Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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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 .

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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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(Eonatrurttim of % marmot Utrrlraa Station On the shores of Tomales Bay, in a beautiful spot one mile from Marshall, is built the plant of the Marconi Wireless. Little did people ever think that a wireless would be built in that vicinity, but in February of 1913 the Marconi people showed themselves and bought about twelve hundred acres of fine dairy land from a prominent Marshall dairyman. This place fronts on Tomales Bay for about a mile, on which, in a beautiful spot, the Marconi built their plant. People would be surprised to see what they have accomplished in just one year’s time. On March of that year with a few hired helpers they broke the ground for their roads with plows, scrapers or any other thing that could be used. After this they hired many men and teams and started to work on the hotel and towers. It was impossible to accommodate all of these people in this vicinity, so the Marconi people hired a cooking and lodging department, called a commissary. All the people working on this construction were com¬ pelled to board and lodge there. Meanwhile the towers and buildings were going for¬ ward. One would first observe a massive hotel built of concrete with tiling roof. It would take too long to de¬ scribe the construction of it, but it is built of steel with cement walls and pillars and finished inside with polished oak. There are about forty rooms in this structure. Much labor and material have been furnished by Petaluma peo¬ ple and firms. Northwest a short distance from the hotel aie built two beautiful concrete, tile-roofed cottages, which are to be occupied by the superintendents who will oversee the operating of the wireless plant. On a cliff back of the two cottages they built their operating build¬ ing of concrete with tiled roof overlooking Tomales Bay and the Pacific Ocean, “A most beautiful sight.” Back of the operating building in a southeasterly direc¬ tion are built what are called masts, seven in number. T. hey are three hundred feet high and are tied with cables to an anchor cemented on the ground. It was a fine sight to see these big masts built, as they were put up in half sections of ten feet long; these sections were hoisted up by a donkey engine to men who were in a square cage and did the bolting, placing and tying of the cables. On the top of these masts are stretched two lines, which are called aerial lines. In a northern direction from the operating building are built so far six steel tow¬ ers, also constructed of steel sections, somewhat on the plan of a windmill tower. These are one hundred and twenty-five feet high and are used as balancing lines. South of the hotel they have built a concrete, tile-roofed power house, where they generate their electricity, and also a heating system to supply all of their other buildings. Their work is drawing very close to a finish and the wireless plant will soon be in operation. C. MAGGETTI, T6. 24