Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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Across the Tombigbee on a Ferry The stillness of early morning was everywhere. As we drove noiselessly over the soft, white, sandy road no signs of life were visible among the thick woods on either side of us. But listen ! “What is that tremendous rushing sound in the distance?” I asked. “O. that’s the river, and we are going to cross it soon.” I was told. And in a few minutes as we rounded a sharp curve in the road, we saw ahead of us and far below a swiftly moving, swollen stream of muddy, foam-covered water wending its way in and out between high, rocky and mossy banks. As we slowly descended the steep incline it seemed as if we should be tumbled headlong into the stream. There was no bridge in view and I wondered what we should do. Just then we reached a landing and stopping the horses, the driver gave a loud whoop. A man appeared on the opposite shore, and loosening a large, flat, bridge-like boat from the banks, stepped into it and started across the river. As he approached we noted the ease and skill with which he guided the boat over the water, first up and then down stream and going diagon- ally across it all the time. W hen he reached the bank on which we were waiting, the ferry was even with the landing and he soon made it fast with stout chains which clanged loudly as they were moved. Our horses, impatient from standing, rushed rapidly on the boat. It rocked beneath the weight of the load. The ferryman loosed the chains and with a few strokes of his oar sent us into midstream. At that moment a flock of wild ducks rose from the water and flew swiftly away quacking loudly. The horses started! then reared and piling ed. The driver exerted his utmost strength to control them. The ugly waters seemed ready to swallow us up. The strain grew more intense every moment. Just when it looked as if the horses could not be controlled any longer, the ferryman with one mighty stroke, brought us to land—a second more and the boat was fast. The horses rushed forward. They reached the shore, but tired from their struggle for freedom, retarded their pace- An exclamation of jov went up from each of us as we cast a backward glance on the hungry waves. Frances Ozanne, Ti.

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a day longer ' came in a chorus from the other two. “Somebody’ll have to walk the six miles to town and tell Uncle Most to come for the things- 1 11 be glad to go, if you will just cook breakfast. continued Maud. “All right. said Marion, “and just as soon as it’s daylight let’s start packing. Still it was noon before Maud returned with Uncle Mosc and the wagon. Everything was ready for departure. “You ladies be in a mighty hurry ter git back, ma’am,” remarked the old negro as he clucked to the mule. “Yes, Uncle Mose. said Maud reminiscently. “It was a rather sudden decision, but you see we liked to eat even though we were camping. We are not simple enough for the simple life. As for myself. I’ll take a school room full of stupid children any day rather than have bats crawling through my hair. After all. there’s something more nerve-racking than book-keeping, and that is to stay awake all night listening to a screech owl. (live me an office boss in preference.” said Marion fervently. “And I’ve had enough nature for a while. added Mable. “plain, uninteresting humanity is more agreeable company for breakfast than a toad frog. Uncle Mose only chuckled and patted Clincher knowingly. Marv E. Forbes. ’ 11. NIGHT The sun sinks low. and his colors smolder and die: The shadows deepen, waver and quiet lie. Aloft in his massive belfry, the curfew tolls the knell. And the curtain of Night falls downward in answer to the bell. The evening star twinkles and beckons. afar in her misty home. And the pale moon of summer, sails in a sea of foam : The leaves about me whisper and nod like witches old. While the fairies in the roses their little wings unfold.. About me a velvety darkness holds the mystery of the Night. Above me the white clouds flit like birds in swift flight; Then from out of the deep, dark garden. where the roses shudder like ghosts. Comes a flood of sweetest melody, fit for the God of Hosts. The last note dies and flutters, the night wind laughs and sighs. The pale, sweet wraiths of evening count the minute as it flies. The leaves in their high tower mock the wind in his fight. For about and above me flutters—the mystery of the Night. Irene YValdhorst, 14.

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Angels in Disguise It was a curving l it of road, dappled with cool shadows and flecked with golden light. The automobile seemed to have been wonderfully affected by - the beauty of the scene, for it stood still—as still as though it were rooted to the spot, From under the car came the only signs of man himself—a pair of well-shod feet and muffled and uncomplimentary things about an auto that always picked out the loneliest places to rest in. Just as the protesting sound of a wrench drowned the man’s voice, a collie thrust her dainty, graceful bead from the thicket fringing the road, then a horse poked out an enquiring nose, and soon both came into full view—a thoroughbred horse bearing a beautiful. warm tinted girl, and a slim brown dog—a living picture in brown. For a while they stood gazing at the ridiculous. pitiful picture before them, then the girl laughed gaily. “A. B. C.. aren’t you ashamed to ruin the view with that old buzzer of yours?” The feet wriggled wildly, and finally there emerged a very hot and dusty and surprised young man. “Patricia! Good Lord, how did you get here? I thought we had escaped each other at last.” “Well, that’s not a very cordial greeting. but 1 feel just about the same way. Why didn’t we compare notes before we ran away? How is 1222?” she a k-ed solicitously. “Sick as usual,’’ disgustedly. “Do you know where there is a garage?” “About two miles down the road there is a little town with a garage. It’s the chief industry of the place—all the motorists going from Birmingham to Montgomery pass through it—and they won’t in the least mind coming out for 1222- Let’s go now and tell them about it. “Thanks. I'm ready. How are you, My Lady? said Conroy to the dog. “My Lady and Mv Lord and 1 are all very well. What I want to know is how you happened to be here.” “It's this way.” said the young man gravely as they went slowly down the shady road. “After you left. Mother talked to me every day as if 1 had driven you awav. I told her it was of no use. that we weren’t in love with each other, and the only reason you left was because she and your mother wanted us to be. but she wouldn't see it that way. So I left. I have been through Kentucky. Tennessee and Alabama, and here 1 had to run into you.” “Don’t accuse yourself of that at least. It was I who bumped into you. T happen to be here because mv uncle. Judge Carew, lives here, and I thought it was the farthest place 1 could find. “You were right about that, but fate ordained otherwise.” There was a long pause. Finally Conroy asked. “How’s Jerry ? Patricia blushed. “I haven’t seen nor heard from Jerry since I have been here. I guess lie's forgotten 1 ever existed. Have you seen Eloise lately?” Same here. She acted awfully queer the last time I saw her. and I haven’t heard a word from her. I don’t even know where she is. But listen, you are wrong about Jerry. Last time I saw him. he was in North Alabama, fifteen miles from the railroad. The train stops at the nearest junction once a day, and then when lie’s at work. They work from “kin to kaint up there. And I rather think that he thought—” I know, and it does seem hard.—It’s queer about Eloise. She never mentioned your name last time I saw her, and just before I came here, she went to Louisville to visit an aunt of hers, old Miss Lovett. That in itself is strange, because the old lady is the