Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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ISoai to Arradg On a certain glorious afternoon, when the sun shone down from a cloudless sky and the breeze came softly laden with the perfume of wild flowers and blossoming fruit, I wandered forth in search of poppies. Leaving the outskirts of the town I tramped on and on, now pausing to gaze upward to watch the flight of some wild bird whose thrilling notes were borne to me out of the clear blue sky, now stopping to note the delicate tra¬ cery of some leaf or fern whose shadow fell across my pathway. All about me stretched fields of poppies, flaunting their golden cups before my admiring gaze. Eagerly I began to gather the long stemmed beauties, until my arms fairly ached with their load. T!ired in body I sank down under the shade of a tree and closed my eyes on the dazzling scene about me. Scarcely had I done so when a light touch fell on my arm and a low voice spoke a name. Startled, I opened my eyes to find a stranger looking down upon me. His col¬ oring, eyes, hair and dress all bespoke the Spanish gentle¬ man. Puzzled, I remained absolutely silent. Again he addressed me and by a name certainly not my own, “Why do you linger here, my dark-eyed Spanish maiden? All are gathered at the Hacienda and eagerly await your coming.” With a rare smile and a low bow he assisted me to arise. Now deeply mystified I replied, “But I am not a Spanish maiden and I know of no Hacienda. I came forth to gather poppies. See!” and I looked down at my feet, where my harvest of flowers had been. But there were no flowers there. Then brushing my hand across my eyes I looked about me. Gone were the scenes upon which I had closed my eyes. The sun, too, had dis¬ appeared and twilight had fallen. A glorious moon hung low in the heavens. The air was heavily laden with the perfume of rare flowers and shrubs. Again my companion spoke a name; this time it sounded strangely familiar. “Come,” he said, “my guests await us.” “But my dress.” “Ah!” he replied, “was ever one more beautiful?” Glancing down I was indeed struck by the beauty of my costume. Again my companion said “Come,” and I did not hesitate. Passing up the wide pathway we came to the court, where we paused a moment beside a fountain, whose waters fell in beautiful cascades. Leaning over I gazed at my reflection in the deep pool. The vision was most pleasing—a dark-eyed Spanish maiden smiled up at me from its depths. Her costume from the lace mantilla to the very soles of her daintily shod feet was perfect in every detail. Surely this was real. We passed on into the Hacienda. A stately dame came 22 ,.

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monels, too; something good, you know, for my wife’s er birthday,” said Scarlett. So Jinks, in high good humor over a prospective haul, brought out the best diamonds in his possession. Scar¬ lett had the same difficulty as Nugent and made the same request, to take them on approval. Just then a police inspector rushed in. In a twinkling Scarlett and Nugent were handcuffed and the inspector had said: “I arrest you in tire name of the law for the robbery of Stiliger’s jewelry store. Anything you say will be used as evidence against you. I’ll trouble you, sir (turn¬ ing to Jinks), to come along and to bring those things (pointing to the parcels) as evidence of intended crime.” The terrified Jinks mutely obeyed and soon Jinks, Scar¬ lett, Nugent and the inspector were seated in the Black Maria and being driven rapidly away. Suddenly Jinks felt a crushing blow on his head and knew no more. 21 When next he awoke to consciousness he was aware of two things that it was dark, and that he had a splitting headache. He felt for his watch to see the time—it was gone. He looked at his hands—they were bereft of the costly rings that had erstwhile adorned them. Memory came rushing back and he saw that he was still in what appeared to be the Black Maria, but he was the only oc- cupent. Cautiously he made his way out. Away in the distance twinkled the lights of the city. The horses were gone. Jinks looked miserably up and down the road and then started on his lonely walk to the nearest police sta¬ tion. The sergeant was incredulous, but was finally in¬ duced to believe his story. The efforts of the police were of no avail and Scarlett, Nugent, the inspector, and the driver are probably still laughing over the thought of Jinks in the Black Maria. GLADYS CORRY, ’15.

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forward to meet us. “Why do you linger ?” said she, “Your guests await you.” “Forgive us,” my companion answered. “I found her di earning by the way and—” “And I am now joyously awake!” I cried. Together we passed into the ball room and were at once the center of an animated group. Soon the strains of music were heard, my companion claimed me and the dance began. And such dancing— men and maidens seemed to float through space. One after another came up to claim a dance, and the hours flew swiftly past. Again he who had brought me there came and together we sought the moonlit garden, where laughing couples strolled here and there. Presently my companion said, “Let us go to the bridge over the brook. Do you not remember our old rustic seat?” Yes, I remembered, and we strolled out of the garden into a path that lay through scented woods. Fol¬ lowing it we soon came to the bridge and found the rustic seat. Here we lingered looking down into the stream whose waters glistened here and there in the moonlight. We talked of Spain’s glorious past, of the part our own ancestors had played in it, and of our hopes for our coun¬ try’s future. After a while I suggested that we return to his guests. Relunctantly he arose and turning to me said, “We will return, but another time we will come and talk not of our country’s glorious past, nor yet of its unknown future, but of ourselves. There is much I must say to you of—” The sentence remained unfinished; there was a sudden shaking of the bridge and before I could cry out it collapsed, and I found myself falling, falling, falling down. After a period of oblivion I came to myself, opened my eyes, and looking around for my companion. Alas! he was not there. Slowly I arose and gazed about me. Where was the bridge, the path, the garden, the beautiful Haci¬ enda? Gone! all gone! and above all the handsome Span¬ iard. Around me lay vast poppy fields. The sun was low in the heavens, at my feet lay a great armload of poppies, now sadly withered. “Then,” said I, “I am no dark-eyed Spanish maiden in a beautiful costume, floating through the maze of the dance on the arm of a Spaniard, or listening to low tones and broken sentences on a bridge over a moonlit stream, but a plain American girl and a school girl at that.” Slowly I gathered up my treasures and started home. “Ah! well!” thought I, “there is a long road ahead of me called life; just around that curve are other vast poppy fields. I may again wander forth to gather them, again fall asleep to open my eyes upon “castles in Spain,” from which there will be no rude awakening. B. W. D., ’ 17 .