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

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Peter and Jim. LOUISE MEILIKE They had comé from “down thé road a piece” with a backward nod and a motion down the dusty, winding lane—and were “jest walkin’ along’”— Peter and Jim. It had been’ a bright, sunshiny April morning when they had first appeared in the little village, unheralded and unknown, and it was grey December when they left—loved and mourned. “Which goes to prove,” the old doctor would say, “that nature is always in harmony.” But that is getting ahead of our story. It was on this bright April morning that Mrs. Kelly, rosy and motherly looking, her hard, red arms elbow-deep in suds from the morning’s wash, had looked up suddenly, with the feeling that she was being watched, and had seen two little figures gazing longly at her through the palings of the gate—Peter and Jim. Peter, a little, slender lad, with a dirty, wistful face, tousled, curly hair, and appealing brown eyes ; Jim, a scrubby, dusty-white little dog, with a great black spot that covered one wiggling little ear and one mischievous little eve, and a stubby, wagging tail. “Shure now, sonnie, an’ whut moight ye be wanting this foine spring morning?” Mrs. Kelly called cheerily to them. “Somethin’ t? eat, please mam, cause me an’ Jim are awful hungry,” and the two little figures moved closer. “T’ eat? Why bless yer little heart, shure an’ ye can! Jest ye come in an’ set on the steps a min- ute, an’ [ll have ye some bread an’ butter in a jiffy,” and Mrs. Kelly, wiping her dripping arms on her apron, hurried into the house, as the two little wanderers seated themselves on the broad steps. Peter with his elbows on his knees, his tiny fists propping up the dirty little chin, and Jim by his side, his stubby little tail thumping sedately. Presently the screen door opened again, and Mrs. Kelly re-appeared, a plate of bread and butter held high in her hand. About her skirts swarmed a train of noisy, red-headed youngsters, who stood silently staring at the little strangers, their fingers in their mouths. Peter took the plate with a shy “thank you, mam,” and then dividing it into half, shared with Jim. At the sight Mrs. Kelly raised her arms in eco- nomical horror. “Shure, boy, an’ ef I’d know’d ye was aimin’ t’ feed yer dog wid the loikes 0’ sech bread, ’'d niver have brought it out. Ye can’t be very hungry yerself.” Startled, Peter raised his head and stared in bewilderment. “Why, Jim’s hungry same’s me. I allas shares with Jim; him an’ me belong, don’t we Jim?” and he looked at his little comrade for sup- port. But Jim only wiggled his spotted ear, and thumped his stubby tail, too busy to assent in any other way. Mrs. Kelly snorted, and returned to her wash- ing. “Where do ye come from, laddie?” “Oh, jest down the road a piece.” “Where’s yer folks?” “My folks?” in puzzled questioning. “Yer parents, relaytions—Who do ye belong to 2?” “Oh,” Peter breathed a sigh of relief, “me aw’ Jim belong.” “Jim? Jim? Oh, yer pup.” “Jim ain’t no pup,” indignantly; “he’s a real blue-blooded fox terryer, ain’t you Jim ?” “Shure,” Mrs. Kelly remarked dryly, “I don’t set up fer t’ be a jedge o’ animals, but that dog 0 yours don’t strike me as no blue-blooded. No siree! But whut I means, ain’t ve got no father ner mother, sonnie?” Peter shook his head. “Then where moight ye be going? T” visit wid some friends, loikely ?” Peter shook his head again. ‘“No’m, we’re jest walkin’ along, me ’n Jim.” Mrs. Kelly placed both hands on her hips. “An’ ye mean t’ tell me, sonnie, thet ye’re jest atrampin’ along, wid out no folks ner sech t’ care fer ye? Shure an’ I’ve a brood 0’ me own,” and she glanced at her own three healthy youngsters, “but ye’re welcome t’ stay here ef ye’ve a mind t’, till we sees whut’s t’ be done. No little youngster loike ve can go gaddin’ about wid nary a soul t’

