Bridgewater State University - Alpha Yearbook (Bridgewater, MA)

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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.

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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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NORMAL OFFERING 25 The old timepiece still performs its duty faithfully, but it cannot be heard in the violent outburst of misery and horror. Again the walls of the room repeat the exclamations and pleadings. My boy, my own, my all! What is life? Mere empty, vacant nothing! War, brutal War, savage War !-Take me, kill me, and lay a cross on my breast. War, you are my god! You took my boy 3-take me ! The cries change to a semblance of insanity, and again the weary head droops, and all is still le-Xcept the faithful old clock on the mantlepiece. Instantaneously, the soft mellow rays of the lamp are trans- formed into a star of flashing brilliance, and the center of the room is veiled in a faint, grey cloud of mist. A deep, quiet voice from within the veil utters the words, HMother, be still. The veil soon vanishes and in the center of the carpeted floor stands a youth,-a man,-a soldier. His eyes beam and sparkle with heavenly joy and love, and his erect, stalwart figure, clothed in a uni- form of khaki, seems to tingle with life and vigor, -hypnotizing and magnetic. His features are radiant with happiness and good will, and his black, glossy hair shines in a halo of brilliance. He silently crosses the room and places his strong and sturdy hand upon the bent and silvery head. Mother, my Mother, I am here. I have come to you. Can't you hear me? Look at me, Mother ! The almost muffled tone expresses sympathy and suspense, akin to pain. Mother, be not afraid. I am with God, my God, your God, God of all mankind, the Creator of all. I have given my earthly life to Him, for my country's sake, for the sake of humanity, for the sake of the future generation, for your sake g and yet you grieve and moan, and bury yourself in misery, sorrow, and dismal melancholy. Mother, dear, lift your eyes heavenward and be thankful, pour forth from your soul and 'lips words of praise and devotion. Rejoice! be proud of your son. f Although my bones lie with others in the realm of the dead, I am living, I am at peace with my Maker. Listen to me, Mother dear. The bent form in the rocking chair lifts itself and staggers. The silvery head shines in glorious splendor, the dark eyes glitter with an unknown, almost supernatural light, the wan cheeks flush a deep rose, and the lips are transformed with an unearthly smile. The feeble hands reach out and cling to something,-and slowly,