Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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“This way.” whispered the Bohemian gypsy ami broke into a run. The girl followed, her breath coining in excited little gasps. Then she gave a erv of surprise. Before them loomed a huge, rusty iron gate set in a tall wall. Through the bars of the gate they could see a wilderness of a garden. In the midst of the tangle rose a red brick house, overrun with ivv, windows and doors choked with vines and roses. The man looked at the girl beside him. “Can’t we get in?” she asked. “It’s like the Enchanted Castle of the Sleeping Beauty.” The Bohemian gypsy tried the gate but it was chained and barred from the inside. “Perhaps there’s a secret door.” the girl suggested hopefully. Together they stole along the wall and on the western side they found a small red door, buried in a mass of honeysuckle. They lifted it aside for their belief in fairies told them not to tear it. The man pushed with all his strength and the little red door creaked open. In the garden he turned and smiled. “ Xren't you coming? he asked. It’s a beautiful garden.” The Girl peeped into the garden, then met the Bohemian gypsy’s eyes squarely. “I’m afraid.” she confessed. Just plain afraid. You see. it’s sort of sacred looking. It makes me feel as if I were entering where I ought not. It makes me think of every little worldly thing I’ve ever done. It’s so natural!“ The man nodded. If he had laughed at her as most people did. except the Practical Man who took her moods seriously, she would have run away. But the Bohemian gypsy did not—that was why he was the Bohemian gvpsy. “Yes. he replied, “it makes you feel as if our soul was patched. O. cried the Girl, “you do understand!” She touched the gate with gentle lingers. “It's—it’s my idea of Paradise. she said. And then afraid that he thought her irreverent, she hurried on. My governess always told me that Paradise was like a Dutch village. Of course, she did not say that. She was too religious, hut her descriptions were of that style. I was dread-fullv stubborn and I was so afraid that if I though like she did. I d grow up to he like her. that I pictured Paradise like this. The Girl paused and again the man spoke. “You believe in just pure, simple, wonderful beauty. She nodded eagerly. “Do you think.” she questioned hesitatingly, “it would he wrong to explore? An odd smile Hashed over the Bohemian gypsy’s face. I want the adventure. How about your recklessness? The girl ran through the gate. They made their way to the house through a tangle of flowers and shrubherv. They skirted the silent building and then climbed the front steps. Tiptoeing across the warped porch they peeped in the windows but could see nothing, “Those windows are draped. said the Bohemian gypsy and little crawly feelings danced up thq Girl’s spine. “We’ll have to break in the door. continued the man. • At the first touch the door opened. IIow odd!’’ breathed the Girl excitedly. It’s an dventure. whispered the man and they stepped in together. It seemed as if thev had walked into a sunset cloud, for all was a soft, clear vcllew. See. said the man. “the windows are covered.’’ They wandered through the rooms, all furnished in quaint style. Again in the lower hall they paused before going out. The Girl turned to the Bohemian gypsy. “There must he a trap-door or a secret drawer somewhere. she cried excitedly, “let's search. As she came to her end of the wall she stopped and gave a little whistle iS

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little girl hope, that it would he a wild animal. The Spring was in her blood and the restless youth of her cried out for excitement. Gradually a slow murmur broke into the stillness of the woods and the Girl paused and listened. “A creek!” she cried, joyously and ran toward the sound. On the side of a splashy little brook, she stopped and laughed, a happy, contented laugh. “A creek with white pebbles in the bottom! She tilted her head toward a sedate old tree. “You needn't listen or look, for I may shock your sense of propriety, but—honest, I'm going in wading! Five minutes later, slippers swung over her arm, skirt held to the ankle, the Girl splashed joyously down the stream. Once when a blue-bird flew from a tree, she dropped her skirts and gave a clear high cry—just because she was glad to be alive. It was then that she saw the man. “Goodness! cried she, and flushed because she remembered her shoes. Then she looked at him again. “Why,” cried the Girl in breathless curiosity, •‘can you he the shadow self of a very practical man?” The man on the bank shook his head. “No,” lie said bitterly. “I'm just myself—a Bohemian gypsy. Don’t you think you'd better come upon land? Your skirl's getting wet.” The Girl’s dark eyes flashed defiantly. She made an odd picture standing there and her words made the man gasp. “Do you think I care,” she cried. “Well, I don’t. I’m tired of doing what I ought to do. I’m tired of following the code. I want to plav!” An understanding light came into the man’s eyes. “Why. we’re in the same boat. I came here because I. too. wanted to play. Me smiled whimsically. “Do you. by any chance, believe in fairies?” In a