Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

Page 18 text:

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

Page 17 text:

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

Page 19 text:

THE MISSILE. 13 was a stranger over whom she was bending, trying so hard to bring him to consciousness. Soon he stirred slightly, opened his eyes, and in a far-off voice asked where he was. As she saw this, she got up at once and in a very unconcerned voice said: “Sir, you have just had a little accident; your horse must have gotten away from you. I think you are all right now, though you did have quite a fall.” Phillip Hartley, for it was he, while she was talking, be- came more and more like himself and slowly got upon his feet. He could not help being attracted by the girl, for, due to excitement, her eyes, as blue as the sky above, sparkled, and her checks were flushed to an unusually be- coming hue. “I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness. I guess I’d still be lying in that ditch if you had not come to my assistance. I can’t imagine why Search Light be- came so frightened at just a piece of white paper in the road. But he is fiery anyway. Oh, in this excitement I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Phillip Hartley; I guess you have heard about our being here. May I have the pleasure of not only knowing the name of my rescurer, but of seeing much of her in the future ? Oh, what have you there ? Are you really an artist ? Why that is just splendid. My father must see it, for he en- joys collecting sketches and bits of hand-painted scenery. Phil, had grown more and more excited as he spoke, and, due to his weak condition, he leaned heavily against a tree. At his sudden outburst Mercer told him (she never knew when or how) all about her father’s blindness and her being unable to realize her dream of becoming an artist on account of not having the necessary means to study.