Jasper County Democrat, Volume 14, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 July 1911 — The Rare Allium [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Rare Allium

“HU Is fair In kove and Cttar”

By Hgnes G. Brogan

Bettie came singing down the garden path. A broad brimmed hat shaded her pretty face, and she carried a small trowel; therefore it’was evident that this sunshiny morning was to be devoted to the cause of gardening. She chose to begin her labor in a plot of ground close to the hedge and, after digging vigorously for a few moments, paused to contemplate a package of small envelopes whereon gorgeous roses were pictured In profusion. A frown wrinkled her forehead as she read the puzzling directions, and she decided to seek information on the subject by inspecting the flowers upon the opposite side of the hedge. It was this adjoining garden with its riot of bloom which had inspired Bettie' with the desire to imitate. She stood on tiptoe and peered over the hedge, but instead of the roses she expected to see Bettie found herself looking directly into a pair of surprised brown eyes. “I—l beg your pardon,” she stammered in confusion. “I am going to plant some roses,” she explained, “and I wanted to know how far apart to set them.” “I could show you in a moment,” the young man with the brown eyes suggested, but Bettie drew back ly“Thank you, I can manage very nicely now’,” she replied. “This place has been neglected so long,” he said presently, "that my mother is delighted at the prospect, of having new neighbors. If we can be of any assistance in any way just let

us know. Botany is a fascinating (Study,” the young man continued. “I took it up at college." “How lovely it is to know all about flowers!”-she said. “It is your knowledge, no doubt, which has made this garden such a success.” “Oh, no, no!” her neighbor answered modestly. “Mother has some skill in that line. We number of rare plants, however, hard to match —that shaded lily, for instance.” “It is beautiful,” the girl said softly. “I should be pleased to have you accept a few very rare seeds,” he said. “We have not many left.” He was gone before Bettie could refuse or accept his offer and, returning, placed a small package in her palm. “Betsie!” called a voice. “Oh, you Betsie!” Her young brother stood in the doorway. A stubby pipe hung from the corner of his good natured mouth. She nodded a smiling farewell to the obliging neighbor and turned toward the house. The boy grinned as she approached. “Who’s ‘it’ this time, Betts?” he asked, with brotherly frankness. His sister ignored the hidden meaning in the remark. “Oh, Tommie,” she answered enthusiastically, “that is Mr. White, our new neighbor, a botanist, and he is so kind! <• He has given me these rare seeds to plant, and we shall have beautiful flowers when they grow.” “There’s another kind of young man out in front with an auto,” Tommie interrupted. ‘That’s why I called.” It was not until the following morning, when Miss Bettie again tied the blue ribbons of her hat, that she remembered those precious seeds. Where had. she left them? That was the question. A thorough search of porch and cupboards failed to reveal their hiding place.

“Mebbe I t’rowed ’em out,” the cook said calmly. “I don’t know.” “They’re gone,” she wailed to her brother, “the seeds that Mr. White prizes so highly, and he is coming over this very morning to show me where to place them. How can I confess to such carelessness?" “Don’t confess," her brother replied briefly. “But,” she began and pointed to the empty flowerpot. In a moment Tom had seized it and was rabidly filling the red receptacle with rich brown earth. 1 “There,” he announced triumphantly, “we will allow the botanist to believe bls rare seeds are at this moment reposing therein, and before the sprout-

ing season arrives I myself will plant some oats.” . “I am going to place it in a sheltered corner, yet not quite out of reach of the sun.” She had barely arrived at the designated spot when a cheery voice called: “Good morning! And how does your garden grow?” “Mostly in my imagination at present,” Bettie responded,-and her cheeks flamed unaccountably. With a running leap Mr. White vaulted the dividiug hedge. “Used to do stunts like that at college,” he explained with pardonable pride. “Just came over to superintend the placing of the plant. Yes, that’s a good corner. But wait a minute. These delicate things need the greatest protection until they are fairly started. After that everything goes easy. Now, we had better put this large jar over as a cover for a time, and when the first green sprouts appear I hope you will let me do the transplanting.” “Oh, yes, indeed; certainly," Bettie hastily agreed. “And have you left college recently, Mr. White?” Gardening was forgotten as the student leaned back comfortably upon a rustic bench, while the girl, swinging to and fro in her hammock, listened to many tales of those same college days. Bettie’s eyes met those of her companion unbelievingly as the noon whistles blew.

