Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

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merry crowd, and Bob came to claim the first dance with his cousin. Priscilla saw no more of Richard Barstowe until the supper, when she was seated between him and Bob. There was unlimited merriment during the meal, and on a dare Priscilla challenged Richard to a set of ten- nis. He took it quickly, and they agreed to meet the next day at the courts, with the other members of the party as witnesses. When the party broke up and started homeward in various ways, many were the gay salls of reminder for the morrow, which rang out on the clear night air. The following day saw most of them at the courts, and as Priscilla dashed up a trifle late, she found Richard already there, and after a few minutes rest, they began the set. Priscilla had a serve for which she was noted, and knocked the balls over the net so swift and low that Richard had to scoop them up. They were well matched, and at the end of the ninth game he had five games and she four. It was Priscilla’s serve, and never did she do better, and never had Richard been so fleet and deft. The score rose to forty-thirty, and Richard made it deuce. Priscilla be- same excited, he gained the advantage, and then by a turn in her racquet, she lost her game and set. Richard gave a leap over the net, and coming to her side held out his hand. “Tt was a hard fight all right, and you nearly fin- ished me up. Congratulations!” “Oh, it’s not for you to do the congratulating, I am doing that. It certainly was work.” After more congratulations from the watchers for both players, they sat in a shady corner while the others played. Little did Richard Barstowe or any other of these young people enjoying the happy care-free days, think that any cloud of disaster or calamity was overhanging their land. There were wars, and rumors of wars in the world, but it never came home to them until one Saturday evening when the little chapel bell rang furiously, and as the tourists gathered in the church yard, the town sheriff arose and launched into a very thrilling address on patriotism. He ended with the declaration that “our loved and honored land had now dipped her finger into the blood of war,” and chal- lenged all men with honor and patriotism to answer their country’s call. There did not seem to be much definite result to this appeal, but it was a seed sown, and the following day, Richard left the little resort after seeing only Bob McGrane, who later reported that that young man had left partly on account of his father, but chiefly with the intention of taking examinations immediately for the officers’ reserve corp. Many things may happen in four years, and many events did take place in the four years which passed before Richard Barstowe and Priscilla Wright again

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Evening found Priscilla enjoying her usual tate- a-tate with her aunt. “Aunt Helen,” she cried impulsively stooping to bestow a kiss on Mrs. Smith’s cheek, “I just can’t bear to think of going back to school in the autumn, even though it is more than a month off. I’ve had such a wonderful time here, I don’t see how I can go.” “We will certainly miss you, dearie,” said her aunt, “but you come up for your vacations always. But look at the time, Priscilla, run quickly and dress, my child.” Hurrying up to her room, the girl quickly donned a blue taffeta dress, finding slippers and stockings to match, and snatching a wrap she hurried outside where she already heard her cousin, Bob McGrane’s whistle. “Hello Priscilla,’ he greeted her. “Isn’t this a peach of a night?” And indeed it was; cool and quiet and a full moon turning the out-doors into fairy-land. Bob and Priscilla were the best of chums, and it was a common sight to see them together; horseback and galloping about the country, playing tennis, or strolling far down the beach. Bob had taken a special interest in the recuperation of his cousin, and in doing what he termed his duty, the two had become fast friends. It was not far to the Donovan home, a spacious and attractive bungalow, and on the way Bob told her about a new fellow who was to be there. “He’s a peach of a kid, too,” declared Bob, “and a shark at tennis. I never saw a prettier player.” 11 be the fellow I met the other “Is he athletic-looking and “I wonder if he can morning,” said Priscilla. rather tall?” “Yes, I guess that’s most of the inhabitants new.” Arriving at the party they found most of the young people already there, and the broad veranda had its share of them. As Bob and Priscilla came up the steps they were greeted with calls of welcome, and likewise as they entered the living-room. to greet their hostess. Later, as Priscilla turned from a group, at the touch of Mrs. Donovan’s soft hand upon her arm, she found Richard Barstowe standing at Mrs. Donovan’s side, and herself being presented to him. “Miss Wright and I have met before I believe,” said Richard rather uncertainly, as he took her ex- tended hand. “Yes,” laughed Priscilla, “under quite different cir- cumstances,” and she graphically told of their meeting on the country road. “Then you are already quite acquainted,” said the gracious lady, “and I will leave him in your care, my dear.” Priscilla took him over to the group she had just left, and having introduced him to all there—they chattered gaily until strains of music from the Victrola, which inevitably suggested dancing, broke up the the one. Anyway you know of this little village, and he’s

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met. It was early dusk of a cool October night when a young man walked briskly along the beach of that same small summer resort. His head was thrown back and he was breathing deeply of the fresh salty air. His thoughts were far from the present circumstances, and he was thinking of the change in himself in those few years, while the little resort remained the same. There was the same old baggage man, who knew the history of every one who had ever visited the village; the same old station, and likewise the same exquisite scenery of beach and ocean. What was it that was not the same? He could not quite tell. These reflections were brought suddenly to a stop by his turning a sand hill and seeing a black-clad figure beneath a wind- blown cypress tree. He feared he had been seen, but finding he had not, he watched more closely. It was a girl clad in the deepest mourning. She had thrown back her veil, showing a mass of golden hair, piled loosely on her head. Her deep blue eyes were filled with tears, and raised to the grey heavens, and her small hands were outstretched in mute appeal. Sud- denly she closed her eyes and clinched her fists, the soft red mouth stiffened, and her chin took a determined line. She turned away, and drawing her veil down over her face, walked the opposite way, slowly, a pathetic little figure in the gathering dusk. Astonished, the man stood looking after her, and when he could no longer distinguish her from the shad- 13 ows, he walked slowly back to the inn to spend a thoughtful and restless night. The following day he made some inquiry, show- ing only a casual interest, with the result that he went to the post office, asking for the name Wright. The old postmaster’s eye grew misty when he at last caught the name. “Miss Priscilla? Yes, indeed. It’s a sad case, a sad case,” and he shook his head in ominous sorrow, as he looked up the address. Receiving the address, Richard set out to find it. He had already made sure that she was not at the old home of her aunt, where she had lived that summer so long ago, and the address just given him proved to be in the opposite direction. At last he came to the house, and found a small bungalow, surround- ed by a large garden. The house was plain save for a large low porch, upon which there were numerous couches, chairs, and rugs, and in a swinging chair, the cushions were disarranged and lay open. The front door was partially ajar, and Richard lifted the knocker lightly, but when no one came, he knocked sharply. After several min- utes of waiting, he turned to go when a girl ran around the corner of the porch, and Priscilla Wright stood be- fore him, a girl, and yet not a girl. Some strange sor- row had made her face sadly more beautiful, more than the mere girlhood beauty she had had. a book