blacksmith's, and that
was closed. The cottage windows and the little white curtains behind
them were spotlessly clean. Within, I caught a glimpse here and there
of shining steel and polished brass which sparkled in the firelight;
and the comfort and cosiness of it all appealed to me strongly.

I do not think there are more than a score houses in the village, but
before I had come to the end of the street my soul had made the
discovery I referred to just now. "Surely," I said to myself, "it is
good to be here; this people shall be my people."

It was doubtless a mad thing to say, but I was prospered in my madness.
At the extreme end of the village, just past the little Methodist
chapel which by its newness struck a jarring note in the otherwise
perfect harmony, I saw a long, low building, of one storey like most of
its fellows, roofed with stone, and fronted by a large garden. It was
separated by a field-length from its nearest neighbour, and the field
was just the side of a hill, nothing more. Two doors gave access to
the building, which was apparently unevenly divided into two cottages,
for a couple of windows appertained to the one door and one only to the
other. A board at the bottom of the garden and abutting upon the road
conveyed the information that this "Desirable cottage" was "to let,
furnished."

Then and there I gave hostages to fortune. If that cottage was to be
had for a sum which came within the limits of my slender purse, it
should be mine from that hour. For I saw at a glance that it faced the
moors and the sunset; and I vowed that the windows should be always
open, so that the breath of the heather might have free entrance.

I pushed aside the little green gate and walked up the tiny path amid a
profusion of flowers whose names are as yet unknown to me. I promise
myself to know them all ere long: to know their habits and their
humours: to learn their secrets and the story of their lives; but that
is for the future. Something almost as sweet and dainty as the flowers
claimed my attention first.

At the sound of the creaking gate, a dear old lady appeared at the door
of the doll's house which was joined to my cottage and advanced to meet
me. She had the pleasantest of faces, and was pink and pretty in spite
of her sixty odd years. She wore a cap with strings, in the style of
long ago: it was a rather jaunty cap and not devoid of colour. A faded
shawl hung loosely around her shoulders, a