Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1915-03-29

The Daily Story
.Ioan,s Garden

Joan happened to have taken room.
She had come in from the country to
| write a column in city daily called
"Chats with the Working Girl" and her
| advent to the city was fraught with both
/ JOY and inconsistencies.
In the first place, It 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
trtct possessed. Not one OF them seemed
to he in process of planting. "And so
! much could be made of them" thought
| 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.
"T would love to put in carden--in
front" she suggested with one OF her ap-
pealing smiles, land I am pining for cx-
ercise"
You would have hard tme--in that
place." said the landlady: "the ground
hasn't been worked for good 10 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
Toans cheeks were scarlet and her arms
strpI ,,.g, l., t,,It
for her sweet peas.
Looking up for moments rest. she
caught sight of man working in the
second garden but one from her own.
He had made n splendid trench and was
even then putting i'm row of seeds.
Joan went swiftly out of her own gate
and approached the man.
Are you day gardener or a private
one?" she asked.
The man looked UP and tho 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
his mouth and his cap from his head. A
small white dog leaped joyfully about his
feet.
Yes" said Joan. " ! want trench
suoh as the one you have finished-made
i'm my garden. Could you do it soon?'
1t didn't occur to Joan that e man
was other than gardener. Many gar
deners were of most gentlemanly appear
ance She waited eagerly for his answer.
Immediately" said the man, and fol-
lowed her to the other garden. The dos,
too, entered into the affair. Joan almost
forgot her purpose while fondlnE the
dog. She had one of her own in the
homo village
II would like a deep trench-just along
that fence, for sweet peas" she told the
man. 1.-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?"
It 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.
"No-I think that will do for the pres
emit" she said. How much do 1 owe
you?"
ing-you may want me again." With
that he whistled to the small dog and
raised mis- cap. A moment later he was
busy in the other garden.
Joan was a trihe irTitated for an un-
known reason. AS she put in her sweet
pea seed she cast an occasional glance
juyfully few yards away.
However. she felt more nearly recon-
ciled to city life and the spring seemed
to have lent to her a trifle 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 IL struggling to break
through into the world of visible grow
ing things. Joan looked eagerly a dozen
times day at her trench. The man who
had dug it 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 n resident gar
dener and perhaps did other things in
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 current
magazine when she came across a photo
graph OF man and n dog. The dog
1t was that first opened her eyes. 1t
was a white dog, and 1t was none other
than the one she had fondled while
watching the supposed gardener at the
work sine 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
MacLean 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 gardener and offered him wages.
With characteristic directness she
jumped up and looked out of the win
dow into the garden below. Fortunately