Corona High School - Coronal Yearbook (Corona, CA)

Page 30 text:

hidden while he was writing it. But now a great black shadow came between Dale and his musing. What if his step-father should take the money away from him? He feared this father, feared him as only a small boy can fear a man who does not understand him, who thinks the punishment for any offense should be a sound beating. But Dale was a natural little optimist; so he banished the great black shadow clear out of the barn, as he thought to himself, and went on with his pleasant musing. Let’s see; what should he buy with the money? He didn’t want clothes or anything to eat. Oh, wait! He did want some candy. He’d go right down town and buy a dollar’s worth of candy and eat it all himself! He wanted a bicycle too. Yes, he would get a — His thoughts were interrupted by a low, mocking voice. “What you got there, little one?” Dale, looking up into the face of his detested older step-brother, said sullenly, “Nothin’,” putting the poem behind his back as he did so. The older boy gave a meaning little laugh, snatched the poem out of Dale’s hands, and ran out of the barn shouting as he went, “Thanks for the poem. Now I won’t have to write one.” Then, fiercely — “If you dare squeal on me, I’ll tell Dad what you did yesterday.” For a moment Dale sat completely stunned; then he jumped to his feet with the idea of going after his tormentor. But what was the use? Harry could run faster and was larger than Dale. He had always teased and bullied the smaller boy and would probably give him a most unmerciful thrashing for even attempting to catch him. But oh, the misery when he thought of having to see that hated enemy win the twenty-five dollars on his poem! He sank down on his knees in the soft, cool hay, buried his face face in his hands, and moaned again and again, “It isn’t fair! It isn’t fair. Oh why, why, why, should it be like this?” He raised his head, his little fists clinched ; and looking up toward the great rafters in the old barn, he shouted, “0 God, if there is a God up there, listen to me just a minute.” There his voice failed him and two great ears rolled down his face. He bit his lip and went on, “0 God, please, God, don’t let Harry win the pi’ize on my poem!” After this hysterical outburst, Dale sobbed on. But he felt better; for he had told someone, someone greater than himself, someone who he believed could help him. Soon he ceased his crying altogether; his mind became more settled, and he began to think. What was he going to do? Suddenly a most wonderful thought came rushing down upon him, and his face lighted up like a sunbeam. Then it fell. Could he do Twenty-six

Page 29 text:

A TRIBUTE TO THE IVY ON THE WALL Curving gently o’er the arches, Draping all the walls with green, Soft, in clinging trailers hanging, Shining bright with em’rald shee. In the Autumn, leaves are scarlet; In the Summer, leaves are green ; In the Winter, all is barren; Spring — again the em’rald sheen. Rocked by beezes gently blowing, Twining o’er the rugged wall, Making all the world seem brighter In the summer, spring and fall. Peeps within the open windows, Hiding nests of birds from all. A would be poet pays his tribute To the ivy on the wall. CHARLES DICKINSON. THOU SHALT NOT STEAL The small freckled hand, holding in its sturdy grasp an old leaky fountain pen, moved jerkily across the page, paused a moment, then with a great flourish wrote “The End.” Dale had finished his prize poem. Dale didn’t like to study and scarcely ever did any thing like that; but he could write poems. In fact, he spent most of his time at school writing funny little ones, just to amuse his comrades. But this one wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t little. There were pages and pages of the most perfect and lovely poetry you could ever imagine; for Dale had put every thing he had into that poem, and it showed his real character and ability. Tomorrow he would take it to school and read it in front of the class. In the back row there would be some men who would be judges, and they would smile at Dale. Afterwards they would announce that he, Dale Brown, had won first prize. Then old Judge Willis, holding his high silk hat in one hand and a great leather purse in the other, would come forward, and while every one else went to sleep, would make a long speech, at the end of which he would call Dale forward, pat him on the back, and give him twenty-five nice, new, crisp dollar-bills. So Dale dreamed on, curled up in the cool fresh hay in the old hay-mow. He had thought the hay-mow a good place to keep his poem Twenty-five

Page 31 text:

it? Of course, he could. He would do it. He looked about him for his pencil and paper and for the first time noticed the hay-mow had become quite dark. He knew where there were a few old candles, but candles were dangerous in crisp dry hay. So he picked up the little box of writing materials which he had kpnt, hidden there, and went down to the old harness room. There, with a candle on a little shelf above his head. Dale sat down on a box and scribbled furiously until the cocks had begun to crow and the sun was just peeping over the eastern horizon. Then, tired and sleepy, he climbed up the ancient stairway and lay down in the soft, warm hay to sleep the few remaining hours of the night. The next day in the old brick school-house first prize was given to a poem by Dale Brown — a poem written straight from the heart of the lad, and entitled “Thou Shalt Not Steal.” RUTH HOX WORTH SMILES Why be so very dry and blue When in this short life there’s so much to do? Some are afraid to smile. They say, “Is it worth while?” Is it? One thing that is sure Is the “Laughing cure.” This is easy to take, causes never an ache. Just smile and laugh, spread a word of cheer. And watch truubles and wrinkles all disappear. This takes no time, it is only play. A smile an hour keeps the frowns away. HELEN BRUNSON HARVEY BEETS “The Fool Doth Think He Is Wise, But the Wise Man Knows Himself to Be a Fool’’ Harold B rown sat in his bedroom with a deep grin on his face. His clothes were just where he had left them, which was all over because he had been packing. Tomorrow he was going to start to college. On the bed lay a pamphlet entitled “College Hints.” He picked it up again for about the eleventh time and scanned the pages. “All college students should know at least one quotation from Shakespeare and be able to Tzventv-Seven