G arrison chal- 
M E R S’ Uncle 
Elijah—(this is a true 
story, please understand — 
at least partly; the names 
are not true, of course, nor 
the places, but the story it¬ 
self is, in essentials). Har¬ 
rison Chalmers’ Uncle Eli¬ 
jah was eccentric, and had 
ideas. That is how it hap¬ 
pened, I suppose, that he 
gave Harrison and his wife 
— of all people — a gar¬ 
den—of all things! for 
Christmas. A flat, neat, 
Christmasy-looking parcel 
it was, hollv-beribboned 
and inviting and properly 
mysterious, in spite of its 
flatness, as it lay among 
the other parcels Harrison 
opened right after Christ¬ 
mas morning's breakfast. 
Harriet Chalmers con¬ 
fesses that she thought — 
and she believes Harrison 
thought also—that it was a 
bundle of stock certificates. 
But now, on looking back, 
she is rather glad it was 
not; and I believe Harri¬ 
son is, too. 
Neither of this pair 
was particularly fond of 
outdoors things, and flow¬ 
ers and pottering about, 
and Uncle Elijah’s unique 
gift certainly would have 
fared indifferently but for 
the storm that developed 
that day along about noon. 
It came on slowly and cas¬ 
ually—almost surreptitiously — a snowflake or two; then a little 
cluster of them; then a thicker fall; and finally a regular steady, 
fine, sifting that settled in and never stopped for thirty-four 
hours, tying up all the railroads and trolleys and automobiles in 
amazingly short order, so that no one could get away if he were 
at home — and no one 
that was away could 
get home. 
By the time the Chal¬ 
mers' guests should 
have been starting for 
the Chalmers' apart- 
me n t—t hey spent 
Christmas in town al¬ 
ways — their hosts were 
pretty certain that, in¬ 
stead of the brilliant 
The gardening tools arrived just at the time when little dinner pat t) of 
they were needed, arranged orderly in a basket eight, it WOllld be just 
they two alone who would 
sit down to the Christmas 
dinner. 
And they were right. 
Tete-a-tete, they fed well, 
and made an early finish — 
but there was no getting 
away. And, instead of a 
lively evening at a lively 
play, with a lively crowd, 
here were the two of them 
cooped up by themselves, 
with absolutely nothing 
novel around the place— 
save Uncle Elijah’s garden. 
Which situation was what 
got them really interested 
in it, at last: for, after they 
had played cribbage and 
solitaire until they loathed 
them both, and danced 
through all their favorites 
to the music of the faithful 
music-box, they found, to 
their dismay, it was still 
only half-past nine o’clock 
—“and bedtime full an 
hour away !’’ yawned Har¬ 
rison, dejectedly. 
“Let’s play with that 
garden,” cried Harriet, 
suddenly remembering it. 
Whereupon they fell upon 
the card table and whisked 
it back out under the light, 
and drew up the chairs, 
and spread the whole thing 
out. 
Really, they found two 
gardens, labeled, respect¬ 
ively, “A Poet's Garden" 
and “A Practical Garden." 
The card which had lain 
on top of the packet as it was opened, read: “To my nephew and 
niece, Harrison and Harriet Chalmers, with the affectionate 
Christmas greetings of Elijah Chalmers.” On the reverse side 
of it was written: “It has ever been my belief that gifts should 
be of more than transient worth where real regard prompts them. 
I am sending, there¬ 
fore, something that 
shall be annual and 
perennial and contin¬ 
ual, yet needs must be 
fractional in its man¬ 
ner of presentation." 
"W hat does h e 
mean?" asked Harriet. 
“Blamed if I know,” 
answered Harrison, 
gazing at the card; 
“sounds as if this was 
not all of the present." 
The Gift of a Garden 
WHEREIN THE CHALMERS HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN 
VEGETABLES AND FLOWERS AND CHOSE FLOWERS— 
A UNIQUE GIFT AND HOW IT WAS GIVEN 
Grace Tabor 
Not much of an array, but enough for amateur 
gardeners such as the Chalmers 
361 
