Richmond Womans College - Puffs and Patches Yearbook (Richmond, VA)

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A group of tiny tots are eagerly talking together. .Elach has some offering for teacher and they seem vieing with each other in praising her. .Atthe corner they see her and run gaily forward to present their gifts. Arms clinging around her waist, they go to the door of the schoolroom. It is the c1ty's most popular kindergarten, and Fannie Cook is the beloved teacher. The next scene is the sun-parlor of a noted southern sanatorium. A nurse is laughingly lecturing one of the patients. They seem on very good terms, and I was not surprised at this when I found the nurse was Ethel Stephenson and the patient Bessie Straus, the great philanthropist and society woman, .who had come here to rest up after a strenuous winter. I hear the sound of bells calling people to morning worship. A line of happy-faced native girls are entering the doors of the little mission. There is such a strong feeling of good will, peaceand love that I wonder who the teachers can be, for one can plainly tell they are of that scarce class' of women whose lives are a daily sacrifice and blessing. Wli-ern the prayer is over and they rise to, sing, I see the two missionaries of my class are Evelyn Iustis and Lena Hatcher. I t is recess and a swarm of ruddy-faced children are playing games and fighting. Two teachers are standing watching them and rebuking the com- batants. They are Lillie Quarles and Helen I-Iepburn, the inseparables. A little girl is laboriously bending over a piano and in a chair by her a dark- haired woman is keeping time. Presently the lesson ends and teacher and pupil rise. It is Jeanette Jones, who is a very successful music teacher. e steady click of many typewriters issuesfrom The busy hum of voices- and th a suite of rooms in a tall office building. There is an air of success about the place and in the. way the lady at the large desk behind the glass doors is giving comm'ands. She rises, puts on her hat, and hurriedly goes out. It is Mae Johnson, who has become a very successful business woman. Cn a lower Hoor of this building I read on one of the doors, Mabel Winn, attorney-at-law. I look inpand see that she, too, in the outer ofhce to see her. looks very prosperous, for a row of clients are waiting A group of people are standing before a painting in a gallery in France. They are discussing the ' ' amtinff some raising some blamin after the manner 6? 63 of people. I see that it has won a medal. W'hat is my surprise and joy when I see the' name of the artist, Margaret Mathews. I see a rather forbidding-looking house, but from it comes peals of childish laughter. As the picture becomes clearer, I see that it is an orphan asylum. The children's faces are bright and happy, they seem almost as comfortable as if' they were in homes of their own with loving parents. A young woman comes acr th l ' ' ' ' ' oss e awn with a child of five in her arms, a little cripple. Gently she places him in an invalid chair, beneath a shady tree. Her face has been hidden 44 A - --,,-Q

