The Parker post., 1916-06-17
THE ARTIST
BY ETHEL VANE.

| \COpyTlSut, 4J1o NY Llc MSSA0AO 4~O"9Pe~
per Syndicate.)
Anne Morrell sighed hopelessly and
| dashed up from her typewriter. The
| neighbor's dog barked first at the front
of the house and then at the back. In
the kitchen below, Bridget sang hap
PLY, but overwhelmingly, and outside
motors in unbroken succession whizzed
past.
| Anne was visibly distracted. She
had tried every room in the house in
her effort to find seclusion and quiet.
Apparently such conditions did not
exist. Her stories we're beginning to
show the strain under which she was
dragging them from her noise-racked
brain. "Soon, at this rate, shall have
no checks coming in," she told herself
as she banged out of the noisy house
and off through the meadows. There,
at least, was freedom from irritation.
She could have an hour or two Of con-
centrated thought among the greens
and yellows of nature.
Anne had to walk through the vii
lage in order to reach that haven or
quiet. During that walk, she caught
sight of what seemed to her the very
things she most needed in life.
| At a rustic shop there was displayed
a small thatched summerhouse. Anne's
heart beat ecstatically. The summer
house, if the price were not too great,
would make perfectly darling den. 1t
could be placed at the extreme foot OF
the garden, away from barking dogs
and Bridget's singing.
Anne tripped over the threshold OF
the shop in her anxiety to secure the
treasure 1t occurred to her suddenly
that she was all sorts of small idiot
never before to have thought of such
simple means of seclusion.
The following day, she carried her
typewriter and low table down to the
thatched and rustic summerhouse. She
smiled affectionately upon Bridget as
she left the house with the last load OF
writer's odds and ends. After all, the
Irish maid was a treasure even if her
song was distracting.
That rustic summerhouse proved to
be one of the best investments of
Annes literary career. The fifteen
dollars which she had paid for it had
seemed large enough at the time, but
| when a few weeks of seclusion within
its shelter sent her stories into the
better magazines she rejoiced over her
purchase. From time to time, small
improvements found their way into the
little den. Flowered cretonnes covered
Anne's desk and chair and picture or
two crept into the honey atmosphere.
A tiny bit of lace draped the single
window, and toward midsummer vines
held the rough exterior in loving en-
brace She kept her tiny percolator
on an improvised shelf within easy
reach, and altogether the summer
house became a most satisfactory
workshop. Anne realized that she
could never again go back to house
peopled by other personalities and
continue to do good work.
1t was not until the cool autumn
days came on that she realized that
means of protection against chilly days
must be considered.
So she purchased tar paper with
which to seal up small apertures
against the entrance of unfriendly
drafts.
1t was while engaged in this laud-
able business of making herself proof
against wind and chill that Anne dis
covered several old canvases. They
were stored away between the dusty
and weather-stained layers of the
wheat straw which formed the roof
covering.
At sight of them the creative ele-
ment in Anne was seized with sudden
inspiration Surely worthwhile story
of some nature should develop from
these abandoned and probably long
forgotten paintings.
She laughed aloud as she saw the
first one. Surely no less artistic use of
paint and canvas had ever been made.
And each one seemed more absurd and
toneless than it's predecessor. So far
as art was concerned, these paintings
were scarcely on level with Bridget's
singing.
Surely the story of sad or even
tragic finish hung closely about these
deserted canvases! 1t took some time
for Anne to recognize the fact that the
sketches had been made in the
meadows through which she so often
walked for inspiration. One less ia
miliar with the landscape might have
mistaken the sorry affairs for scenes
in China
Poor SOUL" soliloquized Anne. "Is
there anything so sad in life as miss
ing ones ideals?"
Then she sat down at once and
worked out delightfully."- romantic
tale about those canvases found in the
thatch. No doubt the plot was bro
midic, but the story had novelty and
charm enough to sell for an unusually
large sum.
In her story, Anne had been so real
istic in her treatment as to quote some