Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 213, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 September 1915 — GLORIA’SGARDENER [ARTICLE]

GLORIA’SGARDENER

He Cultivated the Rower of Love in His Mistress’ Heart By JOHN DARLING. James Randal strolled slowly past the Woodvine cottage. Certainly the lovely grounds were sadly in need of a gardener's care and just as surely •were bis fagged nerves in need of the restful tonic that working in that garden would provide. He had taken the day in the country that he might select a quiet boarding house in which to spend a month or two, but alas! The quiet boarding houses were so totally lacking in attractiveness that Randal had decided that of two evils the lesser was the city boarding house. Even the appalling set of people tn the city house was no doubt preferable to deadly monotony in the country. “But I would love to garden that bit of property,” he sighed and would have passed the Woodvine cottage for the last time save that a slip of a girl at that psychological moment happened to come out of the vinecovered porch. Her hair was braided in a long sunny plait and her smile traversed the distance between Randal and the porch. He retraced his footsteps and went up the path toward the girl. His walk was impulsive as were his intentions. The girl gazed questioningly at him though with a gleam of interest in her eyes; eyes that were far seeing, as if they expressed the beauty of a great mind* "Is there a chance in the world that you require a gardener?" Randal asked as he reached the girl's side. “I certainly require one,” Gloria Woodvine returned quickly, then with slight hesitation, "but I am not sure that I want one.” “Oh,” was Randal’s ejaculation, "then do you perhaps know anyone who does both require and want my services?” “Yours? Are you the gardener?” She looked him up and down with dawning wonder in her eyes. "Yes. And I would have this bit of property looking like a show place in two weeks if you would let me. There are wonderful possibilities here,” Randal said, and the peculiar look in his eyes brought a slight flush to Gloria’s cheeTrs.

“I couldn’t pay very much,” she said quickly, “because I keep this little place up myself. My family considers me mad for coming down here in the country to live. It is my own retreat for writing and I have not been able to get someone to make it beautiful, much as I wanted to.” “If you permit me to pitch a tent down by that clump of fir trees and camp there'l will care for the garden, plant some vegetables, get a few laying hens and help you a lot. Is it a go? I really need the work.” Gloria looked rather startled but a tiny smile played about her lips. Assuredly here was a type around whom she might write a story. She would chance the trial anyway. If he did not please her she could ’easily dismiss him. "I am down here for absolute quiet and concentration,” she told him. “I would have to ask you to go about your work without consulting me more than is absolutely necessary. My old black mammy will always be about.” Randall looked searchingly at Gloria Woodvine. Suddenly he knew who it was she reminded him of. It was Freddy Woodvine, but Randal had not associated the name of the cottage with that of the girl. Now he knew who she was and his task became one of trebled interest. She was Gloria Woodvine, Freddy’s sister, and an authoress of no small fame. “Sis is a bit daffy,” Freddy had said on one occasion when, Randal had wanted to meet her.. “She goes off into silences and retreats and never shows up until she brings a full-fledged novel back with her.” “I will pitch my tent tomorrow, if it is agreeable to you,” he said and realized that he could scarcely wait to shake the dust of newspaper offices from his feet and take up his abode in the garden of Gloria.

As he traveled on the Long Island railway back to town all he saw as he went past villages was two long braids of golden hair that hung down Gloria’s back.

"Absurd," he warned himself, “and remember,” he added to his mental conversation, “you are to consult her black mammy and not herself for anything you may require.” And Randal found after a few days in Gloria’s garden, that his nerves were beginning to respond to proper treatment, but that they were apt to play tricks when the girl with the sunny hair was anywhere in sight. He did not seek to talk with her. All that he wanted he obtained from Martha, and many a hint on cooking did he get from that source. He prepared his own meals on his camp fire and altogether enjoyed his eccentric actions more than anything he had tried for a long time. His holiday was goipg to be a great success. The garden, too, responded to proper care and looked much like a dainty flower basket set against a background of tall chestnut trees. Vegetables which found their way to black Martha’s kitchen and hence to the table of Gloria, were a great success, The chickens, too, produced Gloria’s breakfast, and Randal re-

joiced each day in the chance that bad sent him past Woodvine cottageGloria, apparently deeply engrossed with her hero of fancy, did, however, find time to discuss the new gardener with black Martha, and to learn from her faithful servant that Randal was all but a paragon. “He done cut down our ’spenses by half with his chickens and 'matoes and onions. Seems lak I never could make ’em grow.” Gloria had also found many moments to spare while thinking out passages of speech. These she employed by watching Randal's strong body as it plowed or built chicken coops or gathered sticks for his camp fire. Her speculating as to his real reason for working in a garden was more vague than she liked. "I I knew,” she repeated often to herself. It was her very Interest In him that kept Gloria away from Randal when she would often have strolled about seeking information from him about flowers or chatting on general subjects. She was curiously shy about seeing him and wondered not a little at her own silly reasons for not wishing to see much of her gardener. She had been sitting at her typewriter for many hours and was just stepping onto the porch when a great man threw his arms about her and held her struggling against him. "Thought I’d come down and pay a surprise visit,” the man told her with a hearty laugh. “Sis, you are daffy to live all by yourself,” Freddy Woodvine told her for the hundredth time, “but it’s jolly good to get into the country for a day. Hope you don’t mind and that I am not butting into one of those silences or something.”

Gloria laughed and hugged her big brother affectionately. “Hello! Who’s the man in the tent?” Freddy cast swift eyes at his sister. Much to Gloria’s disgust, she blushed hotly. “That- is my gardener—he takes charge of the chickens and —” "Guess I will go down and have a look at him,” Freddy said with more or less brotherly intolerance toward his sister’s mode of living. “I. am not sure that it’s respectable to have a strange man earning in the garden,” he flung back at her. Gloria was so indignant that she flounced within the cottage to- tell her troubles to Martha. Had she waited until Freddy reached the tent she would have seen the delighted meeting of the two men and would have heard the laughter that followed. She did, however, hear the returning footsteps of her brother, and, looking out, discovered that he was coming arm in arm with her gardener. Presented to her gardener in a most formal manner by her brother, she smiled the smile that Randal remembered as having lingered on the first day of their meeting in Gloria’s eyes. "You are a pair of dippies,” was Freddy’s comment in a disgusted tone.

“I done knows he was a gentleman,” Martha said, as she stood in tbe doorway watching developments. “I suppose you will be telling me next that you two have fallen in love with each other,” there was k hint of hope in Freddy’s tone. “You have no right to suppose anything of the kind,” flashed Gloria. “Besides, Mr. Randal has not given me a chance to fall in love with him even if I had wanted to.” "We can soon fix that up,” laughed RandaL “The sooner iny sister is tied up to a sensible man, the better off she’ll be,” Freddy said, and drew Gloria into his arms. “Isn’t that right, Martha?” “It sure am, Mars’ Fred,” Martha nodded, grinning broadly. “It’s a great pity Mr. Randal is not the sensible man,” Gloria laughed demurely. “I can be anything from a journalist to a gardener,” Randal told her. “Surely being sensible is not so difficult when there is so much at stake.” Gloria blushed with becoming modesty. (Copyright. 1915, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)