Cloverdale Union High School - Spectator Yearbook (Cloverdale, CA)

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(Second Prize.) » “Yes, Maria, in a minute. Just one more furrow and then I ' ll come.” The weary day had almost drawn to a close and the rugged figure of the farmer as he walked behind the plow, was suggestive of weariness and utter fatigue. His strong, weather beaten countenance was seamed and lined with care, although around the firm lips there were signs of kindliness and joviality. The massive head was crowned with a shock of iron-gray hair. The air was hot and sultry, for it was Indian Summer, and the tired man had found it unusually long and tedious, yet even as the twilight deepened and the purple hills became hardly discernible, he plodded on in order to finish the few remaining rows. While he walked their almost interminable length he soliloquized: “Yes, it ' s sure a fine young mare; just the thing for Maria to drive, but still Squire Goodwell has offered a neat little sum for her and Dan simply must have his quarterly allowance. It’s been a long time since the lad has written, almost three weeks. It comes pretty hard to put him through college, but he shall have everything I missed in the way of education. My bones are getting pretty stiff.’’ Then the last furrow was commenced. “That new Samson Tractor would be just t he thing. I wonder if Dan realizes what it means? Still Dan is a good boy. How like his mother’s, that expression out of the eyes! I miss the lad’s mother these days. Poor Dan, it was hard luck for him to lose her when he was so young. Sister does her duty, but a boy needs a mother. The lad would not be what he is if it were not for the influence she exerted over him before she died.” “Yes, Maria, I’m coming,” for again his sister’s voice floated out across the evening air from the back porch of the little vine clad cottage nestled under the clump of whispering trees. “Maria has certainly done her duty, she’s been almost a second mother to Dan. I must not let her know how hard times are, or else she will worry.” As this everyday hero brought in his worn out team, another scene was taking place in the fraternity house of Harvard. A stalwart young man with an unmistakable air of determination was endeavoring to make his escape from a crowd of gay young students who were urging him to go with them and have a good time. “Say, Dan, don’t be a quitter,” exclaimed one, evidently the ring-leader. A flush mounted to Dan’s forehead and he threw back his head proudly, despite the hurt, grieved look around his eyes. “Ed, don’t you dare to call me a quitter. I’m no cad, you don’t know what you’re saying. It’s not out of love for study and work that I stay home every evening, but it is because I have a Dad at home who is working hard to put me through college. Everything I have I owe to the self-denial of my father; then is it fair that I should waste and squander his time and money when he is giving up everything for me?” The room was still for a few moments; finally Ed said: “Shake hands old pal.” And the gang filed out, a trifle subdued, for each one felt a respect and 20

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But no, try as I would, the thought of that power that comes with fortune still tankled in my brain. As I have said, my air castles vanished like a puff of smoke, but the fire of ambition that had caused them had not died out—it was still glowing within me. Suddenly a passage from an editorial came to me: “If you would have power, work for it. Do noble things, not dream them all day long.” Ah, there was the keynote to my plans. Not in dreaming only, but in doing, was my oppor¬ tunity. The future lay before me, to be filled according to the choice I should make. Why not attempt those things that I had dreamed? By the time I returned to the hotel my resolve was taken. I would strive with all my might to fulfill those plans that spelled accomplishment. I had modified Kingsley’s motto somewhat and accepted as my slogan, “Dreaming and doing.” With those words before me I was ready to press on into the world’s wide field of action, determined to win by hard labor all the good things that l had planned to procure with the fortune that had almost been mine. J. p. s. Springtime is coming, I hear in the trees Sweet songs of love and joy; Round the half finished nest the mother bird flits Expectant, chirping and coy; Her lord and master, strutting and bold, With his plumes of crimson and breast of gold, Flashes round in the sun’s bright rays. He sings to his mate and this is his lay: “Lord of the copse and the hedge am I, Tempest and danger I’ll swiftly fly, Iin the king of the hedge and the prince of the sky.” H. B. 19

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reverence for this boy who had the moral strength to live up to his convictions. When the boys left, Dan smiled ruefully and then settled down to work. ‘‘Won’t it be a treat to see Dad’s face when I hand him back my allowances. Of course it’s not such jolly fun to sit up writing reports for the ‘Bulletin,’ but it’s worth it. Dear old Dad. I must drop him a line, it’s been so long since I have written. However, if I give the valedictory that will be a compensation. Anyway, I will drop him and auntie a postal.” The evening of commencement had arrived, and a hush of expectancy filled the hall as the chaplain announced, “As is customary in most educational institutions the student with the highest percentage in his conduct and studies is given the honor of delivering the valedictory. Dan Magrew has earned this honor by reason of his unexampled record.” As he arose to begin his oration, a thundering applause shook the building to its very foundation, but Dan saw only his father, and all through his speech his eyes were riveted on the approving countenance of Dad. His father sat tense and breathless as Dan delivered his valedictory, for it seemed but a dream to him, this surprise of all surprises. When the confident boyish voice finished there was a storm of applause such as the hall had never heard before. Ed proposed a yell and truly there was never a more hearty cheer than— “Dan’s no quitter—Rah, Rah, Rah for Dan Magrew.” After the closing address the fellows crowded around Dan and gave him such an ovation as had never before been given to a graduate. Dan begged to be allowed to leave, for despite all the honors heaped upon him, he was modest and shy. Immediately he went to his father and introduced him to the dean. The dean’s voice was somewhat choked as he said: “Mr. Magrew, I congratulate you on having the finest boy in the land. But Dan, looking at the beaming counteaince of his father interrupted: “Congratulate me, dear friend, on having the best Dad that ever was. As he said this he slipped a check into his father’s hand amounting to the whole of the last year’s allowance. “Father, forgive me for not writing oftener, but perhaps you would like a Samson 1 ractor I hen Ed led another yell, but it was not for Dan Magrew, but for “Dad” Magrew and Dan joined in with all the voice that he could muster at this moment when all his strength was dissolved in the mingled emotions of pride and gratitude and love for “Dad.” Erminie. 21