Pendleton High School - Wakeipa Yearbook (Pendleton, OR)

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t l hoped to finish the picture today. As he sat wondering what to do, he was startled by a light step from behind. Turning he saw Jenny Lynn. Oh, I beg your pardon, she said in a surprised tone. HAm l intruding? She turned to go but he called her back. Don't go, Jenny, I'm finishing a picture of Torrey House but it's not what I expected it to be. Look at it and sec if you can tell what's the matter. She stepped forward and looked at the picture. For a moment she stood almost motionless, except for a slight twitching around her mouth. Then her manner changed and her face was wreathed in smiles. 'tOh, it's wonderful! It's magnificent! How did you do it? It's great! Oh! She broke off suddenly and was silent. Then picking up a brush from the ground and quickly mixing a few colors, she put a touch here and one there until the desired effect was produced. Bob was amazed. He did not understand how she did it. In all his experience with artists he had never seen such talent displayed. Wheii she had finished she turned to him and her entire expression had changed to sorrow and loneliness. , HThere, it's done, she said, with something like a sob in her voice. Don't let me see it again. I can't stand it. Wliy does it have to be so? I d-on't understand at all, Jenny, and Bob looked so helpless and awkward standing there, that Jenny smiled through her tears. Oh, you can never understand. I can't tell you. Please forgive me for my stupidity. That picture only brought some sad but fond memories to my mind. It's a truly wonderful picture, Bob, and you'll make a fortune out of it. My, how time does fly! she said, suddenly changing the subject and looking at her small watch. Granny will be coming after me. I must go now. Good luck to you. - I'll see you later, Jenny. You're an inspiration in yourself. Tell Granny hello. He watched her go quickly down to the road where she turned and waved, before disappearing from sight behind the trees. Bob realized for the first time that he felt more than a brotherly love for this girl. He wanted to see more of her and cheer her lonely life as she had cheered his. He wondered what particular instances this picture of Torrey House could bring to her mind and make her look as she had looked today. He finished the picture before noon and decided to return to the village for lunch instead of having lunch there. Packing his easel and outfit in his roadster which stood only a short distance away, he started for the village. On the way he stopped to talk to a farmer, who was putting up a notice of the coming sale of Torrey House. Who do you suppose will buy the place? Bob asked, as he stopped his car. I84l

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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

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'R Nobody around this here country will buy it, the farmer drawled out. f'That house is haunted. Jim Sydman heard that thar piano goin' jest last night and saw lights moving around upstairs. 'Pears like Alice Torrey ain't goin' to have it sold. I wouldn't stay in that house one night for a dozen jest like it. Maybe some rich gent from the city 'll buy it. I ain't Worryin' much myselff' 'tWl1en does this said ghost appear? Does it come every evening? I ain't stayin' around to see. My crops need me worse than that thar ghost. Failing to get much information from the farmer concerning the matter, Bob drove on. Somehow it interested him and he determined to solve the mystery. He had always had a curiosity to See inside the house so he decided to make a call on the musical ghost. Bob hungered for a little adventure and excitement, and decided to go that very evening. According to his plans, four o'clock found him in his car before the iron gates of Torrey House. Finding the gates locked, he proceeded to climb the wall. Once on the inside he hurried up the driveway to the porch. The trees cast long dark shadows on the lawn and made things look unusually lone- some and gloomy. ,The first feeling of excitement was experienced as he climbed the steps and walked across the porch to the door. He was thoroughly ready for anything and even a feeling of mischief surged over him. Lifting the brass knocker, he let it fall with a clanging mournful sound, which echoed through and through the house and so startled Bob for the instant that he was halfway back to the iron gates before he could gain control of himself. Laughing at his panic he again approached the door and turned the knob. To his surprise the door was unlocked and he opened it and stepped inside. The musty damp atmosphere stifled him and he paused a moment before going further. He found himself in what he judged to be a drawing room. The first object which attracted his attention was the piano, which was closed and covered. He smiled again at the thought of the ghost which played that magnificent instrument. He looked around at the fine paintings on the walls. Men and women of generations before looked down upon him, some smiling, some stern and some half mockingly and Bob found himself looking over his shoulder to see if someone wasn't really watching him. His footsteps were noiseless on the soft rugs as he walked about examin- ing one relic after another. On the table he picked up a small Bible, which had the name of Alice Torrey in it. After looking again and again at the quaint old furniture, the pictures, the hooks and various other curiosities, he went to the piano. Uncovering it and opening it, he struck a chord. The result was entirely what he had not expected. lt sounded like a human voice. The sound rose, floated up to l85l