Atlantic Christian College - Pine Knot Yearbook (Wilson, NC)

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thing there stood all the teachers before us. We were horror stricken but only for a moment, and in a short while, people passing the streets saw several teachers standing erect in front of several trees. They could not imagine why but, at second glance, saw a long rope wrapped very artistically around the tree and also, a teacher. Who were the leaders in all this? Why, the Sophomores, of course. After this frolic we settled down to hard, earnest work, for we knew in a few more months we would climb to the next niche in the educational wall. Finally examinations were over and we prepared to leave once more. With many handshakes, good wishes, and hopes to meet again as Juniors next year, we scat- tered to our homes. Once more the wheel of time made its round and we found ourselves again at our dear college to face the responsibility of Juniors. Of necessity the Junior year was more quiet than the Sophomore or Freshman, because we had passed from the rainbow days of our incipiency into a more sober realization of the work that lay before us. We had only nine Juniors, but we were willing to face any difficulty and we did not care if the other classes did call us “uppish” or “con- ceited”; we worked with all our might, and we are sure we accomplished great things. Four years have passed and we are now Seniors. When we arrived at col- lege in September we were sorry to find that some of our classmates had failed to come back. Only five of us—all girls—are left. However, we have set our faces toward the future with a determination to win or die. The other classes are somewhat envious of us this year because we, being Seniors, have Senior privileges, such as keeping on our lights after light bell, going on long strolls, and—having young men callers once a month, when such calls are sought very eagerly. We have felt our importance and I think the people of Wilson have also, for didn’t they entertain at the college in honor of the Senior Class? and didn’t they have the Wilson Orchestra for our pleasure? The A. C. C. boys have also known our importance, for they gave 11s a grand reception over at their home. We have enjoyed this year more than we can ever tell. But, now that we are drawing- near the close of our college days at dear old A. C. C., each one has the feeling that our past efforts have been successful, and that we are better prepared for the battles of life. The goal of our ambition has been reached: we are now ready to graduate into the trials and joys of life, and as each of us goes his separate direc- tion, we hope to scatter sunshine and happiness to all the world. Often in the future we shall turn again the pages of memory and live over in our dreams the hours we have so happily spent together. And so, dear friends, we leave Atlantic Christian College, our dear old Alma Mater, which has become so dear to each of our hearts. There is not a spot, not even a leaf or the tiniest bud around this campus, which is not sacred to each member of our Class. Historian.

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Senior Class History The duty which falls upon the historian is to tell the story of a class during its four years of college life. As we glance back over the past time we know that j, many decided and various changes have taken place, and yet, how little of our real history it is possible to record. In September, we entered the halls of dear old A. C. C., a group of wide eyed, gaping mouthed verdants into the mysterious vistas of a place akin to Alice’s “Wonderland.” There were quite a number of us to assume the cares and respon- sibilities of Freshmen. During this year we learned a great deal, and it seems as if it were our first introduction to the world, we received so many scornful glances and calls of “greenie” from the higher classes. However, I suspect this name suited us, for the first- I recall of one of our classmates, she was at the depot sitting on her trunk and holding fast to it, and when our President tried to per- suade her to come to the college, she said emphatically, with the briny tears streaming down her cheeks, “No, I will not leave my trunk.” We soon, how- ever, took up our regular round of school work, and after the Christmas holidays nothing of much importance happened until we came to Commencement. Attend- ing recitals, hearing lectures, and listening to sermons was indeed a revelation to us; however, this soon came to a close, and our trunks were packed for home. We had been looking forward to this day for a long time, and I must admit that some of us were guilty of counting the days, and, yes, even the minutes before we could leave our troubles and go to our loved ones. Our holidays came to a close, ah! too soon, and we found ourselves again at- A. C. C., but what a marked difference between our arrival this year and last. Yes, we said “this year” just as much as we wished, for didn’t we have to keep quiet when we were Freshmen and hear about- what happened “last year”? But then! ah, then, we were Sophomores, and we stood before the admiring glances of the whole school, resplendent in dignity and swollen with knowledge. Sopho- more! Doesn’t that word sound big to you? To us it sounded much bigger than “Junior” or “Senior.” This year we learned how to flirt! took lessons from the Seniors, too. We thought we were “It,” but we were compelled to admit the Seniors were a little—just a little—above us, and we thought if they shot shy glances at- the boys, we could too, so before the year was out not many people could excel our Sophomore Class in that most interesting game called flirting. Guess the teachers have cause to remember this year also, as they were kept in their rooms for quite a while, without anything to eat or drink, while the girls feasted at midnight, and then as the beautiful rays of the sun appeared in the early morning, social period began; knocking on the doors began also, but to no avail, until one of our dignified teachers thought of a new and wonderful plan. She crept out on the porch, crawled through a window, and before we knew any-

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Senior Class Prophecy After many fruitless invocations to those weird sisters who control the des- tinies of human beings, I decided to give up the task and let the future of the Class of Nineteen Hundred and Thirteen portray itself in its own good time and place. For how could I prophesy without help more than mortals could render? So one warm, bright day in the latter part of January, not having anything in particular to do, I made my way to the woods that lay back of the plantation. This woods was composed of tall pines which spread a bright, hopeful green over the gray skeletonlike limbs of birch, oak, and hickory and screened their hopeless attitude from the distant observer. The sunlight came flickering down, softened to a gray twilight. Into this refuge of solitude I plunged, awaking echoes with every step among the thickly strewn dry leaves. Presently I reached my favorite seat beneath a large ancient hickory that stood on the bank of a little stream which trickled down and flowed into the mill stream a few hundred feet distant. Seated here, listening to the softened roar of the old mill, I suddenly came to myself by the falling of a large bright hickory nut. Glancing up, I saw a saucy gray squirrel who eyed me enviously as I picked up the nut and proceeded to crack it upon a large root of the tree with an ancient pine knot. Suddenly, I jumped and stood trembling, not with fear, but with surprised delight; for on the root, with spreading wings, were five of the daintiest, airiest little fairies, deli- cately colored—blue, white, yellow, lavender, and crimson respectively. They few in a circle from right to left, forming a most exquisite rainbow. Then they disappeared and I was left to listen to the crooning melody of the mill. A moment later the one in white returned and poised herself gracefully before me. Opening a tiny book, she read: “After leaving A. C. C., Sallie Bridges’ love of a practical life caused her to take a special course in millinery. Having finished this course, she found profit- able employment in several small towns for a number of years. Finally, when she had gained sufficient experience and capital, she established a business for herself in one of our prosperous western towns. Now, she is sole proprietor of one of the largest and most fashionable millinery establishments in New Orleans. They say her husband is a very gallant Scott. Then she folded her book and departed with a very knowing little nod. Then without any ceremony the fairy in crimson approached, carrying a tiny crystal which, while I looked, seemed to grow larger and more luminous. Pres- ently I saw a large, magnificent audience, breathlessly listening to the rendition of one of Bach’s selections. The pianist was none other than my accomplished friend, Elsie Langley. The fairy turned the crystal and looking again I saw a multitude of women listening to a suffragist’s speech. Upon closer examination I saw that the speaker