Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 January 1919 — “SPUD” GROWING [ARTICLE]

“SPUD” GROWING

By MARGARET M. KEENAN.

In one bend of the swift-flowing, snakelike river Merrimac, could be found a little town named after the riven. The town was insignificant enough in name, and would have been more so had not nature taken a hand in the matter. Her swaying, sweeping willows, radiant fields of wheat and corn, gen tie, nodding bluebells; crimson walls of Virginia marguerites and brown-eyed susans Were enough to inspire, not alone artists, but anyone going this way. In such a place one would expect to find rural people, and such they were. These quiet, loving, country folk were not to be left to their own devices and theory long, once John Berry caught sight of the little ivy-grown cottage in the valley overlooking the river. “Peace’s throne was usurped.” Indignant farmers sought refuge in Their little town halt many an evening, discussing John and his, or what they thought preposterous idea of potato growing. Yet they had to put up with it. It was a balmy midsummer twilight when from across the road equid be seen the dim outline of someone merrily whistling. evidently watching" ope of the farmers transplant something. John’s two eyes grew wistful when he heard someone say: —“Don’t anyone around here grow potatoes? I should think they would grow good.” » —“Bah, potatoes 1” was the sarcastic reply. A whispered conversation ensued, and then a mop of .dark hair parted the raspberry bush and withdrew quickly as the blue eyes spied John. Many an evening John saw the same figure peering, rather watching the growth of his potatoes. So often did he see her that he named her his “Potato Girl.” He only saw her in the evening, it Is true, but he managed to catch her quite accidentally, yet not without purpose, one evening; and from then on the acquaintance grew. She reminded John of someone he had once known, but he dared not ask her lest his dream be upset. Summer waned, autumn likewise. His potatoes had yielded a fairly good crop for a first year. Nevertheless the farmers were just as indignant as ever. Winter followed —a long, hard winter. Spring came at last. John -was undecided as to whether hfrsTiOUTd grow potatoes this year or not. . His thoughts wandered back to his ‘.‘Potato Giri” until he finally decided he would raise them, for her sake. The potatoes flourished again, and the “Potato Giri” reappeared. One evening he boldly exclaimed: “It is just a year ago tonight that I first saw you. Won’t you tell me your name?” With a toss of her head and a leap across the road, she laughingly replied : “Oh, ‘Potato Girl’ is enough for me.” “Not quite,” was the sober reply. “Potatoes grow in the earth but you don’t.” “Oh yes, they do grow elsewhere," came the prompt reply. One looked at theother, hardly knowing what to say, when John-relieved the silence, boldly saying: ... dt over, but as it isn’t, is it true potatoes grow down deep in your heart, too?” She was a good runner, and consequently John had to chase her around the well several times before he captured her for her answer. The wedding day was set for the latter part of August, yet John was not so happy as he would have been if he had known her right name. He had to comfort himself, however, with the promise to know it the day of the wedding. A week before the appointed day she returned to her wln.ter home to prepare for his reception. John was Johnny on thd spot the day of the wedding and at an early hour was ushered into the house by a servant. He was still just as ignorant as ever as to her name. The revelation came when she descended the stairs to him. With another leap and “a bound, this time a race around the house, and finally the capture, he exclaimed: “Edith, how could you?” A long story folMwed in which Edith told how her uncle had praised him for his pluck, and told her that he was the kind of a man to have. These city boys, said he, are no earthly use. “John, it is all true,” she ended. “I knew I could win you back. I am sorry I gave you up before.” A happier couple could not be found anywhere - that —day. When they--re-? turned to the country a week later a shower of potatoes greeted them. John’s potatoes were one grand success. They furnished their home and the farmers around. Many a time John goes about singing: - “Down deep in my heart potatoes grow,” for there is such a song, so he says. (Copyright, 1918. by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)