Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 307, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 December 1913 — BACK TO THE GARDEN [ARTICLE]

BACK TO THE GARDEN

By DAVIS.

Professor Harrow sat in his study in the big city college and tagged his desk restlessly. Professor/ Harrow was young and energetic enough to be impatient. "If they are ever going to send me that assistant,” he muttered, “I wish" they would hurry him along.’’ * He turned back to the work of making notes. "Primrose. Variety No. 7. Rare. Pink and white. Fragrant. Sometimes found in unexpected places when it has escaped from gardens. Does not flourish —’’ A light tap at the door interrupted. "Come in!” called Professor Harrow. A girl stood in the doorway. She had light brown hair and big eyes and her face was a dainty combination of- white brow and pink cheeks. She wore a pink linen dress with wide white collar and cuffs, for though it was October, the city was suffering, from the last burst of heat. “I believe ! am to be your assistant,” she introduced herself. "My name is Chloe Curtis.” The professor continued to stare. ‘The very description,” he noted, as though thinking, aloud. “Rare, pink and white. I wonder where she escaped from." Miss Curtis returned his gaze with indignant surprise. "Escaped?” she echoed. “Weren't you expecting a secretary? Why should you think me a lunatic?” “I didn't; I thought you were a primrose," answered Professor Harrow, confusedly. Then he remembered his manners and sprang up to give her a chair. “Excuse me, Miss Curtis, please,” he apologized. “I was puzzled for a moment. You see, I .expected a man to be sent. Can you see well there? Is the chair comfortable?” Chloe affirmed that all was to her liking. She sat down, produced her pencil in a most businesslike manner and awaited orders, but the professor could gee that she was regarding him curiously from the corher of her eye as though she thought him a very queer creature indeed. “If you are ready, we will begin,” he declared with dignity. “I will read and you may make notes. ‘Primrose. Variety No. 7. Rare. Pink and w’hite. Fragrant. Sometimes found in unexpected places when it has escaped from gardens.' ” “Oh-h," broke from the lips of the new assistant, her cheeks growing pinker as his meaning came to her. "Oh, 1 see!” — : “You do. do you?” retorted the professor; then they looked at each other and laughed. “It was perfectly plain.” explained Professor Harrow, “that you had escaped from some garden or other. The city varieties are likely to be white.” ‘Tvo escaped from East'Wilton,” announced the girl, blithely. “I've come to the city to make my fortune. I’m the luckiest girl in the world! ” "Lucky to leave the glorious country?” The natural world was a passion with Professor Harrow. “Lucky to exchange birds and flowers and free air spaces for pavements and dust and noise?” “I am the oldest of seven children,” returned Miss Curtis, gravely. “I mean to take care of myself and East Wilton is not a good 'place to make a fortune. Shall we go on with the work?” “ ’Does pot flourish with transplantation,’ ” resumed the professor. “Ah, Miss Chloe, there's your warning!” "Perhaps the plants that have tried being transplanted have not been sufficiently harrow r ed,” remarked Miss CurLls, calmly. “Do you suppose that could be it?” The startled professor gazed at her suspiciously. Her face was very bland, very demure, but the twinkle in her eye could not be suppressed. “‘Variety No. 8!”' cried the professor, and the writing went on. / Miss Curtis pro.ved to be a valuable assistant. She loved the work and her enthusiasm and faithfulneps sent Professor Harrow s lectures speeding on their way. She seemed to be prospering too.

“I’ve sent ten dollars home to mother as a present,”. she confided in him gleefully at Thanksgiving time. “And 1 have twenty-five dollars saved besides. Who says transplanting isn't the road to fortune?” ' "Good!’’-the professor rejoiced with her.. He knew she was working hard for the hours with him in the morning were only part of what she had undertaken. As for himself, he tried to think that his extreme content with life came from the fact that his work was marching along so satisfactorily, but when, during the Christmas holidays, he had spent one restless lonely morning working alone in his truth came suddenly upon him. “It isn’t the work at all!” he cried, “It’s Chloe! I love her and I want her, I want her, I want her!" He rose and paced the study, filled with a hunger for her sweet face, a longing to gather her in his arms and tell her how he loved her, how he wanted her all for himself, to keep and to cherish like the dainty flower which she had always seemed. And then camera blow; he had to leave her! Those in authority decided him south to study certain specimens of flora at first hand and for two weary, Mreary months he traveled about, working hard but with his only floral Interest the condition of

transplanted primrose in the north, his only oomfort the gay little notes that came in answer to 7 his longer ones. >

In these missives r.he seemed so blithe that when he first saw after his return, her paleness startled him. However, his greeting sent a quick color back to her cheeks and her sweet, rather shy welcome filled his soul with joy. «She seemed so quickly pleased to have him back that it gave him courage to propose a little festivity. “Miss Curtis,” he began, “won’t you help me celebrate my home coming? Let me come for you this afternoon and we’ll have dinner. I know a delightful little place. And then we'll go to a play; what would you like best to see?” • Miss Curtis turned and looked out the window. J‘l am sorry,” she answered, coldly, “But I have an engagement for tonight.* F tr a minute Professor Harrow was too downcast to speak. “I see,” he said, presently. “Well, good morning,” and with a bow he left the study and walked blindly down the hall. ' ! "I was mistaken,” he kept w'hisperTfrg to himself. “She doesn’t care at all!” :

It was not until he reached the street that he realized he had forgotten the notes for his lecture that afternoon. He must go back and mechanically he retraced his steps. He pushed open the study door expecting to find the room ' empty. There in his chair sat Chloe -Curtis crying as though her heart would break.

“Chloe,- dear!” he sprang to her. “Tel! me what the matter is!” It seemed the only thing to do to -take her in his arms and brush the tears away. It filled him with delight that she did not try to escape; she just snuggled down as though she belonged there. “I wanted to go with you so much and I made you think I didn’t!” “Then why did you answer me that way, dear?” “I didn’t have anything to wear!” in a forlorn wail. In spite of himself, Professor Harrow laughed. “Oh, Chloe,” he protested. “I’m not joking, I’m shabby from head to foot. And I’ve only that worn old coat I brought from home for outside. I couldn't, go with you that way! ” “But Chloe,” he cried, anxiously, “I thought you were prospering. You said you were saving money.” “I haven’t saved a cent since before Christmas. Oh, I confess, I haven’t flourished in transplanting. I could have managed it alone, I shall yet, but you see there was Sarah, too.” “Who is Sarah?” he asked, puzzled. “She boards where I do. She came from the west to earn her living but she got ill and lost her place. The doctor’s bills made it awful.” . “And you’ve been paying for her?” he cried.

What else could I do? Would you have had me desert her?” Humbly, Harrow raised her hands to his lips. “Chloe,” he said, “I’ve been offered a new position. They want me to take a piece of land onside the town and start an experiment station. Can't you love me a little and come with me, back to the garden?”

In answer, Chloe let him' keep the hands.

“Not a little!” she whispered. “Oh, how I, missed you and wanted you while you were away! . Take me back to the garden and never, nevelf let me escape again!”