Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-06-18

dollars is lot of money for poor artist chap; but
Letter, sir" said the steward touching his cap.
l took it mechanically wondering who had known of
my sailing then as saw Angelas angular handwrit-
ing, broke it open hastily.
What dear old girl she was, anyway, to welcome
home! AT least here friend of the old DAYS
who had not forgotten.
DEAR WANDERER," it said.-"I want to be of
the first to welcome you home" Somehow, home"
had dearer sound already. I've left town. you see
and I'm down the island in dear little box of
place which I've bought for that home I've wanted
many years. The illustrating has been picking up won
derfuly, and I'm landed proprietor of a cottage
all my own, and garden And want you to come to
me on Thursday morning for the day-and well have
for answer; SO III meet you at the station of my
little town, which call End o the World but which
is really Seahurst the railway guide. You II make it
from Brooklyn if you rise with the lark; it reaches here
at ten. Faithfully yours,
ANGELA"
THERE things to do and lawyers to see and
my inheritance inherit properly; the DAYS
passed quickly enough But was good to leave the city
behind and feel the fresh clean sweep breezes
the jerky little suburban train sked the Sound and
rocked its way down Long Island toward Seahurst.
Angela, true to her word, was there to meet me,
crisp and cool and sweet in her white things,
big collie beside her pushing his nose into her hand
Welcome home, Bobby" she said again. Upon
my word, but wanderer has real French air with
that Vandyke! And how brown you too Was it
the sea voyage that burning of Spain that did
it,"
We walked UP wide, shady street and presently
turned in at an old fashioned little white cottage with
a vine cambering its arbored door, This" said
Angela proudly, lis my palace. Enter!''
On the outskirts of the little village stood its prim
front yard shaded with great elms, clump of acs at
side of the gate and a syrnga bush at the other.
quaint little red brick walk led invitingy up the
front door, its wide cracks filled with vevety green
Outside it formal and demure and strait laced
old maid. Inside-it Angela herself. The
great living room had once combined parlor ENTRY
and "settin room in this eighteenth century house.
1t was long and low and altogether delightful deep
fireplace suggested warmth and companionship in the
chill of late autumn and early spring AT end
the piano, and mammoth somnier piled high with
soft cushions nearly filled the other All cool green's it
with soft slken curtains at the tny-paned win
dows uttering in the breeze. There few casts,
books everywhere and just enough pictures to make it
restful. There Angela's first Salon picture, a
French mother and her child, and there was one of
my own sketches given her in the old days at Bar
bison.
This was "home" to Angela and the dearest thing
in it Angela herself What comrade she was!
The old student days in Paris in little sketch class
later at Barbison and Gree, in Holland with
the Chase class where her frank merry sistery
derie had inspired me with more confidence in my work
than had known before,-they all came back to
me with rush. Angela had indeed filled sisters
place with me none but sweet, sympathetic, and
merry girl could fill it,
You like my little home, Bobby? But you must
and see my atelier. Once it sordid wood
she'd Now-but you shall see! And she led the way
through the quaint little dining to ean-to at
with ideal north light at end. We looked over
portfolios of old sketches and at her illustrations for the
book and reminsced until voice heard at the
door saying in French, Breakfast is served, Mann
selle.''
THAT voice was strangely familiar l turned and
saw, in very truth, old Leonie Falloux, who
my maid of all work in the little studio apartment
T. Ill 4 l., IL d.