Bridgewater State University - Alpha Yearbook (Bridgewater, MA)

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NORMAL oFFER1NG 23 There is some work I should you like you to do, he said, slowly, that is, if you want the dog enough to work for him. Sup- pose we go up to the house and talk the matter over. He looked at his watch. Your people will not be anxious about you, will they ? Andie grinned sheepishly. Nobody'll worry 'bout me,'9 he replied, digging his toes into the soft earth. Uncle Jock's busy 'nough without bothering 'bout me, sir. ' They walked up to the big white house together, with Rags gam- boling before them. Somehow the awe he had previously felt for the master of Crawford, when on various occasions the elderly gentleman drove through the town, had changed into a happy ,feeling of trust and reverence. Andie's heart swelled with a new pride. PK Pk P14 PF P14 bk Ik 24 Pk PK 214 Years have passed since that sultry summer day, and still down by the duck pond towards evening a distinguished white-haired old gentleman and a tall youth often walk. Andie has not betrayed the trust which Mr. Nielson had in him and which he tested that after- noon so long ago, and the old man is proud of the son he has adopted. Andrew MacGregor did not mean to be a thief. In fact, in the financial world he has made a name for himself,-a name that stands for truth and honesty. Adelaide H. Huard Nnrmal 0Bffrring Normal Offering, the pride of all, Opens its door at a single call, Revealing to readers its wealth within, Musings of minds of many a kin. And so unto this day 'tis said, Little's the thing that's left unread. Other things may catch our glance, From Boston,fTexas, or even France, From far and wide may fame be spread, Even the books we may have read Remain with us from year to year, Into our hearts to bring good cheer,-yet Never, we know, to hold the sway, Gained by UN. O. in every way. Mary Hurley

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22 NORMAL OFFERING The deed was done. In another moment Andie had reached the picket fence and was about to clamber through with his precious burden, when on his shoulder he felt the weight of a strong hand. His heart stood still in his bosom. Like the Spartan youth of old, who concealed a fox in his tunic, Andie faced the man who had detained him, with a detached and innocent air. You enjoy my garden, lad? asked a kindly voice. The boy looked askance at the tall elderly man in flannels. He wondered if he had heard aright, and if the blue eyes that twinkled so humorously under shaggy grey brows were not those of some phantom in his own brain. Kindness was rare in Andie's experience. Yes, sir, he replied, non-committally. i I often spend the afternoon in this part of the garden when it is hot, the man went on, smiling down at Andie the while, and I have envied you your daily privilege of rolling down to the duck pond. Andie marvelled. Rags squirmed uneasily. It made me remember the days when a swimming hole was the greatest delight, Mr. Nielson was saying. 'I've often wanted to talk to you, but hated to spoil your fun. You seem fond of one of the Irish terriersg if you like,- A horrible feeling of remorse swept over Andie's soul. All that was good in the lad came to the surface before this man's gentleness. He felt an unfamiliar shame for having stolen. Mr. Nielson, he stammered, interrupting the quiet voice, please, please don't say any more. Yes, I do love Rags, he's a great pal, and-I've always wanted a dog- Mr. Nielson nodded kindly, but a sudden embarrassment pos- sessed Andie. Rags was whining softly, being unable to understand his strange position. A lVIr. Nielson 1 Andie cried in distress. 6I stole your dog! He's here in my blouse-but I'll work to pay for him. I'll dig potatoes, I'll weed your garden. I'll do anything! If you'l1 only, only- Andie broke down. Rags, released, scampered to the ground happy to be again at liberty. Mr. Nielson laid his arm across the shoulders of the miserable boy. He had hoped that he would confess. Day after day his inter- est in the lad augmented as he watched him at play, and he had counted a great deal on the goodness buried deep under the apparent unworthiness.

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24 NORMAL OFFERING Mer Glrnzz IGHT has unfolded her cloak, and the earth is wrapped in ' darkness. Not one of the millions of tiny twinkling lamps is burning in the heavens, not even the most wonderful and brilliant of all lamps,--the moon. The little house at the top of the hill is enshrouded in a heavy and obscure veil of blackness,--suggesting gloom and death. The wild north wind howls and shrieks around the corners of the little house, and whistles through the tall, stately pine trees. The ocean below roars in mad fury, beating and lashing against the jagged rocks on the shore, as if to battle against them. The little house is still and within, the room is still, save for the slow and steady rhythm of the ancient clock on the mantlepiece. Suddenly the deep silence is broken by a faint and mysterious rustle, the moving of a chair and the passage of footsteps lightly over the carpeted floor. A slight scratching on the wall, and behold, a light is struck! It flickers and soon the room is bathed in mellow rays of light, glimmering their hitherto forbidden way into the utmost corners of the little room. It is dazzling, almost blinding, at first, but its rays soon reveal the bent, silvery head of a little old lady in a rocking chair, with a burnt match in her fingers. The match drops to the floor beneath her, and she lifts her face, pale and wrinkled with care and sorrow, to the light. Her once bright and sparkling eyes are now faded orbs of dullness, and traces of wet tears linger on her cheeks and eye- lashes 3 her expression is sad and pathetic, almost heart-rending. Within a clenched fist a bit of heavy, striped green and red silk ribbon gleams in the light, and dangling below the ribbon is a bronze cross-a croiX de guerref' She wrings it within her hands in nervous frenzy, touches the metal to her lips, and, flinging it to the most deso- late corner of the room in mad hysteria, bursts into choking sobs and moans. The cross lies on the floor, only a fragment of cursed metal, of even less consequence than dust.