The San Francisco call., 1908-05-10

~ Il Ldltift EIulAAdlc AAaS COutG "
be more or Jess OF an anach-
ronism. The biggest part OF Fruit
vale has everything n it-but fruit
frees. Telegraph poles. streetcar lines,
limOusines. schooIhoUses--everyt
but the thing lis name suggests. But
there are certain smaller portions of
the vale stiii untouched. by the inroads
of commerciaiista. Some few beauti-
ful tracts OF land. planted in fruit
bearing trees. still bear witness that at
one time or another Fruitvale was not
a misnomer
Near Vernon station, back toward the
foothills. is one of these orchards.
Right IN the middle OF II stands a
windmill Perhaps the opening lines OF
this story snouid run:
There is q town and in that town
there is an orchard. and in that orchard
there is windmill. and in that wind
mill there is a family For Il Is all
true. Al least ander that windmill
there Is q fsmiiy-Mr. and Mrs. Charles
Legg and their tiny four months cid
daughter.
It's a far cry from an Eskimo igloo
in Alaska to home in a tsnkhouse in
Alameda county. Cal. yet such variety
has added zest TO this famflys life
within che past few months. This time
about 500 miles from Nome-towsrd
the interior Of Alaska. There Mr. Legg
was a trader. running a store OF gen
eral merchandise and provisions. Their
igloo was much the same as those OF
the natives about them. except. we may
be sure. that no one was half sti8ea
by foul odors OF fat and biubber. and
no one need have been afraid in the
Legg igloo OF certain body pests pc
culiar TO the Indian icloos
For, above al else. the home under
the windmill is a model OF neatness
and order. Mrs. Legg utilizes every
bit Of room in her tiny home. She
even utilizes IS a gift what others
would rate as hardship-the creakine
OF the old windmill that tops her three
room dwelling place.
The mill goes toiling slowly round
With steady and solemn creak;
And my little one hears in the kindly
sound
The voice OF the old mill speak"
Mrs. Legg is somewhat of q phiioso-
pher. To her the familiar noise is bat
a grooming lullaby Perhaps Eugene
Field knew OF another baby who went
TO sleep every night to the mechanical
accompaniment OF a windmilrs song
Mrs Legg certainly has reason to think
he knew something of her case when
he wrote:
A Dream-one comes to blanket the
eyes
That wesrily droop and sink;
While the old mill buffets the frown-
ing skies
And scolds at the stars that blink.
Naturally enough there is nothing on
the exterior Of this windmill home ia
Indicate anything unusual inside in the
way OF art treasures. One scarcely
looks for such things in houses built
Under the scowling white wings Of q
windmill. But that's just why this
story was written. II you are so for
tunate as 70 get glimpse OF the in
terror or the living room you certainly
have a treat before you. For who
ever heard OF the walls OF a temporary
home III 8 tankhouse being dressed up
in anything but coat Of whitewash.
But these walls are different They are
almost covered with rich furs of every
description. Red and white fox mink
and seal are all there IN rugs of ali
sizes and shapes. One big ono. 10 feet
square. looks much like the crazy
quilts our grapdmothers made to use
up the odds and ends OF silks and vel
vets about the house. At least Is dtf.
ferent furs are used Ia this rug and
the ingenuity OF the Indian souaw.
is displayed in many curious designs
This rug was part OF a trade which Mr.
Legg made with an Indian who came
one bright day in summer 20 the trad
ing post Perhaps in the warmth anf
5oyousness Of the six months day tn.
old fellow forgot the dark cold nights
that were to come. At any rate $50