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

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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

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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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1 If 1, il ls 1 l I if A ii ll tl ,li lg -1 -I X 1 I r- 3 l 1 I 5. r 3 3 I . 5 1 l f l I . I hear thunderous applause again, and a vast auditorium comes plainly into view. It is a scene of magical beauty that I see, for the stage is literally covered in flowers. VV hen theapplause dies away the singer begins in a rich, contralto voice, which rings clearly through the building. The deep, sweet notes are familiar. I know they can only belong to Elizabeth Wicker. I am even more proud of 1ny classmates when I see that her accompanist is Mary jones. I see several rows of girls taking physical culture exercises. One at the end of the line does wrong and the teacher shows her the right way. As she comes forward, I see more clearly and it is Helen Whitlock, physical culture in- structress and coach in one of the big northern colleges. A large store, Hlled with all things dear to a woman's heart, comes into view. A young woman is seated before a long mirror, she is evidently seeing the effect of the beautiful hat she has on., Something in her manner shows me that she is purchasing her trousseau. Everything about her is so' pretty that I envy her a little. I wait patiently for her to remove her hat so I can tell who she is. She stands and looks over her shoulder at the refiection of the long, graceful plume, then she lifts it off and I see Nora Parsons. ' No more pictures will rise in the spray. My brain is dulling. Vainly I peer forward for I have not seen my destiny. I feel a light touch on my shoulder, and, turning, I see the fairy, who says gently, The destinylof others you have seen, your own is denied to you. One never believes one's own future. She smilingly waved her wand. I foundthe. fountain and garden fading g it all seemed a dream. And so, dear classmates, before the memory of that dream fades, I tell you what I saw in the magic fountain.