Central High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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“But sleep little pigeon and fold your wings,— Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; Am I not singing? See. 1 am swinging, Swinging the nest where my darling lies.’ OR LIKE BARNETT. PINK SHAMROCKS “An' shure now, said Pat, pointing with his clay pipe, “shure. Miss, did ye iver be seein' such beauties as thim pinks?” Truly I had not. The path before the little thatch-roofed cottage was bordered with masses of pink. A pretty picture it was, indeed, and one that often caused me to come in the dog-cart from the town, down the white road between the wonderful green pastures of the Emerald Isle. On this particular afternoon the old man sat before the cottage smoking his pipe. 1 seated myself on the grass before him and gave my verdict concerning the beauty of the pinks. “I’ve been bearin' av green pinks,” said he with a twinkle in his merry eye, “that they be makin' in the town. An’. he chuckled, “speakin avc green an' pinks makes me remimber Katie O’Toole. “And what did Katie do? I questioned eagerly, scenting a story. “Shure. now, ’tis a long story, but since ve’re a gurrl yersilf. it can do yc no harm. Katie was a foinc, strong gurrl wit hair like a streak av smut on a white gate post; an’ the blue av the eyes av her—! an' clear white skin wi a dash av red in her cheeks. Och, she was a pretty coleen! An’ the voice av her was so soft the divil himself wud be as swate as sugar if he heard her spake. “Wan day, 'twas rale late in the avenin’ Katie was coinin’ along the road from the town. An’ be ye knowin’ it Katie O'Toole was mad. ‘An’ shure. says Katie. ’tis a shame! Such a beautiful piece av goods! Twud be most bccomin’P an’ Miss O’Toole tossed her head, ve see. Katie was vain. She cudn’t help knowin’ she was pretty an’ there wasn’t iver a lookin’-glass in the house. “Terence Coyle was aloving Katie. He was a foinc b’y. He had a blacksmith shop an’ a foinc still an’ there wasn’t iver a b’y in County Clare that Terence Coyle cudn’t lick. Faith an' ’twas true! The poor b’v was so mad about Katie that he quit eatin’ an stood around like a moon-faced donkey, r'hwat did ye say? Och. shure, she liked him. but she niver let on: niver a bit n-incouragemint. Tnstid she’d tease him an’ laugh. An’ whin Katie O’Toole laughed at a man all the usquebaugh in the kingdom cudn’t make a man madder or wantin’ her more. “Katie knew all this an’ began to think she’d kept poor Terence waitin’ Tong enough so whin he asked her to go wit’ him to the fair. Katie says. ‘Yis.’ Ye see that's why Katie was wishin' for the driss wit’ the pink shamrocks. 21

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They became great friends, those two. Each day of that wonderful visit to the magic blast the American girl went up the hill to sit beneath the cherry tree with the little lady of Japan. It seemed an enchanted life. But as yet she had not heard the story and the time for her departure was already here. In truth, it was but one clay off. Perhaps Wistaria would tell her before she left. She hoped so. and she did not hope in vain. It was the evening before she left. They were watching the speck of a ship on the bay, far distant, silhouetted against the glory of a radiant sunset sky. The majesty and yet the daintiness of the scene, two things which it seemed could not belong together, impressed Elizabeth. It is very beautiful—the picture—is it not, Wistaria' ' A-a-ah, 1 lik if you call me that, lie call me that— is-tcer-ia. It sounded like the breath « f a flower, she whispered it » softly. aes, it ver beau'ful. He love it. lie say the.es mos' wonderful church, and sun he 1110s greatest wor-shipp-per of God. e v er' happy. Him an’ )takara an —an me. “You must have been. And look, W istaria. see the ship. Does it not seem almost like a phantom?” With a child-like movement she covered her eyes and uttered a sound that w as almost a sol). ‘Wo—no. Don't—an —an oh. I like if you know. I tell you? aes. 1 tell you. He go one da for paint the sea -a-ah. I hate the sea! He roar, he tear, the sea does. But he go out