Anna Head School - Nods and Becks Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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It is a shabby brown house, set in a wide yard ’mid many trees, among which is old “Ellen Tree,” the Alcott girls’ favorite make- believe steed. After exploring the beautiful shady yard, we entered a narrow hall, to the left of which is a large living room. Here the fire- place is the center of attraction, for near it stands Mr. Alcott’s book- table, his wife’s easy-chair, and Beth’s footstool. In the corner rests the famous “sausage pillow” with which poor Laurie received many a pummelling from the four gay sisters. At the head of the stairs is Beth’s bedroom, which was once occupied by the inimitable Amy as evidence of which the naughty child had ornamented both walls and woodwork with pencil drawings of all kinds. There are angels in flowing robes, and handsome men with remarkably perfect noses, as Amy’s drawings were her only con- solation for her own turned-up little nose. All these works of art show the remarkable talent which was Amy’s. To keep curious fingers from marring them they have been covered with small pieces of plateglass. In the upper hall stands a glass cabinet, in which are preserved the fearful and wonderful costumes which the girls used for their dramatic performances. With the costumes wrere programs of their shouts supplied by a sympathetic and good-natured printer. We had yet another flight of steps to climb. Who does not remem- ber Jo’s literary attempts in the garret, with only a pet rat for com- pany? We looked upon her old writing desk and pen with some reverence, thinking of the patient woman whose genius gave so much to the world. Every article of furniture is some reminder of the beautiful family life that the worn house knew; even Beth’s piano stands in the parlor, and there are portraits of those cherubs of childhood. “Daisv” and “Demi.” When I left the place it seemed as though I had talked with every person who lived there, so marked was the place with the homey atmos- phere that also pervades the writings of the family’s most lovable and talented member,—Louisa M. Alcott. Ruth Stogsdill, ’27. I 21 1

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leaves, woven together with a rope of cocoanut fiber. Her sleep was calm and sound, but when Solosolo bent over her, he saw that the mat beneath her cheek was wet with tears. He wakened her tenderly, and for a moment the young girl lay sobbing in her lover's arms. Then she whispered a message to her most beloved attendant, and fled into the silver moonlight. The last of her sorrow seemed to drop from her, as they ran like a pair of woodland fauns, filling the air with soft laughter. Once away from the island Solosolo sang, and Falealili joined with her crooning voice, and the waters seemed the silver path of their dreams. Reaching the cave, and securing the pawpaw, Solosolo took in his arms the slender body of his sweetheart, and swam with her under the water. The passage was dark and dangerous, and sixty feet through to the cavern. But Solosolo was clever and striving, he at last reached the cave. It was blacker than a long charred copra skin, this lonely ’ gulf of a cavern, but Solosolo guided her to the soft mats he had laid for her, and there these brown children slept until morning. Falealili was happy in her cave, and every night Solosolo came with taro, cocoanuts, pigeons and breadfruit, and told her of the falai he was building on another island. In time, they left the friendly hiding place and went to live in the beautiful new falai, where they were happy ever after, for the brown children are truly immortal in their land of romance and beauty, as well as in their love. Catherine Stembridge, '28. (Awarded second prise Nods and Becks Literary Contest, 1926.) A Visit to Louisa M0 Aleott9s Home During a whirlwind visit to the interesting vicinity of Boston I became s o satiated with the events of Revolutionary history that in Concord one day I almost missed one of the happiest experiences of my life. I had read ‘‘Little Women” something over four times, so it was with a feeling of happy anticipation that I walked with a small group of people to the steps of Miss Alcott’s home. [20]

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 Come nymph, hide not behind the knotted oaks, Regarding me with thy wild, fearful eyes. With such a gaze the wounded roebuck looks Upon the hunter, as in death he lies. What? At my gentle words she frightened flies Into the dark protection of the grove. And running in her futile terror cries, “Oh father! Father Jupiter, above, Let not his man approach me with his mortal love!” 1 would embrace thee; thou art young and fair, Thy lips are rosy and invite a kiss. Oh let me hold thee, let me stroke thy hair, Bind it with flowers. All I ask is this. She trembles as I near her. Ah, the bliss That I shall feel when first I put my arm Around her slender waist, when first I kiss Her mouth. She should not fear me. If I harm Her, may I die at once beneath Diana’s charm. Why dost thou struggle like a poor snared thing? 1 have thee, but I’ll gladly let thee go When thou hast kissed me. Now, if thou wilt bring Thy lips to mine, and press them gently—so— What is the matter? Her wild heart heats slow As if Death held her in his iron hand And would not let her, though protesting, go. She's limp as wilted flower, and cannot stand— She’s fallen softly on the golden river sand. 1 22]