flash the Girl was on the hank beside him. “Of course. she cried happily. And pixies and gnomes and water-sprites. “And they sleep in the flowers and under the rocks and dance in the trees.” “(the Girl made an impulsive gesture, “you believe what I believe. “I think, said the man. “that we’d make excellent traveling companions.” O. are you in search of an Adventure, Bohemian gvps ? The Bohemian gvpsv nodded gravely, though his eyes twinkled. His face was a little old, except when he laughed. “You sec.” he explained obligingly. “I was here once before, a long time ago. But this year the Spring got into me and I had to come out in the woods. So I came here bent on being reckless.” Me looked down at the daring girl, who smiled. “I’ve always lived under the tutorship of an excellent governess with a practical man for guardian. My mother and father died long ago when I was a bahv. she said simply. “So I’ve always lived in a hotel.” The red blood flickered in her cheeks. “I was introduced into society last winter and—. Well, this summer I made my guardian, a very learned gentleman, come out here in the woods. I wanted to play! But the Practical Man doesn’t know how to play. He’s very serious. So I just carry on the most delightful conversations in my head. And they’re always with people who understand. 'Phe Bohemian gypsy stuffed his pipe in his pocket, picked his cap from under the nearest bush and whispered cautiously. “Come on. It was a dare and the Girl's eyes glowed. “Is is an Adventure? “S-s-li!” the man warned, “It’s a secret.” “A secret!” repeated the Girl. “Let’s hurry.” So they hurried on, the Bohemian gypsy leading the way. Once the girl stumbled on the tree roots for her hare feet were unaccustomed to the mode of travel. 17

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of astonishment. Look! The top of this post is crooked. Perhaps there's a door inside.” Together they lifted the heavy oak knob of the newel post. The Bohemian gypsy ran his arm down the opening and brought out some dust-covered papers. Both were much excited. They sat on the stairs and the man dusted off the papers. But the papers were blank. The Girl Struggled to hide her disappointment. “Perhaps it’s best we don't know the romance for now we can imagine things and make it picturesque. But I’d like to have the end of the Adventure. The Bohemian gypsy smiled oddly as he tied the papers together again. “Perhaps the end of the Adventure lies outside the wall ' he suggested. The girl sighed. “It doesn't for me. I shall go back and cover myself up with a cloak of conventionality and live a life seemingly like all the other people I know. But, in truth. I will always play. She rose and walked toward the door. The Bohemian gypsy followed. “You say that now. he said. But after you've been thoroughly saturated with society, you'll forget there ever was such an Adventure as this ’ I won't.” the Girl cried indignantly. “I won't. I won't. I’ll never forget how to play.” For answer the man handed her the package of papers. “There was some writing. Perhaps you’d better read it. he said in a curiously quiet voice. The Girl stared at the name written on the paper that lay on top. Why—why that was my mother's maiden name. “Yes. said the Bohemian gypsy in the same dull voice. “She said she’d never forget her own self in the world, that she'd never get so interested in the scheme of life that slic'd forget her own feelings. You knew her? asked the Girl softly. Yes. And when site told me she was to marry your father—” There was a silence. ”1 thought I would tell her even after that.” the man began again. But it did not seem right. She lived here, you know. I thought I would write. But that. too. was not fair. So 1 laid a number of blank pages before me. I though of all 1 had wished to tell her. Then 1 tied the papers together and addressed the top sheet. I wanted to put ii somewhere near her That night as I was standing in the hall I thought of the newel post. I unscrewed the knob, dropped the letter in and put the knob back. It must have been knocked crooked afterwards, for she never knew. She went into society and forgot lu-r ideas.” The Girl was very quiet and when the man spoke again it was in a new voice that startled the Girl. And so you will change. It's iust the youth and Spring in you and that will go. There's not a thing in the world that docs not pass some time. The Bohemian gypsy was gone. Before her stood a man. smiling cynically. sob rose in the Girl's throat. “It won’t. (), it can’t. I'll tight the world until I find some one who knows how to play ' The man touched her arm softly. Little girl.” he said gently, the Practical Man knows how to play. Don’t treat him as if he were so old. The tears blinded her and the dull pain in her throat was stilling. With a choking cry. she ran through the garden, out the gate and into the wood. The Girl gave a little gasp and sat up. Her throat was smarting and her eves felt hot. ith eyes still shadowy with sleep she looked about her. She was beside the splashy brook. The sedate old tree still nodded above Iter. She looked at her feet, but the sturdy little oxfords were on them. IL r hands flew t her hair; the red flowers were there and the scarlet 9