“Surely it cannot be so late!” she exclaimed. And the young man did not return home by the way of the hedge. Instead he walked slowly at Bettie’s side to the very door. “May I come again tomorrow?" he entreated. “I would like to have a look at—the plairt.” The botanical student paid regular visits each morning, coming via the cedar hedge. The earth in one particular flowerpot was kept soft and moist. Its cover was raised to admit the sunlight or fitted down as occasion demanded. Bettie became a hardened sinner and demurely helped at these proceedings, while the oats flourished under this unusual care. As the student examined the first green sprouts Bettie fancied that a troubled expression flitted across his face. “Do they—er—always look like that?” she asked nervously. “This may be a different species. No doubt they will come up all right," he slowly replied. And as the days passed something more wonderful than the rarest plant came to life In this budding garden. The morning hours slipped by all too quickly for these two happy young people, so they would drive together later in the day or sit long upon the southern porch in the moonlight. It was here that Tommie found his sister one evening after their faithful neighbor had departed. “I think,” she said dreamily, “that the handsomest eyes In the world are dark and brown and tender.”

“So the girls tell me,” her brother answered complacently. Bettie sighed. “I was speaking of Robert’s eyes," she said. Tommie scrutinized his sister’s glowing face. “Robert!” he repeated. “Jove, I do believe that Betts is hit at last!” She turned from him indignantly and entered the house. From an upper window she could see the brightly lighted end of a cigar showing like a firefly in the adjoining garden. Bettie’s anxious gaze followed this spark as It moved about Would he never go In? She must do it tonight—must destroy this rapidly sprouting evidence before her botanist lover should learn of her deceit.

One by one the lights in neighboring houses disappeared. Silence and darkness brooded everywhere. At last that tantalizing spark, could be seen no more. As the loud closing of a door vibrated through the stillness Bettie arose and felt her way stealthily down the stair and out into the sleeping garden. She followed the narrow path, trembling at every sound, then drew back In sudden horror, for the moon, bursting from behind a cloud, distinctly revealed the crouching figure of a man. Even as she watched him, fascinated, he raised the prized flowerpot high in his hand and cast it far from him. At Bettie’s startled cry he turned quickly, and her frightened eyes looked straight into those of her lover. “You!” he exclaimed, aghast. “Robert,” the girl asked wonderingly, “what are you doing here?” The man spoke desperately: “I may as well confess. I stole Into "your garden tonight with the deliberate Intention of destroying that rare plant which we have both been attending for weeks. You see, it was all up with me, Bettie, from the moment you looked into my eyes, and in my eagerness to become acquainted with you I Invented the first clumsy excuse which occurred to me. Truth Is I never was strong on botany, so I searched the labeled jars on my mother's seed shelf that day, choosing for my purpose the ones that looked good to me. Then when I learned the real name of this thing we have been lavishing so much care upon—well, I simply had to get It out of the way before you found out" The girl's lips were twitching. “Robert," she demanded, “tell me the name of this plant.”

He laughed shortly. “The allium (A. cepa)—that is, onion seed,” he said. Bettie laughed until the tears glistened upon her lashes. “Robert,” she said severely, Tt is very wrong to deceive even about so small a matter as garden seed, but you have my full forgiveness, for I love you and under like circumstances—who can tell?—I might have been tempted to do the same.” And a short time later a muffled voice remarked: “In our garden, Robert, dear, we shall grow nothing but .dooming plants." 1 • '

THE CROUCHING FIGURE OF A MAN.