Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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closed my portfolio and went to the door, but unknowingly the war- den had locked me in. You can imagine my feelings; I was not the least bit hilarious. I had an engagement to dine with friends in the city to say nothing of the fact that my quarters were very cheerless. I tried in vain to reach one of the windows, and finally decided to make the best of the situation. After a tiine the moon came out, and then I amused myself watching the shadows cast by its light on the opposite walls. The shadows of the trees became huge giants, and the darkened corners of the room were their caves. Some minutes, perhaps an hour I spent thus, when I heard a distant clatter. I was sure it was the warden returning to release me so I picked up my portfolio and started for the door but the unusual direction of the sound stopped me. It came directly from the stairway which led to the tower, and it had a distinctly metallic ring. I still had no other thought than that it was the warden, but I kept quiet and waited, standing by the door, facing the staii-way. I heard, distinctly, footsteps coming closer. The moon ' s rays fell directly on the last three steps, lighting a path from the stairway to the door where I was standing. My eyes had not wavered once from the direction of the sound, and now what did I see? A man fully clad in armor. He descended the three remaining steps, as if not sure of his ground. At last he was in the room and coming toward me with outstretched hands. It seemed an age from the time he touched the bottom of the stairs until he reached me, but I was in no hurry for him to come. When he was within two feet of me, I too stretched out my hands, thinking to ward him off. J ust then something cold dropped into my palm; he turned, and with great alacrity ascended the stairs. The door behind me opened, and turning I saw the warden. He had forgotten me when he closed the building in the afternoon, and had just happened to think of me a few minutes before while talking with some friends about the Knight of the Tower. So this was my visitor ' s name. I said nothing about my experience, but asked him what he meant by the Knight of the Tower. He seemed rather loath to tell, but I finally wrung from him the story of a Roman Knight, a miser, who had lived in the old building and

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ullip Qlotn PRIZE STORY ILLSON had just returned from an extended tour in Europe, and had invited several friends to spend the evening with him in his apart- ments, the chief feature of the entertainment to be the story of his adventures in Europe. He had knocked about the world a good bit, and had collected many interesting curios, so while his friends viewed his latest collection, he arranged the chairs about the hearth and set out the tobacco. The men appeared deeply absorbed in the col- lection, when one happened to spy a curious coin. Look here, Willson, whei ' e did you get this coin with the Latin inscription? said one. Oh, I picked it up in Rome, but there is a peculiar story con- nected with it. I ' ll tell you fellows about it, and then you can draw your own conclusions, whether you think I was crazy, drunk, or asleep. It was while I was in Rome. One day I went to a curious old building to make some sketches. The room in which I was at work was rectangular in shape with a spiral stairway at one end leading to a tower. The windows were small with the sills about two feet out of my reach. The walls were smooth, but in some places a little notched. The frescoes were wonderfully well preserved, so I made several trips there and became quite friendly with the warden. I decided to spend my last afternoon in Rome, finishing my sketches of the frescoes. After I started sketching I found that 1 had more to do than I had thought, and became so interested in my work, that I did not notice the approach of darkness. Finding it too dark to work, I

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hoarded his wealth in the tower. The story ran that his spirit could never rest until he had given away all his treasure, and eveiy night he came forth seeking some one on whom to bestow it. ' After I had thanked the warden, (in the American fashion), I made my way back to the hotel. When I reached my room, my first impulse was to go to the light; my next, to see what I held in my hand, and there was the coin which you see in the case. I may have gone to sleep and picked the coin out of the wall; you fellows may think it a product of my imagination; but I for one think the old Roman gave it to me, and hope that the gift helped to buy rest for his spirit. Reba Andrews.