James Madison University - Bluestone Schoolmaam Yearbook (Harrisonburg, VA)

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Triolet I set my cap for him, I did, Because I liked his looks and ways ; When first I saw that brown-eyed kid. I set my cap for him, I did. I guess I should have run and hid ; He left my mind in such a haze. I set my cap for him, I did. Because I liked his looks and ways. — Ruth Behrens FIVE-YEAR old Jimmie came home crying. Aluvver, he wailed, Brownie bited me! Why, Sonny, where? gasped his frightened parent. On my knee. Still sobbing, he held up the injured member. The skin was unbroken, but a little red spot showed that the dog had snapped at it. But, Jimmy darling, Brownie has never snapped at anyone before. What did you do to him? He ' s a good dog. Nuffin ' . He jist bited me. Think, dear. Didn ' t you hurt him in any way? Nome, the child insisted. I was jist playin ' , an ' he come up and bited me. No more information was to be gained by Jimmie ' s worried mother until that night. The child knelt and said his prayers as usual, but added this petition : And God, please don ' t let Brownie bite me again when I pull his tail. — Winifred Warren Sponges I SAT in my lecture class, drowsy and inert as the smooth continuous flow of the professor ' s words fell uninterruptedly on the ears, interested and uninterested, of his students. These students took down his words obediently in a notebook partitioned off for this and other courses, writing automatically and thoughtlessly the words of the learned teacher. Some day, I knew, we would memorize them and give them back to the teacher, only very slightly tarnished, at a time when he would require them. Once in a while 1 looked out of the window at the mountains in the distance and dreamed beautiful day- dreams that gladden the heart of man}- a youth — and never materialize. But all the time mv pen formed on paper the written symbols that represented the words of the lecturer. I was relaxed and comfortable in my assurance that no unseemly outburst of discussion, or heated exchange of opinion would shock my dormant intellect into action ; and so I dreamed on — and lazily reproduced on paper the thought issuing from the teacher ' s brain. —V. K. S. [217]

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Tragedy THE tears streamed from her eyes and tell upon the trembling hand which held the knife. I can not do it. Then she thought of her husband. She could see the sneer of disgust upon his face when he had learned of her failure. No, she must do it! He should not call her coward! With stiffened spine and lips set tight, she plunged the knife to its hilt. A soft ooze moistened her ringers. The smell of it sickened her. She shut her eyes. Then with a gasp, she stretched forth her hand and tossed the offending onion into the soup without further cutting. — Sallie Scales Irony THIS is one of those houses whose very appearance spells charm. Perhaps the most appealing feature about it is the door, an apple green door, with a brass knocker. It seems to say, Come in. The house itself is one of those little white cottages with little green blinds. It doesn ' t sit; it doesn ' t squat nil the smooth green lawn, as some authors say about some houses in their books. It just seems to grow out from the ground with a collar of small evergreens encircling it. The winding path of stepping stones which leads down to the water is dotted along the edges with flowers — hearty bright zin- nias, sassy nasturtiums: and in the spring violets push up unceremoniously in the grass between the sunken rocks. The whole atmosphere is tinged with romance, happiness, contentment. Bitt a solitary old maid lives here with her retinue of cats, goldfish, and parrots. — Catherine Bard Box-Seat SHE sat in the fr ont seat of the box evidently rapt in the tender love-scene of the Wagnerian opera. Her gleaming white shoulders, rounded into beautiful curves, lent a sharp contrast to the black velvet of her expensive gown. Her naturally golden hair swept in a glorious succession of waves from her high intellectual forehead and accentuated a profile of delicate beauty As the curtain fell on the last exulting note of the hero she leaned grace- fully toward her escort and in a soft musical voice murmured, That guy is some squawker; ain ' t he? — Bettv Bush [216]

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Character Portrayals HE is always immaculate. As he enters the room a faint odor of ivory soap accompanies him — he does not smell at all like a little hoy. Twice during an hour he takes out a comb and carefully smooths h!s hair. Other boys despise him and call him sissy. I ' m not so sure that I like him myself. She reminds me of sunlight on a rough sea, with her golden hair, her blue eyes, and her never-ceasing movement. At first 1 was afraid of him until 1 learned that his sophisticated ways are only a camouflage and that underneath this shell he is as timid as I. Whenever he asked me a question, his eyes seemed to challenge, Now I ' ve got you. I wonder if he ever knew how my heart sank when he raised his hand. He sat there in his desk gazing through the window and not listening at all to the discussion. He was watching a buzzard soar through the air and dreaming of the day when he would become an aviator and soar just as easily. I couldn ' t blame him. I, too, like to look out of the window and dream of the time when I shall be a real teacher instead of merely an apprentice. She sits on the very front row, looking up into my face as if absorbing everv word. She nods her head approvingly or disapprovingly, as the case mav he. She seems all interest, and yet when I call on her she starts guiltily, blushes, and stammers, I didn ' t get the question. — Babs Stratton When he sauntered into the room that first claw I saw nothing hut a wide expanse of expressionless face. When he shuffled past me, I had vis mis of lumbering beasts of the jungle. As I looked at him sink into his desk, it seemed incredible that a human being could appear so utterly blank. I will not embarrass him by ask ng him a question during the period. Hut at the begin- ning of the class, he raised his hand and said, Did you read the account of the proceedings of the World Court in the morning paper? A timid boy was John. He always seemed embarrassed when I called upon him in class. Such a quiet taciturn youth, I noticed that he never played with the rest of the boys during recess, but, rather, staved in the classroom, reading a book. If 1 addressed him out of class, he reddened profusely and walked away. He was unusually polite for a boy of his age, and always spoke in a calm, low-pitched voice, until one day I caught him reading a novel in class, and told him he must stay in after school as a penalty. I ' ll he d — d if I ' ll stay in after school just for that, he blurted. —Prudence Spoon er [218]