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Page 14 text:
THE THINGS THAT COUNT
Outside, the snow was falling softly as though it were caressing the earth. Inside the five houses on Darcey Street, everyone seemed to be fairly bubbling over with laughter and Christmas cheer. Through every window could be seen Christmas trees gayly decorated with red and white cotton images of Santa Claus, wax angels, brightly colored balls, and flickering candles.
Let’s take a little peep into the smallest, gayest house on the street. The six people inside seem to be having a glorious time, despite the fact that the furniture is scarred and scratched where baby feet have climbed over the arms, and the carpet is noticeably worn in places. Everyone is singing, laughing, and throwing good cheer about. Finally the presents are neatly piled under the branches of the tree, and little by little the house quiets down. A young couple, obviously lovers, go to a rather secluded corner to be by themselves for a minute.
“Isn’t it just glorious, John?” sighs Jacqueline.
“You bet, sweetheart,” replies John. “It couldn’t possibly be better —now that I’ve got you.”
Slowly trudging upstairs are the twins, Tess and Ted. They are giggling and pointing to the two lovers, who are quite unaware of their use as a topic of discussion.
“Do you suppose we’ll be that silly when we grow up?” gasps Tess between giggles.
“Oh, you’ll probably be worse,” says the scornful Ted. “I won’t have time for girls though. Come on; get going.”
Sitting by the little fireplace, the flickering light playing on their happy faces are Mother and Father. “Christmas is a wonderful time of the year, isn’t it, Father?” murmurs Mother.
“It certainly is,” he says. “It’s the one time of all the year that all seem to have love for their fellowmen.”
“Yes,” continues Mother, “and it isn’t money and expensive presents that count. It’s love such as the love John and Jacqueline have for each other, the happy-go-lucky times Tess and Ted are having, and last but not least the peace and contentment which is filling our years to overflowing.”
“You’re right as usual, dear,” agrees the ever gallant Father.
And so, peace draws its curtain over the happy family on Darcey Street. I wonder how many of us who have these things just mentioned are still craving the lesser things in life. Really, folks, it’s love and peace and contentment that make this old world spin.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year ! ! !
Natalie Read, ’33
Cubby had the reputation of being the best watch-dog in the little village of Marken. His master, Jim Boken, was very fond of his dark brown police-dog. As Cubby was not often tied, he roamed about alone at night when he had a great tendency to catch chicken-thieves at their work.
Page 13 text:
The poor old soul was sitting In her usual chair by the fireplace,
Knitting a small garment.
’Twas for her grandson, and Tho’ she had not much to give,
The thought and love of her heart Were knitted right into her work.
As she sat there, she wondered
If her only son would visit her at Christmas.
She hoped so,
And for a few minutes All was quiet as she sat Recalling the past.
She remembered now
’Twas no more than a year ago
That he had not come to see her.
It had taken a long time to get over the shock Of being forgotten by a son,
And yet, like a real mother,
She had found excuses—
He must have been too busy Or something must have happened.
But if he only knew
How lonely her heart was
And if he only knew
That a few moments spent with her
Would gladden her heart,
Or just a card in the mail box
With the words
“Merry Christmas, Mother”!
For ’tis not the wealth Nor the size of the gift
But the thought, love, and spirit with which it is given.
Clotilde Brazeau, ’33
Page 15 text:
THE CHROHICLE 7
Jim Boken was a poor lad about sixteen years old. His father died when Jim was only ten. His mother, Jane Boken, worked hard to rear her only son. Jim helped her as much as possible by working at odd jobs for the neighbors, who paid him small sums, but the poor boy couldn’t find any steady work.
Another important character in this stoiy is Mr. Woods, a moderately wealthy man, who owned a fine poultry farm.
It was the week before Christmas. The snow had already fallen, leaving a beautiful, white loveliness. Everyone was happy.
We find poor Jim at home, worrying about something. Christmas would come soon, and he had no money to buy a gift for his dear mother, as for some time the neighbors had not given him any work.
An idea came to him, and he suffered to think of it. Cubby’s fame as a watch-dog had given him a value which was greater than that of other dogs like him, making Jim sure that Mr. Woods would gladly buy his dog. Jim thought that he would delay this sale as long as possible, in the meantime looking about for a gift for his mother.
On the second day before Christmas, he decided to go to Mr. Woods. He called Cubby to him, hugged him, and stroked him gently, talking to the dumb animal as to a brother.
The business was transacted. Jim received twenty dollars for his dog. Cubby was placed in the cellar of Mr. Woods’s home to prevent him from following Jim.
At the same time Jim was happy and sad, happy because he could buy his mother a gift, sad because he had lost his friend.
Jane Boken was weeping softly on Christmas morning. She was proud of her son, who had made such a sacrifice to make her happy. She was sad also, for she had sensed her son’s feelings. At this time Mr. Woods was leading Cubby towards the home of Jim Boken. He was walking quickly, and he appeared anxious and happy.
“Your dog is worth a fortune,” he said to Jim.
Jim, astonished, said nothing and waited for an explanation.
“Last night there was a fire at my home. Cubby aroused us by his constant barking. I got up and telephoned to the fire department. Only a small section of my home has been ruined, but if Cubby had not been there, all of us would have been burned to death. I am rewarding Cubby by returning him to his beloved master.”
Jim fell on his knees and hugged the faithful dog. Words could not express their happiness.
We now leave Jim Boken, Jane Boken, and Cubby enjoying a merry Christmas.
Andrew Kovach, ’33
CHRISTMAS DANCE —NO?
Exactly one week before the great celebrations of the Christmas holidays, the Eaton Bridge Club met at the home of Faith Barclay, a girl of little wealth but of great social standing in the little town of Eaton.
As Faith was dealing a hand for bridge, Dorothea Fenn suddenly exclaimed, “By the way, are we all going to the annual Christmas dance at Tote on Friday night?”
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