Pendleton High School - Wakeipa Yearbook (Pendleton, OR)

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Zlinrrep iiauuse HE SUN had disappeared behind the hills and a cool breeze from off the surrounding meadows was refreshing the sultry atmosphere. The day had been unusually warm a11d Bob Denley felt very tired as he swung into the gate at Grandma O'Brien's cottage. 'Fo his surprise he found her sitting alone on the porch. Hello, Grandma. How does it happen that you are alone? he asked as he seated himself on the edge of the porch. f'Law, child,'y she said as she leaned forward and patted him on the back, I'll declare, I didn't know you. Wl1G1'G you been keepin, yourself o' late? I havenit seen you nigh on to a month. HOh, didn't you know that I was sketching Torrey House? I never tried anything harder in my life. I've been trying to finish it before the house is sold. I can do it in a week. It's going to look fine, too. I'm expecting a big sum for that picture. But say, Granny, he broke off abruptly, 'twhere's Jenny? f'.Iennie's gone for her evening walk. She's a great comfort to this old soul. I'm not as young as I once was and she lifts a great load from these old shoulders. You keep her, Granny. She'll never fail you. She's as true as steel. Granny saw a new expression in the clear blue eyes and on the bright boyish face of this tall and handsome young artist, that she had never seen 77 before. I must go now. It 's getting dark and it 's almost an hour's walk to the village. Say, Granny, I'd like to leave my easel and fixtures here. It may rain tonight. Just put them here on the poreh and I'll drive out tomorrow and be here before sunrise. Goodnight, Granny. I'll see you in the morningf' He hurried off down the path and as he opened the gate he almost bumped into Jenny Lynn, standing just outside. She apparently was in deep thought for she seemed unaware of his approach. From her glossy brown hair, her tanned girlish face and her deep brown eyes to her neatly booted feet, she was a picture of loveliness, and Bob would have given half his fortune to have painted Jenny Lynn as she stood there, her tawny figure in relief against the last light of the fast failing day. For a brief minute she stood there, her eyes wandering over the valley. then turning she saw him and bidding a hasty f'Good eveningf' she hurried past him up the path to the cottage. As Bob turned toward the village, Jenny Lynn was constantly in his mind. He recalled how three years before, she as a tall pale girl of twenty, had suddenly appeared in the village and had taken lodging at Grandma O'l5rien,s cottage. This lovely old gray-haired lady had taken her in as her own daughter and ever since that time they had lived together very happily H321

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indeed. As to the girl's former life and family nothing was known except that she had been reared and educated by a refined and cultured aunt, who had suddenly died, leaving her alone in the world. She very seldom came to the village and he only saw her when he went to the cottage. He had always liked her because she was so different from the village girls and because she took an unusual amount of interest in his work. Often when he was discouraged he would go to the cottage and after an hour's visit with Jenny and Grandma, he would return to his work with a renewed energy and determination. This laughing jolly girl had brought an unusual amount of cheer into the boy's lonely life. Although it rained in the night, the day promised to be bright when Bob drove up to the cottage the next morning, Grandma O'Brien and Jenny were not up, so he left a note saying that he had -a ll1l1Cll with him and would spend the entire day working on the picture. From the cottage it was only a short distance to Torrey House. Wlieii Bob had reached a little knoll opposite the house and had set up his easel ready for work, he scanned the scene before him. Torrey House was more beautiful in its solitary grandeur this morning than ever before. The massive stone house stood back on rising ground with a graveled driveway running up from the road. The overgrown grass and shrubbery gave a deserted appearance to the once well-kept lawn, while the large oaks cast gloomy melancholy shadows over the porch and windows. A wall crumbling with age and covered with vines shut the entire house and lawn in from the road, but Bob could get a full view from the knoll where he was at work. Bob had not even been inside the walls around the lawn but he had learned that the house was just as it was when Randolph Torrey had lived in it. Even the fine Holt piano stood in the drawing room. Bob had learned that Torrey and his wife had both died of fever, leaving the child which had been taken away by relatives. No one had ever returned to live there, although money had been sent regularly to pay taxes. For years nothing had been done concerning the place but at last when money failed to come, the house was to be sold to pay taxes. The villagers said the house was haunted, for many claimed that they had often heard someone playing the piano late of evenings. Alice Torrey had played well and the country folk claimed that she had returned often to linger in the halls of the house where she had been so happy with her husband and child and to play the piano which she loved so well. Bob, of course, believed nothing of this and as he sat at work this par- ticular morning he wondered what the old house would tell if it could speak. He worked hard and fast but failed to get the final result which he expected. The more he worked, the more discouraged he became, for he had l33l