The Washington herald., 1915-02-03
DAILY SHORT STORY.
CONCERNING WIDOW DOW.
BY CLARICE GAINES.
ICouyright lsl5.l

Jay Dickson frowned over the letter
from the manager of his houses in Doril-
ton. The houses had been an inheritance
from his Uncle Peterby and the income
from the half dozen little cottages had
been an addition to his income. OF
course, the property was sadly out OF re-
pair and a great deal of money had been
spent upon 1t. still the agent had made
many complaints about dissatisfied ten
ants.
Jay reread the letter.
About this Widow Dow" said the
agent. "she lives in the last cottage at
the very edge of the woods, and she
says that some of the trees should be
cut down because the shade makes her
place damp. 1 tell you she ought not to
make complaints when she is behind with
her rent"
"Pshaw!" muttered Jay. thrusting the
letter into his pocket. "In run down
there myself and have It out with Mrs.
Dow. II the trees really are nuisance
they shall be removed, and I'll talk to her
about the rent-If she's having a hard
time OF il, Green shan't nag her for it
not with yours truly idling his time
around in steam yachts and motor
cars"
The next day, quite unknown to Agent
Green, Jay Dickson alighted from the
train at the Dorilton station and took
short cut through the woods to reach his
property.
He hung over the Widow Dow's fence
and shifted appreclatively at the flowers
which rioted In the tiny front yard.
mignonette, heliotrope. roses, sweetalys-
sum- old-fashioned pinks, forgetmenots.
sweet williams, balsams, marigolds-what
a bewildering variety, with little pansy
faces perklng up around the borders.
A glance at the windows Of the house
showed him that the Widow Dow might
be poor and needy, but at least she pos
sessed the soul of an artist, for she had
made the last cottage a little bower OF
beauty and good taste.
There was no sign OF poverty in the
well-kept garden. in the luxurious fur
nishings OF piazza and summer house.
jay glanced UP at the trees and decided
that an entire row must come down to
bring sunshine into this little place. He
pictured the Widow Dow a bent, middle
aged woman, fussing in her loved garden.
Are you Mrs. Dow" persisted Jay.
The woman looked at him shrewdly.
II am Amada Dow" she admitted.
Mr. Green wrote to me about you,
Mrs. Dow; he said you wanted some trees
cut down. I will see him about the mat
ter"
Jay, ppzzled at finding his agent had
rented one OF the cottages to other than
white people. pursued his way through
the street toward the agents office. Near
his destination he was just in time to
snatch a young woman from under the
wheels of a racing automobile.
As it was. they were both flung against
the curbstone, and the young woman
lay pale and white against jays arm.
I'm show you," volunteered q woman.
and she led the way toward Jays row
She passed them all until she came to |
the last one. the abode Of the Widow |
Dow.
81 will go inside with you. The doctor |
Is on his way now she said as she |
opened the gate.
He was not prepared for the huge black |
woman who waddled across the garden |
tied up in a snowy turban and her /
white gown was immaculate.
Clear outer here!" she ordered, wav-
ng a mighty hand at the abshed owner. |
They amt no loafers allowed heah- |
bouts"
II am Mr.. Dickinson" said Jay quietly. |
"Lawsy me. 1 dunno's 1 ever heerd /
Of you, Mister Dickson" she sneered.
"Mebbe you'll be the President next
lime, huh?'
Amada Dow met them in the porch,
form in her arms and bore her up
stairs, where the village doctor arrived
IN a few minutes.
Jay Dickson, wandering restlessly
IN the little garden, could not rid his
mind of that lovely face which had lain
against his shoulder. It was a pale,
spirituelle face, framed in rich, red hair
hat grew low on her forehead. The
ashes that lay on her creamy cheek were
thick and dark and curling. What color
we're her eyes?
What allied him, anyway? he asked
himself fiercely. Never before had he
Jared about the color of women's eyes!
The doctor came down and spoke to
him.
Her arm Is broken" he said Would
'ou mind helping me while set Il Her
I'D servant Is too hysterical to be of any
Ise"
Jay Dickson went up into a charm
ng rose-crIpred room, where the lovely
woman lay Inert upon q snowy bed. The
black woman sobbed In q corner.
go downstairs. Amada; I'll call you
litter it's over. Don't be foolish; there's
10 danger" argued the doctor. good-na-
uredly.
Its her working arm. smiled Amada,
Is she went out.
Mrs. Dow Is an artist" explained the
ioctor in A. low tone. as he went about
lis task with deft fingers. "She's been
having hard shedding, I understand. and