Collegiate School - Torch Yearbook (Richmond, VA)

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1IIIIIllllllllIIIIIllllllllIllIIIIllllllIIIIIIIlllllllllIIIlllllIllllllllllllllllllllllIIIlllllIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII in :nu uInnunmnmmumnnnu llllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllllIIIIIIIlllllllIIIllllllllIIIIIIIllllllllIIllllllllIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIIIIHW T H E T O R C H 51 allmmmInInmmmIIIIIIInmIIIIIImlmIIIInnnunmlmnumm1nununllllml Inmuuunmummmmlll I 1 unnmmmnnmllmuxlllllInumIIIIunnIIIIInrunIIIIIImnIIIIIImmIIIIImxlllllllllllmllllllllmllllIlllllllllllllll Yes, and suppose he should hnd us heref' I answered, what would we do ? While we were shivering at the thought, something fell with a loud thud. Jumping as if from an electric shock, we looked around. Our relief was great to find that it waslonly a piece of plaster which had dropped from the ceiling. Nevertheless, we left the kitchen. The next door we tried was swollen from rains and stuck, but finally it gave way, and we went in rather fearfully. Everything 'in the house seemed alive by this time. The old gentleman in the picture on the wall laughed mockingly at us. A board creaked under our feetg a nut from a pile in the corner suddenly rolled across the floorg a mouse squeaked somewhere upstairs. Really frightened now, we tiptoed to- wards the front of the house, our only idea being to get out. Then a light footstep sounded behind us. We looked around cold with terror, and saw, no, not the keeper, only a chipmunk, who had captured the wandering nut and was running to the window with it. At last we got outdoors, but everything was still terrifying. The sky was nearly dark, there were great white caps on the lake, and even the flowers trembled, it may have been in the wind, or it may have been for fear. We caught a whiff of smoke, and imagined that the keeper was enjoying his pipe in the kitchen. Afterwards we found it came from the chimney of a house a little way off. lt is not necessary to say that we ran all the way to camp, and that it was long before we visited again the house of a thousand ghosts. MARGARET GORDON, 224.

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llllllllIIIIIIIIllllIIIIllIHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllllllIIIIlllllllIIIIIIlllllllllllllllllllllln llllllll ll llllllllu ll ll Ill I I1 II ul II Ill IIII Illlltlllllllll H IIImlnIIIIllllllllllIIIIIllllllIIIIllIlllllliIIIllllllllllllllllllllllllIIIllIlllllllIIIIIllllllllIllllllllllllllllr' mlmlunnl llll lull lnllll unIIIIlnnlIIIIIIIImlIllllllllllllllnllnllll llxlIIIIlllllllllllllllllllllllllllIIIIIllIllIIIIIllIlllIIIIllIlullIlIIIIIlulllllllllllulIIlllllllmlIIIIIIIllllllIlIIIIIlmllIIIIIIllllllllIIIIIlllllllllllllmllllllllullllllllllln The House of a Thousand Candles E were canoeing on Lake Sebago when I first saw the House of a Thousand Candles. It was about a quarter of a mile below camp, and almost hidden from anyone on the lake by the tall evergreens, whose sombreness was re- lieved here and there by a white birch. At one side of the steps l caught a glimpse of a few red and white Howers, the only bright spot in the picture. The house itself, of a dull brownish color, was long and low, with a flat roof, and a porch which stretched the whole length of the front. At first the only thing I noticed was the un- usual number of windows, but when one of the girls told me the name of the house, I was immediately interested in the whole place. Who would not be? lt suggested old ghost stories, and, above all, mystery. I could have spent the rest of my life in that canoe, gazing first at the haunted house, as l called it, and then at the redection of the flaming sunset in the water. There was not even a ripple on the lake, and the soft drip, drip of the paddle would have put me to sleep, except for the always obliging mosquitoes. A long, clear bugle note from a neighboring camp reminded us of supper, and as we paddled back to camp, I determined to examine the house inside as soon as possible. With this purpose, three of us started out one afternoon. We had heard that there was some sort of keeper, but we hoped he was legendary, and even .if he were not, adventure was what we were seeking anyhow. The afternoon was cold and damp, but our spirits were not at first. When we got there we looked cautiously around, but could see no one. At close view the house was rather dilapidated. Several window-panes were either altogether out, or broken, and one of the steps had fallen in. We were rather excited by this time, but we walked boldly up the steps and climbed through one of the windows. The downstairs rooms were almost bare. A few chairs were scattered around, and one fine mahogany table proudly held itself aloof in one corner. VVonder- ing why it had been left, we examined every corner of it, trying to find mysterious papers or codes, but, of course, we were disappointed. We reached then what must have been the kitchen, for there was an old rusty stove and a kettle without a top. VVhat was our surprise and alarm to find on a shelf in one corner the remains of a meal, not more than two days old, a box of matches, and an old pipe. lt must be the keeper's, whispered one of the girls.

