d the gate, however, he turned back.

"I should ha' said 'at you're welcome to t' use o' t' paddock. If so
be as you care to keep a few hens there's pasture enough for 'em an'
nob'dy hurt. An' if you want a greenhouse"--he laughed heartily--"why,
here you are!"

He motioned that I should follow him, and I stepped through a gate in
the wall into the hilly field which he called the paddock. There,
firmly secured to the end of the house, was a structure of wood and
glass which seemed out of all proportion to the size of the cottage.

"What in the world is this?" I exclaimed, but my landlord only laughed
the louder.

"Now then, what d'ye think of that, eh? Kind o' Crystal Palace, that
is. Strikes me I should ha' put this cottage in t' _Airlee
Mercury_--'Desirable country residence with conservatory. Apply,
Goodenough, Windyridge.' Them 'at takes t' cottage gets t'
conserva_tory_ thrown in at t' same rent. It was put up by t' last
tenant wi' my consent, an' he was as daft as----"

"As I am?" I suggested.

"Well, he _proved_ hisself daft. He kep' hens i' one part an' flowers
in t' other, but he neither fed t' hens nor t' flowers, bein' one o'
them menseless creatures 'at gets their heads buried i' books, an'
forgets their own meals, let alone t' meals o' them 'at can't sing out
for 'em. T' upshot of it all was he left t' cottage an' made me a
present of all t' bag o' tricks."

Then and there the idea of my studio had its birth. With a very little
alteration I saw that I could easily adapt it to photographic purposes;
and I was more determined than before--if that were possible--to take
possession of my Yorkshire home. I know people will laugh and call me
madder than ever. It does seem rather ridiculous to fit up a studio in
a village of perhaps a hundred inhabitants, but my Inner Self urges it,
and I am going to live by faith and not by sight. I am irrational, I
know, but I just don't care. I have got a theory of life--not a very
definite one just now, though it is getting clearer--and I am sure I am
taking a right step, though I could not explain it if I wished, and I
don't wish.

Mother Hubbard was tearful when I wished her good-night, and it was as
an antidote to pessimism that I took the dear old soul into my arms and
bade her stifle her tears and look confidently for my return. Farmer
Goodenough's worldly wisdom had convinced her that the anticipations of
a quarter-hour ago had been ill-founded.