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water. She deftly slips her arm beneath his head, and. as she does this, I find myself looking deep into the brave, bright eyes of our vice-president. Rose Bloxom. From a small studio, plainly but artistically furnished, comes the most ex- quisite tones of music. l see a woman bending over the keys, whose expression is one of rapt devotion to her art. She seems utterly unconscious of her sur- roundings. Piles of unfinished music lie on the desk. She has already won fame as a composer, but this will be the song of her soul. Finally, the last bar is played, with a sigh she turns. It is Margaret James. The winter sunshine streams into a sitting-roo1n. The place has an air of tranquility and comfort, the furniture is for comfort and the open hre throws a cheerful glow over the occupants of the room. An old gentleman is reclining in one of the low chairs and on a stool at his feet a slender, golden-haired-woman sits reading aloud to him. The sunlight kisses her bright hair, making a halo around her raised face. It was Jessie Jarvis. She is staying at home, -making her parents' lives happy with the richness and fullness of her love. I see a big, old-fashioned house standing back from the road. A buggy drives up and from it steps a tall woman. just as she reaches the front steps the door is opened and I hear a familiar voice, So you're back, Sallie, come on in, supper is just on the tablef' . - A Soon as I wash my hands, Nell? A It was Sallie Adams and Nell Livesay, who have realized their dream of keeping bachelors hall together. - , In the spray a picture of rare tropical beauty grows. It seems a plantation on one of theafar southern islands. The roomy frame house is surrounded by rows of orange trees. The air is heavy with the scent of the blossoms, and among the foliage the oranges gleam like balls of fire. Two l'13.1U1l1OCkS are swung under the trees and in them are two ladies, reading and sipping from tall glasses some cool drink. The faces come into better view and I see Mamie Addison and Merle Vlfesterman. After teaching for a few years, they bought a planta- tion and are now thoroughly enjoying a life of ease. A fair-haired woman is bending over a desk littered with books and maga- zines, busily writing. I know at once it is Bernie Bruce. I-Ier stories are talked of all-over America. On her desk is a book of poems, the author's name seems familiar even at a distance, as I look closer I see f'Lena Winn. An article in one of the magazines speaks of her as one of the cleverest and most original poets of the day. j . - . ' In a large room, lined with rows and rows of books, I see 1nany people. Some are seated at the tables reading and some are strolling about. Plainly itis a library. I glance casually at the desk and am surprised and pleased to find in the librarian an old schoolmate, Hazel Cole. ' 43

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by the child, but now she stands up to pluck a rose from a nearby bush and I see that it is Pearl Massey. Again the spray shows a wide porch. At one end are two persons. an old lady and a young girl. The lady seems devotedly attached to her companion, and, somehow, 'l learn that she is old, alone. This girl has won her heart, and at her death will inherit her vast fortune. The happy girl, classmates, is Mabel Leidy. It is a crowded church I now see. The soft strains of a violin blend exe quisitely with notes 'of the clear-voiced singer. The song is changed to the triumphant strains of a wedding march, and all eyes are turned expcctantly toward the bridal party. Several of the bridesmaids seem familiar. First, l'-lazelle Gibbs, who is teaching music in a fashionable W'alshington school, ,losephine Rose, head of the Y. WY C. A. work in America. But it is the bride who is the especial target for all eyes. Slowly, leaning on her father's arm, she comes toward the altar. I-Ier eyes are down-drooped and her face is half hidden in the shower of lace, yet I easily recognize the bright face of Virginia Seay, but a new Virginia, for when she raised her lids, her whole soul is shining through her glorious eyes. VVhen the bridal party left, I turned to see who the violinist and organist were. The former was Annie Mae jones and the latter Kathleen Parrish. Both have become famous. It is an old southern city in one of the most fashionable streets. A handsome limousine rolls up and from it steps two ladies. The first is tall, slender, blonde and dressed in the height of fashion. The other is not so tall but stouter. After a word to the chauffeur, they start up the steps. Mrs. --, formerly Elizabeth Staplekamp, one of the most popular young matrons in the city, is one, and the other Mrs. ---, whom we knew as Ivy Osborn. She is spending the winter in her friend's southern home. ' 'I The gray, ghost-like hull of an ocean steamer steals through the mist of early morning into the crowded harbor of Liverpool. As the gang-plank is lowered, the sun bursts through, brightening the scene. In one of the groups are two ladies. - I hope your book will be a success, Miss Starke, one of the gen- tlemen is saying. Eagerly, I look and see Susie and Helen Starke. They are writing a sketch of their European travels, which will be widely read. Q ' The soft light of the moon silvers the waters of a small lake. On it a boat is floating lazily. A girl is seated in the stern of the boat, who droops her head demurely as she listens to the impassioned words of the man. I love you, he is fervently saying, marry me. She glances up with big, soft brown eyes. It is Robbie Blanton. . The curtain has just risen on the opening scene of one of the most talked of plays of the season. Everyone is praising the young actress who has the leading role. I look forward anxiously to find who our star can be. She comes to the front of the stage, and, despite the make-up, I know Vera Warren. - A 45