Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 249, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 October 1913 — HER FIRST BERRIES [ARTICLE]

HER FIRST BERRIES

By SUSANNA GLENN. Anthony Owen trusted devoutly that he had succeded In covering his tracks behind him. Who would think of his coming to this old retreat where he used to hide and work before success had begun to smile in his direction. “This certainly looks first rate," Anthony acknowledged, looking over the the tiny garden from the back porch. “I cannot see that the place has changed at all in the past ten years ■except that those trees along the border have responded to the mulching we gave them.” ‘‘lt’s all just the same, sir,” agreed the owner, “only that I’ve rented the cottage back of you, at last. That place has been a dead loss to me these ten years back, and I was ftighty pleased when this young woman came and took a notion to it. I suppose you would rather have it empty, but Miss Carson seems a quiet little person and not over neighborly so far, so I reckon you'll get along all right.” During the week that followed, Owen enjoyed himself with a thoroughness that increased whenever he thought of his Aunt Harriet. “I’ll show her,” he said at such moments, ‘‘that there is a limit even to her generalship in my affairs.” The little woman in the adjoining garden he, first began noticing because she so completely ignored him. “She’s trying to clean up that garden herself,” he discovered one day. “Pity olcLJones could not do it for her —he •would not dare impose on a man that way.” _ _ _ “But I would not let Mr. Jones fix it,” she explained when he at last vouchsafed his opinion of Jones, neighborly fashion, across the dividing hedge. “I wished to do it myself. Do you think I have improved It at alir “You have certainly done wonders. But you’re not pruning those roses right—you will ruin them that way. Here, let me show you.”

There was a little green gate In the hedge which opened upon disused hinges. “They need spraying and a mulch/* was his verdict, upon closer examination of the straggling roses. ‘Tit lend you some books on gardening if you care for them.’* When Owen returned to his own garden an hour later, he carried a very pleasant impression of a girl with a perfectly natural manner, rather plain of face, and wearing a print dress well suited to her occupation of digging in the dark soil. “Now there,” he soliloquized in deep satisfaction, “is a girl one might enjoy having for a She seems unusually intelligent and sensible.” Beyond a doubt Ruth Carson proved to be a good neighbor. She read the garden books with avidity, relied with a flattering confidence upon her neighbor’s opinion on all garden topics, and worked with that abandon born of real love of all growing things. "I think you deserve a special treat for what you have done for my garden," one sultry afternoon, bringing into the delipidated arbor where they had been resting, dishes of some tempting frozen concoction. “These are the first berries from my vines and I made the cream myself, so do not dare criticise it!” “All —surely you do not mean you turned the crank?” For the answer she opened her hand, showing the blisters on the pink palm. “You"' should not have done it,” he objected, impatiently. “Why did you not call me?” “Indeed I should not trouble you in any such way," she retorted, with a formality that angered him unreasonably. “What is there about this Ruth Carson that seems different from other girls?” he questioned himself daily. For be it known that Anthony Owen, in spite of his fine height and intellectual achievements, was an extremely bashful man. “She doesn’t demand attentions like the girls Aunt Harriet is bo fond of bringing out for my benefit.” And he grinned broadly at thought of Aunt Harriet and her delayed matrimonial schemes. “For I shall have to go home after a while and face the music,” he admitted reluctantly. "Mr. Owen,” said his neighbor as they sat in her garden enjoying the roses that had responded to their united efforts at restoration, “I’ve been wondering about you—you seem so strong, so full of life, and yet you go out bo little. I cannot understand why you are contented to your tiny garden.” -it

“I am not contented in my own garden, young lady,” he smiled. “But I do not dare go out; you see, I —am in hiding!” "Are you, truly? ißn’t that the strangest thing, for so am I, myself.” "Suppose you let me tell you. It is net really bo bacFfes it sounds. I'm simply hiding from Aunt Harriet. She —you see, she's determined to marry me off!” The girl laughed out merrily. "And you ran away? Is not that rather—not very brave, you know?" "I’m not brave when it comes to girls, though I am not exactly a coward in other respects. I've never cared much for girls, some' way. hfy life has been pretty full of good, hard work, and I never learned the ways women seem to like. 1 never know what to say to them,” he admitted, resignedly. “Bat you have been so nice to me,” aha said, "1 should never dream Wd-

that you were bashful, Mr. Owen. And surely, you cannot remain here forever?” “No, she has found me. out. She threatens to come down here and bring the girl with her If I; do not come home. Is your trouble as serious as that, Miss Carson?” “Oh, much, much worse, I am sure;*’ she answered seriously. “And yet, I ran away fPom the kindest people in the world. I wanted a home so much, a home where I could do things—make beds and wash the dishes and dig in the garden, 4o you understand ?’^ “And you like it?” he inquired. “I love it! But, I too, shall have to go back,” with a sigh. 1 There was silence in the old garden. | Then the man looked at the girl ; triumphantly. “Neither of us need go : back,” he declared. “Why not stay, Ruth ? If you will marry me, you can keep your home, and I will escape Aunt Harriet’s matchmaking. Don’t; you believe we could be very happy here?” He looked about the garden with a sudden realizing sense of what it had come to mean to him. “That might help me out of my difficulty,” she acqnowledged gently, “but how could it help you?” The bashful man reached over and took her hands in his own. “But it would be a great happiness to marry you, Ruth Carson,” he insisted earnestly. /“You have seemed different from the rest I have loved you all this time, and did not know what it means.” “I’m not a suitable wife for you,” she objected, glancing at the pink print of her gown. v That is why I want you, Ruth, because you are natural and sweet.” He endeavored to draw her toward him. “Oh, wait,” she begged. “Wait until I come back,” and she was across the garden in a flash. “I believe she cares —I really believe she cares,” whispered the man, and a vision of an indignant Aunt Harriet troubled him guiltily. Then the door of the cottage reopened and a girl floated back to him, a girl with marvelous hair and lustrous silken draperies. “I couldn’t let you go any farther,” she panted, “without letting you know. I —l am that girl your aunt "''has threatened to bring here.” Her voice choked miserably. “You? But you are not rich and brilliant and beautiful —I mean I had not thought about your being beautiful before!” His voice trailed off as miserably as her own. “Listen,” she came nearer and laid her hand on his arm, a tanned little, hand that he longed to crush in his own. “I came on purpose. I wanted to see how we should get on together. I wanted you because —you are what you .-Are! We can have a little house like this where no one else is ever allowed. If you loved Ruth Carson, why cannot you love Ruth Emerson?” “But —you are rich and all of the things I am afraid of. People will say I married you for your money.” “We shall know better, Tony, dear,” she whispered, slipping shamelessly into his inviting arms, “that is the beautiful part of it” (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) ,