The Washington herald., 1914-03-26
DAILY SHORT STORY.
JoAN's GARDEN.
BY DOROTHY DOUGLAS.
Copyright. lHi.l


| It was down in one Of the fine old-time
houses on West Twenty-third street that
Joan happened to have taken a room.
She had come In from the country to
write a column in a city daily called
Chats with the Working Girl" and her
advent to the city was fraught with both
joy and homesickness.
In the first place, 1t was spring and
spring to Joan had always meant garden
ing. She loved to put in little rows of
seed and watch them breaking through
the earth and growing up into wonderful
blooms.
None OF that in the CITY," she sighed
and looked out at the paved street with
its endless string Of cars. Her glance
roved about and at last rested upon the
long, naked-looking strip of garden that
each of the many old houses in her dis
trict possessed. Not one Of them seemed
to be in process OF planting. And SO
much could be made OF them" though
Joan, and her arms ached to dig with a
spade and put growing things into the
ground.
Ten minutes later she was down talk
ing to her landlady.
'I would love to put in a garden-in
front" she suggested with one of her
appealing smiles, land 1 am pining for
exercise"
You would have a hard time-in that
place" said the landlady; "the ground
hasn't been worked for a good ten years
But you are welcome to try"
Joan went joyfully about her task.
The spade she purchased and the slips
and seeds she came home with would
have made six gardens riot with multi
colored blossoms.
The ground. as Mrs. Tate had suggest
ed. certainly was hard. The late cold
snap seemed to have left II frozen and
Joan's cheeks were scarlet and her arms
tired with her effort to soften a trench for
her sweet peas.
Looking up for a moments rest. she
caught sight of a man working in the
second garden. ubt one from her own.
He had made a splendid trench and was
even then putting in a row Of seeds
Joan went swiftly out Of her own gate
and approached the man.
Are you a day gardener or a private
one?" she asked.
The man looked up and the smile un-
der his light mustache was an amused
one.
Day" he said promptly; "can I help
you out?" He had taken his pipe from
small white dog leaped joyfully about his
feet
Yes said Joan. II want a trench
such as the one you have finished-made
in my garden. Could you do II soon?"
1T did Mt occur to Joan that the man
was other than a gardener. Many gar
deners were of most gentlemanly appear
ance. She waited eagerly for his an
swer.
Immediately" said the man, and fol-
lowed her TO the other garden. The dog,
too. entered into the affair. Joan almost
forgot her purpose while fondling the
dog. She had one of her own in the,
home village.
Il would like a deep trench-just along
that fence. for sweet peas" she told the
man. THE ground is frightfully hard"
She sat on the stone step watching the
man and playing with his dog. He was
Scotch. Not only his accent. but his
well-knit. muscular frame suggested that.
Joan found herself admiring him. She
busted herself with small flower boxes
into which she put her slips.
Would there be anything further"
II was the man who had asked her. He
was standing close to her, and Joan
saw the twinkle in his eyes that she
had failed to see before.
MOL think that will do for the pres
ent,'' she said. How much do ! owe
you?''
I'VE will let that so for the time be-
ing-you may want me again. With
that he whistled to the small dog and
raised his cap. A moment later he was
busy in the other garden.
Joan was a triie irritated for an un-
known reason. AS she put in her sweet
pea seed she cast an occasional glance
at the man who worked and whistled so
joyfully few yards away.
However. she felt more nearly recon-
ciled to city life and the spring seemed
to have lent to her a trifie of its promise.
She could at least play at gardening in
the interim between columns Of chats
with working girls.
Days and weeks flew into a month.
The seeds were beginning to raise little
humps of earth as II struggling to break
through into the world of visible grow
ing things Joan looked eagerly a dozen
times a day at her trench. The man who
had dug II for her worked only occa-
siOnally in that other garden and there
were long intervals when he did not
come out at all. Joan had come to the
conclusion that he was a resident gard
doors.
The sweet peas had lifted tiny green
heads above the ground upon the day
that Joan made her great discovery.
She was glancing through a current
magazine when she came across photo
graph Of a man and a dog. The dog
ii was that at first opened her eyes. 1t
was a white dog. and it was none other
than the one she had fondled while
watching the supposed gardener at the
work she had offered him.
Joan looked quickly at the mans face.
Her face she fancied. went pale, even
as does that of book heroines. Then she
flushed angrily.
The photograph was OF one Robert
MacLcan, clever young author, who had
recently been sent to Scotland to gather
material for the series of Scotch stories,
one of which would be found in the March
number of Romance"
And She Joan Lawler. had taken him
for a gardener and offered him wages.
With characteristic dtrectness sheI
Jumped up and looked out of the win
dow into the garden below. Fortunately,
the man with his pipe and dog was there.
Joan did not stop to put on a nat. she
went down like a small fury. the open
magazine in her hands and approached
MacLean.
He looked up with a Quizzical light in
his very blue eyes. When he saw the
open magazine in Joan's hands he smiled
broadly. The tweed cap was hanging
limp in his hand.
why did you let me take you for
gardener" demanded Joan with flash |
ing eyes and gloriously colored checks.
Because I was. at the moment you
came for me. secretly craving that dis |
tinction. 1t Is not every one who mas
the honor of digging a sweet pea trench |
for Miss Joan Lawler." The smile was
undaunted in his eyes. The little dog
had greeted Joan like a lost friend. She