Madera Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Madera, CA)

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THE PURPLE AND WHITE RUTH BLOWERS— Ful wel she sange the servi divine. Q Oo GERTRUDE BROWN— What a voice was here now! a=] qi

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BEOR THE YEAR 1916 WINIFRED GOFFE— es Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. CAROL WILKINSON— We all agree the maiden’s small, But in her heart there’s room for all. LESLME STEWENS— A man he was, to all the coun- try dear. ISABEL BARCROFT— The expression of truth is sim- plicity.

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| Re Wale: WIEVAIRE OIG SSS SESSSSSSSESSSESSSSSSSSSS SSS OSES SSS SS SSS SSSSS SR ISS SR SLS SSS SOS SSSR eet Ses es ees ete ee eee ees eT esses fsts ess eses eR esses ses es ees : Le Seeeessees: Class History sSosssssssssesssssassasisssssssssansesssasestssSSsaecresSssisereesseesesseeesssssasesse5 egassessceeseseseoees [ One| A Parable Mary Petty Listen, ye who would hear of the successes and failures of the class of nineteen hundred and sixteen! Listen, and I will tell you a story; fanciful il may seem, and strange, but neverthe- less it is true. “Behold, a sower went forth to sow.” Unlike the sower in days of old, the seeds which this sower planted fell in good ground, and forthwith they sprang up. And the sower and his assistants, tenderly caring for the tiny shoots, counted them, and there were fifty. And all of these tiny shoots, except a few of the weakest ones, grew daily. But soon the sun appeared with his blazing rays, which heretofore had seemed only warm and bright. Some of the tiny shoots were scorched, and ‘‘because they had no depthness of ea rth, they withered away.’ The winds came, stormy and blustering, and more of these little shoots drooped and passed out of exist- ence. The rains also came, and beat upon these frail shoots, struggling for existence. Some were immediately dashed to the ground and beaten by the pitiless rain-drops; others drooped, but with the passing of the storm-clouds, raised their heads to the clear heavens once more. Time passed. The sower who had tenderly watched over the shoots de- parted, and a strange one took his place silently, watchfully. The tiny green shoots that had withstood the elements grew larger and stronger. The marks of the onslaught, however, still remain- ed. Some of the shoots were fairly straight and tall, while others, the more delicate, perhaps, were bent slightly. Faint markings could be ob- served on the leaves that appeared, but they were not alike on all plants. Some were hardy, all were fair, yet of a vastly different variety. The days grew into months; — the months grew into years. The once strange sower, now familiar, and his assistants, beloved by all the plants, noting each day the growth of the plants, at last saw the buds appear, signs for which they had long looked. Again the sower counted the plants, and there were eighteen. The buds burst into bloom in their plant-like way ex- tending thanks to those who so kindly tendered them, and realizing that the sun, the winds and the rain are all nec- essary to their growth even though difficult to understand. Here my story ends. Yea, though it seems fanciful, it is true. “Who hath ears to hear, let him hear,” for there is a thought for all.