St Clair High School - Clairvoyant Yearbook (St Clair, MI)

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With his hands clasping hers, they continued their walk until Mrs. Hun- ter called to supper. “1 hate to go in!” Marguerite exclaimed. “Oh! how I love to be out- doors with you, Uncle Don !” The good times came and went. Marguerite plunged more deeply into her studies as a high school junior. Donald Marshall slowly improved in health, and gradually regained his former activities. He still sat by the win- dow as when he had been a convalescent, and watched for his niece as before. One afternoon about two months after his illness he was watching anxi- ously with a pucker on his brow, and a letter in his hand. When Marguerite came in at last he read the letter to her. “In two weeks? In two weeks, Uncle Don? Oh !’’ She jumped up, giv- ing him a vigorous hug and ran to the kitchen where Mrs. Hunter was cook- ing the evening meal. “Daddy is coming in two weeks, Mrs. Hunter. In tw r o weeks! Oh, I m so glad !” She dashed back into the library but stopped short at the expres- sion of sadness on her uncle’s face. ' ( ) Uncle Don! you don’t want me to go! You shall go back with us.” “1 cannot, darling. W hen your father comes you are his alone. But 1 am not unhappy, but too glad for words. I always knew that when your father came to take you back, he would come after he had made good. Let’s plan about his homecoming, and talk about your new life.” They laughed and planned happily, but as Marguerite sat on her footstool at her uncle’s knee, she could not help but think of the ties she must break. The next week and a half was one of continual pleasure. Farewell par- ties were given Marguerite until she was overwhelmed. It was now but four days before the happy hour which would bring Rich- ard Marshall to his daughter. At noon Marguerite came home with the same quick step. Her usual gay whistle stopped in the middle as she saw her uncle with white face, standing near the door with Mrs. Hunter, equally as agitated, beside him. “Uncle Don, are you ill? Oh! something has happened to Daddy, I know,” she cried as she tore a yellow telegram from his fingers. She read it over twice. Her father had been thrown from his horse, and killed! For a second she stood still, with a heart like lead, a death-like face, and wide star- ing eyes. Then she crumpled in a heap in Mrs. Hunter ' s arms, her shoulders heaving in long, racking sobs. The doctor who was called at once said it was a complete nervous break- down. When acquainted with the facts of the past week he announced that it had been caused by too much strain, the shock being the climax. He pre- scribed rest and fresh air for a year, and said she was to remain in bed for a month. How tenderly and lovingly Mrs. Hunter cared for her patient! Often as she sat by Marguerite’s bed she could hear hurried and anxious footsteps as Donald Marshall paced up and down his room. ”It wasn’t entirely the shock of her father’s death that finally caused thi$ breakdown ’ she mused. “She didn’t want to leave her uncle, anyone could tell, and how sad he seemed at the thought of losing her!” She repeated this statement over and over to herself during the days that followed, when Mr. Marshall would come again and again to Marguerite’s door to inquire how 29