one day for paint him an he say he com’ back that night, -a-ah yaes, but he never com’ back. Sea get ver’ angry at being paint an’ rise up ver' terrible, an' nios’ high ladder of ( takara. he—he dead. There was a tense silence. The little lavender figure was very quiet. Then----- But me an’ Otakara. we don’ forget, cvcry night we pray in same church where mos’ August Sun worship an’ there one star -see. sec—he com’ now! It seem he there. Wo dream of silver star.” Two moist, slanting eves were raised t«» Elizabeth and in their velvet depths, she saw the love and reverence for the “silvery star with a tinkling song.” “Som' day I lik if Otakara be in United States. He goin’ learn United States languages too. You gnin’ home torn rp w. • u n • forget istaria.” “Indeed I shall not.” replied the girl fervently,” and I shall remember Otakara too.—always, for he is our treasure ship. She kissed the little figures at her side. The next day just at sunset her. ship moved out of the bay. She was on her way to cross the sea. She watched from the deck and saw the little lantern-maker and Otakara. The mother leaned over him singing her Japanese lullaby and above them the silver star came out. Evm after she was out of sight of land, Elizabeth could still see the star, and leaning hack in her chair, she quoted softly to he’rself. “Up from the sea there floats a sob.— Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore: As though they were groaning in anguish an I moanin ’. Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. 20

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All ave a sudden Katie stepped in the middle av the road. In front av her stood a gurrul wit' curly yellow hair an' a face lilke an angel. ‘Saints above!’ cries Katie, who arc ye?’ ’’ ’l m the queen av the little people,’ says the gurrl, smilin’ and spakin’ in a swatc voice. ‘Hivins!’ cries Katie turnin' the color av a cold p'tatie. “‘Don't be frightened. says the gurrl in her soft voice. ‘Is there anny-thing I cud be doin’ for ye?’ “ ‘N’iver a thing.' says Katie and stops. ‘Vis.’ says she, ‘there is. I’m wishin’ for the driss wit' pink shamrocks.' ‘Have it ye shall,’ says the gurrl; ‘where can I give it to ye? Cud ye be cornin’ to the inn?' Katie says ‘Yis’ an’ thin hurries home for it’s time for her to feed the pigs. “Xixt day Katie goes to the inn. On Sunday she come to church wit' the driss on. An’ shure, even the saints in the glass windys in the church was envvin’ Katie. But the nixt day Katie was not at home. Ivery wan knew before the day was over wit’ that Katie and Terence had told each other a bit too much of their thoughts an' Katie had gone to Dublin wit' the curly- haired gurrl. ‘She was a lady’s maid to this angil.’ says ould Mrs. O’Toole. “Poor Terence got a face as long as me arm an' licked two fellers in wan week an’ whin wc wanted to spake to him we always stood near the dhure. He’d spend his nights a-sittin' on the edge av St. Dustan’s well, when he ought to be home a-smoking his pipe. “About a month afther Katie had left. Terence was sittin' at the well as usual whin a voice savs. ‘Terence!’ Well, it tuk Terence foive minutes to dc- cide whither to fall in the well or stay on the outside. Then he says quite hould, ‘Katie.’ “ ‘Yis.’ says the swale voice an Katie come out in the moonlight wit’ her shawl wrapped all over her head. “‘Ye’d best let me come home wit’ ye. Katie says me foinc Orishman. an’ niver a wurrd about her goin’ off. “‘Och. Terence says Katie, ‘ye’re not mad at me?’ “4N’iver a bit says be in bis sthrong. swatc voice. “ ‘Ocb. Terence, vc like me still, do ye? ’Twas foolish T was to go away. ’Tvvas the driss wit' the pink shamrocks what did it all! But, Terence, whin I’d been in Dublin only two weeks the pink shamrocks faded out! ‘An says Katie wit’ a sob an’ a laugh. ‘Terence lad. I do be thinkin’ green shamrocks are the best!”’ IRENE WALDHORST, ’14. IN THE COUNTRY OF THE GOLDENROD “No, Dick, I can’t do it. 1 want a wedding, a beautiful wedding with orchids, orchids, orchids everywhere and lilies of the valley by the thousands. I want a wedding that this city will never forget and that I shall remember 22