Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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bim plum to sea. He never meant fer Molly ter be livin’ in that dark old shack down on them lonesome rocks all these years. N ' ’taint right she did, neither; no sir, ’taint right.” “But, captain, ain’t we done everything in our power ter get her ter come up on the bay. But no, sir, she ain’t goin’ ter leave the house Jim built her; it’s good enough fer her and it’s good enough fer her boys, and them poor little kids, with no education, no fun, no nothin’. That scranny little Dave a sittin’ there day in and day out with nary a thing ter break ther monotony. His big, brown eyes so wistful, ’bout breaks my heart every time I go down there; an that Chester, sakes he just scares me clean thru every time he looks at me, so sullen and morose. Some day he—My land, there goes that good fer nothin’ Bertolini boy a drivin’ his cows right over my vegetables. Seems like a body’d have sense enough to—” Martha ’s voice floated back to Captain Cris, as she rushed to save her poor garden, the brisk sea wind blowing her clothes around her spare figure and loosening the white hair which was bound in a firm pug at the back of her neck. Captain Cris’s eyes twinkled as she descended on the culprits, but shadowed again as he gazed at another figure scarcely discern¬ ible on the rocks that rose in a jagged line from the sea that threw and drew its line with the skill of a veteran, and he sor¬ rowfully shook his head as he turned on his. way. Meanwhile the gaunt figure on the rocks continued with her pole and line. The wind flapped a ragged skirt against Page 17

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Sebastopol (First Prize Poem) By MILDRED CROSBY, 21 The gentle hills come sloping ’down To the very feet of my little town, And over the valley and far away The mountains guard her night and day. At night the moon and her gentle beams Keep silent watch where the Lagoon gleams Like a silver thread through the meadows white, Keep silent watch till the dawn of light. And thol I may wander away in time, Still always you’ll keep this heart of mine. My heart’s where the soft green hills slope down And the mountains guard you, little town. Page 16

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her bare, bony legs and the bare feet clung to the rocks with the tenacity of a devil-fish. She wore an old sweater over her worn blouse, but the sweater was frayed and holey as the blouse; her hair hung in uncombed strands about her leatheij face, hair that was once black and tidy, now dirty and streaked with white. Hard lines had settled around the straight, firm lips and dark eyes; eyes that looked on all the world with hatred and envy. Who else had suffered as she, whose hus¬ band had been washed to sea under their very eyes, and who else had been left with only two helpless boys, a lonely cabin, and a heart that ached so unceasingly that one could only walk the wet shore night after night. She had, and the world blamed her for keeping her crippled Dave and sturdy Chester on that dreary, roaring coast. Yet the sea had taken her husband, and the sea must yield her a living; she would not, she could net leave that calling sea, let the world say what it would. Skilfully she drew in her line; only a half dozen lay in the basket she caught up from the ground; hardly enough for supper. Well, tomorrow she and Chester would have to go up to the bay and dig clams; Smith Bros, wanted an extra lot this week. Swiftly she swung along homeward. A great bank of fog was rolling in and soon she wouldn’t be able to see two feet in front of her. As she neared tbe cabin, huddled down at the foot of a great rock bank, it looked somewhat strangely dark and forlorn. Why? She couldn’t understand. It had always looked that way ever since Jim had gone, yet tonight it seemed to look so much worse. Dave’s pinched face was not looking eagerly from his window; he had seemed feverish and dull-eyed this morning. Perhaps, perhaps—nervoush she opened the door. All was dark and quiet inside. Quickly she turned to Dave’s chair, where he had sat so patiently all his short life, but it was empty; not even the worn blanket was left. “ Chester, Dave,” she called, but it only echoed and re - echoed in the emptiness. Turning to the doorway she cupped her hands around her mouth, calling, 4 ‘Chester—Chester Chester.” No answer, and the thick fog blotting everything from sight; where and how had they gone? Molly turned and started for the road that led along the top of the cliffs. Her eyes were flashing dangerously, her mouth was drawn in a grim line. It was dark and her clothes were ringing wet Page 18