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“It ' s a sad tale, dear, but as you say, it is partly your own story. I think J can tell it today. Marguerite rested her face on his arm as the walked, and listened ear- nestly as he began : “Dick and 1 were brothers as different as two young men could be. Dick, as I have pictured him so often to you, darling, was handsome, daring and in- teresting. 1. two years younger, had none of these qualities. Mere Marguerite shook her head, laughingly in denial. He was very popular, resumed her uncle, while no one noticed me. He got into wild ways, however, and at first was inclined to be lazy. But he braced up and got to work. Then one day, at a party, we both met Miss Marguerite Shirley, a newcomer to Hill-top. Dick was twenty-four then, I twenty-two, and we found out that Miss Shirley was twenty-one. Of course, everyone fell in love with her, including Dick and me. Finally, we brothers were the two between whom she was to make her great choice. She chose Dick. hen she told me her decision she said, ‘I want you to remember that, you will always be welcome at our home, and that we want you for our best friend and brother.’ ” That was all; but Marguerite Shirley was mv first and only real love and I never forgot her. After eight years of the happiest wedded life, you. Marguerite, about five years old, were the only child. Then one day Dick invested all their careful savings in a most promis- ing invention, which turned out to be a dismal failure. I think he was partly crazed with the anxiety of it all. He went back to his old, wild ways, and then lost his position. They grew poorer and poorer. One day. Marguerite caught cold while she was going out sewing, which developed int o pneu- monia. She died. The man’s voice was hushed and husky, and there were tears in his eye. . “Before she died she summoned me, and asked me to care for you, dear. 1 promised. Dick came back in time for the funeral, which was held from our old home, shocked and changed by the news of Marguerite’s death. After the services he said, ‘Don, I’m going to be a man, now. I’m going out to a friend s ranch in California, and make good or die. Keep Marguerite until I come for her.’ Then he made you promise that you would always love him, and would be willing to go back with him when he came. I remember that, ' put in the girl softly. He has since sent money for your expenses, and he always says that he will come back sometime. And when he does I must keep my promise. But, O Uncle Don! I don’t want to leave you ! Still, when I think of Daddy being so lonely way off there it seems as if I could make any kind of a sacrifice.” “I know how you feel,” the man whispered, partly to himself. How can I give you up after all these years! Oh, why am I given just a taste of l eaven and then to see you go from me forever! But what am I saying, he continued, rebukingly, I made my promise to Dick. His life has indeed been weary since she died. He must have the reward that he has been striv- ing for all these year! He bent down and kissed the sympathetic sad face at his side. I spoke hastily, darling. However, you cannot help but realize how hard it will be to part. 28

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she was. After the critical clays of her illness were over he was usually si ting with her, reading chapters from the new book he was writing. Whenever Mrs. Hunter came upon him in his study instead of finding him working on his manuscript, he was staring into space with sad, dreary coun- tenance, and eyes that seemed to cry out, and sob for sympathy. Marguerite had regained her calmness but she was still weak and ex- hausted. Once she remarked gravely, “When I am entirely well. Uncle Don, then we shall talk about Daddy, and plan ahead.” “Now, Mrs. Hunter,” she began one morning with her old masterful wav. “I’ve been sitting and walking around in my room long enough. I think I’ll go downstairs today.” “O dearie ! your uncle is away and won ' t be home until about four o’clock this afternoon, and he has looked forward so much to your coming down- stairs.” “Well, of course, then I’ll wait until afternoon.” Her girl chums spent part of the afternoon with her so she was not lone- ly. Donald Marshall smiled happily when he came home, as he heard the shouts of laughter from upstairs. As was his habit now, he sat down by the library window. Soon he heard the girls descending the stairs and it did not take him long to detect Marguerite’s merry voice as she came with them. When her friends had gone she walked over to her uncle’s side. Her face was thin and white but her eyes were just as brown and sparkling as ever. Donald Marshall knew her illness had only intensified his love for her. and the glance that passed between them betokened all the suffering they had gone through. “I ' ll get an armchair and a pillow for you in just a minute,” called Mrs. Hunter from the kitchen. “I don’t want an armchair, Mrs. Hunter. Where did you put my foot- stool ?” “You had better not sit on the footstool, dearie. It hasn’t any back.” “Uncle Don’s arm is better than a chair back any day. Oh, here’s the stool! There Uncle Don! It seems so nice to come ‘back to life’ again.” With her uncle’s arm around her she sat on the foot stool watching the sky. “It’s going to storm I’m sure,” she exclaimed. “See how black the skv is !” The rain soon began to pour down in torrents. As she watched, she said slowly : “Now, Uncle Don, I want you to tell me about Daddy. I’ve waited until I got down here to listen to it. You got a letter, didn’t you, after the tele- gram ?” “Yes, dear. There was hardly anything to tell besides what the telegram said. I have received letters since, however, your father made his will some time ago. T was appointed your guardian. He owned an extensive ranch. Except a little left to me, you get everything, kept for you, of course, until you are of age. The only plans 1 can think of are either to have a tenant care for the ranch or go out there ourselves.” “I knew you’d think of something lovely Uncle Don ! To go out there 30