
Old Peter.
we came here for quiet and rest.'
And s'pose,' added Old Peter. you
should be sick. There amt no family
lives nearrr than The DEVILS Point,
an that's three good miles away
But we don't propose to be SICK
said I.
The longer stayed in the cottage,
the more was pleased.
The sunsets across the plain OF
waters were things of constantly
changing beauty; the air was full of
saline freshness; my walks along the
beach were delightful.
I read and rested. and felt myself
growing stronger with every day, while
Betsey in the kitchen was reducing
things to the apple pie order that was
dear to her soul.
One evening, just at dusk. rang
my bell little impatiently. Betsey's
round, red face presently appeared In
the doorway.
'Betsey,' said I. what child have
you got out therep'
There amt no child, ma'am,' said
Betsey.
Il am sure I heard child's voice
Betsey stared fxedly at me.
Il guess likely. Miss Emma, it was
me, a-blowin' out at the the cat,' said
she. i left pan o'milk on the WIN
dow sill, and that blamed creetur
broke pane o'glass, humpin' through
to get at it, and putty's one of the
things didn't think to put into the
till of the tool box when we packed
up
well, said 1. Il wish you'd be a
little quieter with your cat.
will, ma'am,' said Betsey Balm
ford.
A few minutes later, as 1 sat dream
ily at the window, a light running
figure seemed to pass between me and
the purpling glow Of the sky-the
figure of a child, with its fair hair
blowing back like an aureole and both
its hands stretched out towards the
sunset.
sTherer said I. Il knew itl'
Jumped up, and ran out toward the
beach. was almost certain saw the
track of tiny footsteps on the damp
sand; but as I gazed the incoming tide
cast a fringe Of shells and seaweed at
my feet, and at the same time swept
away all the traces OF aught else.
sIt's very strange I thought. ''I
must have been doing what poor, dear
Aunt Eunice used to accuse me Of
dreaming with my eyes openl'
The next morning but one, Old Peter,
was not perched on his load, as usual,
Abigail, his wife, occupied the hard,
buffalo-robed seat, and welded whip
and reins.
MY ole mans down with rheuma-