The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1910-06-08


Great-Aunt Eunice's garden is one
of the dearest places in the world.
There is nothing modern about it,
not even the tiniest blade of grass
everything is so delightfully."- old
fashioned. The flowers and shrubs
are like pretty, demure lassies and al
ways make my up-to-date frocks look
out of place. That is why, when I
went to spend an hour among the
hollyhocks and primroses, I always
go first to that other dearest place,
g~reat-aunt's old room, and don one
of the pretty old-time frocks from the
cedar chest. Then I feel quite at
home among the dainty flowers, as
though I had inherited not her name
alone, but her personality as well.
There is a fragrance from these
posies such as no modern flower,
however fair, can boast. The mig
nonette and sweet lemon-verbena
scent the air, while the tiny ladies'
delight and the marigolds turn their
faces up in such friendly fashion.
Though the garden is crowded with
these and many others, there are two
which never grew in this enchanted
spot until after the tragedy Of Aunt
Eunice's life. Then she planted the
Notwithstanding and the mourning
bride. But before they bloomed a
second time, Great-Aunt Eunice left
them to the care of others and car
ried her sorrow to an early grave.
1t seems a cruel thing that when
the Hendersons and Withrows had
lived for generations side by side like
one loving family, their first disagree
ment should have come just in time
to wreck the happiness of two young
lives. Such an undigniied quarrel
for such a paltry cause-a few rods
of ground. Everybody says there
must have been a deeper cause be-
hind so fimsy an excuse, but nc one
seems able to make it.
The "debatable ground" oddly
enough, was the garden, the favorite
trysting place of the lovers, sweet
Rose Henderson, as Great-Aunt Rose
Eunice was once called, and manly
David Withrow. At first they laughed
at the trouble, but when old Daniel
Wlthrow sternly ordered his son to
break his engagement to "Hender-
sons girl" and great-grandfather
told his only daughter-with head
averted that he might not e the
pain in the eyes he loved-that she
might consider the betrothal at an
end, then, and only then, did they
realize that the quarrel went too
deep for laughter.
Aunt Eunice made her only protest.
Father, you have no right" and,
unable to say more, fled to her room.
There was n more meeting among
the roses, where they vowed eternal
fidelity and undying love, but it was
their last, for within the week David
Withrow sailed for England on bust
ness for his father.
For a year he stayed, then came
word that be was setting out for
home; but hard upon this news came
other, "the Dorothea lost at sea and
all on board went down"
It was then that great-aunt planted
the Notwithstanding and the mourn
ing bride, then quietly asked that she
be called Eunice and not Rose.
Perhaps you'll think from all this
that I am a mopy sort Of person,
rather inclined to solitude and melan-
cholia; but I'm not. On the contrary,
T love tennis, and think golf is just
splendid; besides. l can row and swim
and fence. and-well, I think I am
just an ordinary, modern girl, healthy
in body and mind. And it does not
prove me less so that I love the dear
little garden, now doubly dear, for
the strangest thing has happened.
One evening, just at early twilight,
1 stole into the tiny sweet-scented
garden to spend an hour with the
dear, old-fashioned flowers. I was
wearing g~reat-aunt's rose-sprigged
gown, and on impulse had pulled
loose a thick, brown curl that now lay
on my shoulder. I stepped slowly,
bending often to touch and smell
some favorite blossom, and at last
stopped to tuck among the laces at
my throat a few shy rosebuds, when
a slight sound caught my ear. ]
turned quickly and faced a figure
which I recognized at once. I had
seen too often the portrait of David
Withrow in Great-Aunt Eunice's room
not to know that this was he-a spirit
from the past. For a moment l gazed
silently at this spirit Of gallant bear
ing and ancient dress; then at the
same instant, boldress seized him
and panic caught me. For, as he
strobe forward with outstretcheG
hands. I stepped back into the shrub
berry and fled.
When, that night at dinner, Gadd!
quietly remarked that old Davit
Withrow's granddaughter and name
sake is back after all these years o
fn nT