Evening star., 1927-05-30
"Mr. Manting's Garden" "

NJ r. WANTING carefully placed
nu his spade against the rotting
V old picket fence and slowly
/ i surveyed his garden. His
gaze finally rested on a tiny
violet at his feet. Tenderly he
reached down and pressed the blades
of blue grass away from the flower
Now, you won't have such hard
time. you little devil" he murmured
Drink all the sunshine YOU want.
Mr.. Manting puffed leisurely on
his corncob pipe. He was like his
garden--old. gray and torn-but
happy. Since Mrs. MantinGS death,
many years before. his garden had
been his one companion. Each eve
ming as the sun went down he care
fully watered each struggling plant.
lie knew each hiding place OF the
tiny violet and the secret haunts of
the rare mosses that had crept under
the magnon vines. 1t was the tiny
flowers he loved most-the mosses
and the vioIetS.
Mr.. Manting looked again at the
violet at his feet. lie remembered
The purple of twenty other genera
tions of violets that had grown there.
Mrs. Manting had loved them, too.
on her grave had first found root
here.
"You little devil" Mr.. Manting
chuckled. If Annie were only here
to see YOU. You're the prettiest of
that they try to hide you from the
sun. Even the blue grass tries to
smother you with its long, green
arms. Mr.. M2nting paused TO prop
the leaves of peony. "But YOU II
show then1" he murmured. You'll
show them"
Mr.. Manting's garden as small
and surrounded by an old picket
fence, patched in many places. There
were no rows of blooming flowers or
carefully pruned shrubbery at the
sides. The sod was not carefully
cleared of grass and weeds like the
gardens of the wealthy. The Violets
struggled for a foothold at the feet
of tall cannas. Jack .in-the pulpits
fought their way through the mosses
and grass blades only to find the
leaves of great peonies towering
above them. Daisies, buttercups,
bleeding hearts and sweet Williams
grew at the feet Of rose and mag.
nolia bushes. Vines of several species
sunflower, and the poppies found
artificial props necessary to support
the climbing morning g!ories. They
were all one riot of color, these
tiowerS-one great family fighting the
blue grass and yet they prospered.
Mr.. Manting loved the scene. He
could pick his way through it with.
out crushing a single leaf or blossom.
But he was sad because no one ad-
mired his garden. No one had stood
at the gate and searched for each tiny
bit of beauty since the death of Mrs.
Manting. He wanted some one to
praise it, to say fine words about each
leaf and bud. 1t seemed to him the
flowers We're lonely for human words
of sympathy-that his whole hearted
devotion was not enough.
1t was the day that Prof. Stannard,
the famous garden expert from the
university, lectured before the Rotary
Club. In the afternoon he had agreed
to visit many of the city's flower gar
dens, particularly the scientific gar.
dens of the rich. Hopefully Mr.. Man.
ming had asked that his little heaven
be placed on the schedule. The com
mittee had accepted out of generosity
to Mr.. Manting, they told each other.
He had sold them many of their finest
starts. They apologized to the pro,
fesSor.
Mr.. Manting stood alone in his gar.
den a few minutes before the inspec'
ton party arrived and murmured to
his violets, Perhaps he'll understand.
little violet" he whispered. I'm sure
he'll understand"
Then he heard the screech Of brakes
and picked his way carefully through
the plants to meet the party. He