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llIll!lllllllIlllllllIIlllllllIIIIllllllIIIIlllllllIIIllllllIIIIllIllllllIlllllllIIIIIllllllIIIIlllllllIIIIlllllllIIIIlllllllIIIIlllllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII llnllllIIIIIllllllIIIIllllllllllIIIIIlllllllllllllllllmIIIllllllllllIIIIIllllllllllIIIIIllllllllllIIlllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllli IIlllllllIIIIIIllllllIIllllllllIIIIllllIllIIIlllllllIlIIllllllIIIIlllllllIIlllllllIlllillllllllllllllllll lllllllIIlIIIlllllIlIIIlllllllIllIlllllllIIIIIIlllllIIIIlllllllIIIIIlllllllIlIIIllllllllIIIIIlllllllllIIIIIIIIIIIIlIIIIlllllllllllIIIIllllllllIIIIIllllllIlIIIIlllllllllIIllllllllllllllllllllllll Miss Greentree Falls Asleep I have come, says the student. 'fYes, you have come, says Miss Greentree, shaking her head slowly in a matter- of-fact Way. ' UI have come from-,H resumes the student. Of course, of course. You have come from Wonderland, interrupts Miss Greentree. Ah! there's Where you are Wrong. I am not Alice, and I know nothing about Wonderland,,' says the student in a defiant vvay. Indeed! Then I did make a mistake. I did not realize that you were George Eliot! says Miss Greentree, blushing slightly. The student laughs. There's no use in your trying to guess any more, for I come from a land that you have never heard of, but I shall tell you something of it. First of all, I am someone whom people of your kind dislike. I'm Miss Modernism! Oh, my gracious, my gracious!'! despairs Miss Greentree. !'Don't despair so soon! says the student, shaking her finger at Miss Greentree. I vvon't take your place yet. But my day will come soon enoughf, Where do you come from ? asks Miss Greentree, in an impatient tone of voice. !'As I said before, I come from a place you knovv not-a place where people do nothing except Writef' How heavenly! exclaims Miss Greentree. I No, it would not be heavenly for you. Far from it. You would be entirely out of place, with your queer-old-fashioned ways of writing. Modernists would ridicule you, and even jeer at you. My people Write poetry, full of rhythm and beauty, full of music and gorgeous pictures. They can write any Way they choose, for originality adds charm. They place Words Where they please, for they know not the various rules for sentence structure. There is no such word as rule in their language. They laugh at their ancestors, for using such things as commas. And yet my generation surpasses in every Way the Writing of any other generation. You wonder when my day will come. I shall come when-. What's that! cries Miss Greentree, starting from her chair at the sudden striking of the clock over the fire-place. I have been dreaming. She snatches up a paper from her lap and starts to read it. Where is my pencil? She murmurs, and ,after finding it, she marks in the margin of the paper, Look up rule for comma fault in Woolley. That was a funny dream I had,', says Miss Greentree, giving a charming little chuckle to herself. I Wonder When- ? M. C. H.