Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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THE MISSILE. 11 On this particular June night the trees seemed unusu- ally eager to come nearer each other, for they were straining even their sturdy trunks. And no wonder — this was a day of all days. Nothing so extraordinary ever happened to such a quiet, secluded little village. The large, old-fashioned white house which sat far back in the most beautiful yard imaginable was to be occupied at last, and still more marvelous, by Mr. Hartley, the millionaire. Mr. Hartley and his only son, Phillip, had decided to come here to remain through the warm summer month, July, leaving Mrs. Hartley and Helen, Phillip’s only sister, in New York. They had travelled to their heart’s content and upon hearing of the little village, Oakland, where peace and quiet reigned, they sought this refuge from the social whirl of New York. It is needless to say the peo- ple of Oakland were proud to boast that Mr. Hartley and his son were honoring their village by a whole month’s stay there. Do you wonder at the trees being moved ? Now among the other people in Oakland there lived in a small cottage Mr. Craighton, a man commonly known in the village as “the poor blind man,” and his only child, indeed his all, Mercer. Life for Mercer was not every- thing pleasant; on the contrary, it was the reverse. But her character was as beautiful as she herself was, and she thought not of what she had not, but was thankful for what she had. At the death of her mother, when she was sixteen (she was eighteen at the time of this story), her father and herself moved to Oakland, where they could live comfortably on the sum he had accumulated before his misfortune. Mercer was one of many others who were curious to see Phillip, the millionaire’s son, for report had it that he

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10 THE MISSILE. “Don’t you see how much good it has done me ? Just feel my arm; and it’s payment enough to see how beauti- ful the place is, and to realize it’s all my own work, don’t you see?” “Well, now, I don’t. But you say so; so I reckon it’s all right. I tell you now, Barbara, I guess I’m an old bear, but your flowers have made me realize how such beautiful things help a body; and now only by the sight of beauty do I realize how sordid was my life before.” And Barbara smiled happily to see the result of her work. Ida Routh, ’i6. THE WHISPERING TREES. he beautiful June day was slowly coming to ic I I 2 a close — one of those days which make all people thankful to be alive. But the close of the day was more glorious than the day itself, if that were possible. The cool, re- freshing breeze which comes with night relieved the intense heat which was present in the day, and the shadows from the tall, massive trees lent a soft appearance to the cozy, quaint little village of Oakland. This village, you must bear in mind, prided itself upon its trees; and this was a worthy pride, for it seemed more than ordinarily blessed with nature’s prized gift. In fact the main street appeared like a beautiful grove when the trees on either side seem- ed to try to meet their lofty heads in the gentle breeze, especially when they heard bits of conversation from the village gossips; for then they would assent or disagree in their nodding way.

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12 THE MISSILE. was extremely good-looking. Of course, she would only get a glimpse at him, never have the good fortune of con- versing with or meeting him. But fate decreed otherwise and Mercer did have this good fortune. Mercer’s greatest delight in life was to wander through the beautiful woods which bordered Oakland, where she could be alone with nature. She was nature’s child. The tall, patient pines, the sweet, modest violets, and the gay, warbling brook were her teachers. She also took great pleasure in sketching nature’s pictures. Indeed, her ar- tistic talent was wonderful; it only lacked the polish which good masters could easily add. However, this was one of Mercer’s burdens to bear, for her father had just mon- ey enough to support them, none for schooling. One evening, about a month after the beautiful June day when the Hartleys arrived in Oakland, Mercer, leav- ing her father resting on his couch, ran joyously to her favorite haunt, the woods. She had her sketch book with her, since she was completing a very pretty little scene which she was specially anxious to make good. As soon almost as she took her seat on a large rock on the edge of the brook, she heard a dull noise as of a struggle, fol- owed by a deep groan. She jumped up immediately and rushed to the nearby road. She saw lying in the ditch a a man whom she could not recognize on account of the thick clouds of dust which enveloped him, and heard the distant gallop of a horse. She hurried to the man and literally dragged him to the edge of the wood, for he was unconscious, and wiped the bleeding forehead with her handkerchief, dampened by the cool water of the brook. She was so excited by the accident and agitated by the sight of blood that she did not think of the fact that it