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Multonomah and obey his will learn to fear words.” Wenonah, horrified by the bloody prayer, strove to move him from his purpose, urging that ven- geance would leave him without an heir when he made the long journey to the Kingdom of Pone- mah. But Multonomah would not be persuaded by soft words or tears and replied, “What do women know about the affairs of men? Return to your own country in peace, and I will send presents of value to the tribe of the Incas.” Then Multonomah gathered his braves together and told them of his plan. He selected the strong- est and most powerful among them; he took those whose eyes flashed and those mo were tall of stature and lithe and young. He gave them or- ders to be prepared to start before ‘day break the next morning. And all night long he nursed his wrath. That same night Osseo and his bride sat in the moonlight and tall ked, happy beyond words. Early the next morning, however, Keneu came to them, and told them that Multonomah, the great chief- tain, was not far away with many warriors. surprised, but not knowing of Multo- anger, told his wife and Keneu who he was. Keneu, afraid for them, but not wishing to mar their happiness, said nothing By this time Multonomah had arrived, and he commanded Osseo to be brought before him. Had not Multonomah been so angry, he might have forgiven them both, for the lovers looked like two beautiful gods. Multonomah knew now that the words of the scout were true and his features, distorted with rage, revealed his anger to his son. Wallulah came closer to her husband; she feared the angry fea- tures of the old chieftain. Had not the scene been so tragic, it would have been a beautiful one. In the center was the proud old warrior and all around him, his handsome followers. Facing these were the lovers, and behind them the sturdy lit- and surrounding all of these, the Osseo, nomah’s tle mountaineers, wonderful Sierras of California. tonomah spoke in a low, menacing voice: “My son, give up this woman or die.” Osseo drew himself up, his eyes flashed; truly he was of royal blood, and for a moment Multo- nomah was prouder of his kingly son than of all his empire. At length Mul« “My father, honor to my Name and sorrow to love.” I cannot give her up, without dis- the maiden I Suddenly as lightning flashes across the sky, fleet and true as an arrow, the tomahawk of Multo- nomah struck Osseo. Lifeless he fell at the feet of his bride. For a moment Wallulah stood as if changed to stone, then threw herself on the dead body of her lover. The Spirit of Evil had seized Multonomah. He ordered the village to be destroyed, and the vil- lagers to be tortured and burned. The tribes of the mountains resisted, but the chosen men of Multonomah were stronger than they. All through the night the terrible orders were carried out; and Multonomah’s braves danced their war dance. Of the mountain race only Keneu, the arrow maker, lived to see the sun rise in the Hast. For him had been reserved even greater cruelty than his companions had suffered. As the first rays of the sun fell upon the tor- tured old man, he cried out, “Great Spirit, who art the father of us all, hear my prayer! Avenge my people, bring ruin and shame upon our oppressors. Avenge the beautiful Wallulah.” With these words his life departed, but the Spirit heard his prayer, for he loved Keneu and was angry with the tribe of the Sequoia. A flash of lightning was seen, and a voice like the rolling of thunder was heard. Multonomah and his braves stood rigid wit fear. Then the Great Spirit spoke and said, “You are a mighty race of men, but you have abused your power; yet because I once loved you, I will not destroy you entirely. Henceforth you shall be a mighty race of trees, and lowly tribes will find shelter under your branches.” Multonomah and his warriors raised their arms to heaven in supplication, but even with the move- ment, the resistless might of the Great Spirit rooted them fast in the earth and where the war- like band had gathered to witness the torture of the lowly arrow maker, stood a grove of majestic trees which men call the Giant Sequoias. From the blood of the lovers lilies sprang up which the Indians call Nenemoosha, or The Sweethearts and which the white men call the Mariposa lilies. Their spirits, however, passed to the Kingdom of Ponemah, to the Land of the Hereafter, where they still dwell in peace and happiness. =90=

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look afther him. Would ye loike t stay here wid me, sonnie, an’ play wid my Mike?” Peter watched her wistfully, “Can Jim stay too?” “Jim? Oh, yer dog. dog-house back 0’ the barn, an’ all the rats he can eat.” Shure an’ we’ve a foine “Why then, thank you mam, an’ we'll stay ;” and Peter held out a grubby little hand to seal the bargain. Mrs. Kelly wiped her eyes on her apron, as she looked at the tiny, dirty, solemn little figure. “Shure, an’ thet’s all right, sonny,” she said hastily. “An’ now first ye’ll be wantin’ a good wash, I’m thinking. Looks loike ye’ve traveled a good bit since ye had yer last one. Ye'd better come right in wid me now. No, no,” as Peter picked up Jim, “lave yer dog outside. Il] not have the loikes 07 him amakin’ tracks in me clean house.” Peter stopped. “But Jim’s dirty too, same’s me; am he likes a bath.” “Shure an’ he don’t look it. But take him out t’ the pond. Mikie’ll show ye where ‘tis, an’ ye can wash him there; an’ then come back in an’ I'll be ready fer ye.” And so Peter and Jim were duly established in the Kelly household. To be sure, at first they didn’t remember that Peter and: Jim belonged ; but their lesson came that night. Mrs. Kelly had called the boy in to go to bed, and when she saw Peter approaching with Jim under his arm, she said: “Shure now, sonnie, ain’t I said thet I don’t want the loikes o’ him in my clean house? Put him in his box back o’ the barn, an’ come in.” “But,” Peter objected, “Jim an’ me allas sleeps together. Jim an’ me belongs!” “Well, no mather, lad, lave him outside. Tain’t no one going t’ steal the loikes 0’ him, so ye needn’t be afraid.” Peter hesitated for a moment, then turned obediently and put Jim in his box. But before he left him he leaned down and whispered in his ear, at which Jim thumped his tail assentingly. Then Peter silently entered the house, and went to bed. Mrs. Kelly watched him doubtfully, half relent- ing, but as he said nothing more, she thought: “Shure an’ the lad won’t grieve fer the loikes 0’ sech a dog. An’ besides, he’d dirty my clean bed all up, any way.” But the next morning when she came into the room, Peter was gone. Mrs. Kelly was alarmed. “Mike, Mike,” she shook her eldest vigorously, “where’s the lad gone?” Mike looked up drowsily, “I don’t know. He was here last night.” “Hum! I know thet much myself,” and she stood thinking for a moment. hen, “Now | wonder,” she said, and walked kastily out of the room down to the barn where the dog-house was. There lay Peter, a faint smile on his face and Jim clasped tightly to him. Mrs. Kelly said no word, but leaning down she picked up the two lit- tle forms, carried them into the house, and placed them gently on the bed. “Shure an’ I guess the lad’ll have t’ have his dog ef there’s t’ be peace in the house,” she said softly as she stroked the damp curls off Peter’s warm, flushed little brow. And so Jim was installed as a privileged member of the household, and the Kellys came to understand that Peter and Jim belonged. Under the guardian wing of Mike, Peter was introduced to the townspeople, and soon the kind- ly villagers learned to watch for, and welcome the coming of the wistful, lonely little lad and the scrubby, mischievous little dog. And Peter and Jim soon came to like them too, but best of all they loved old Doctor Tom ; Peter because the Doc- tor was the only one who understood the shy little fellow, and Jim because Doctor Tom never failed to shake his little paw when they met. As for Doc- tor Tom—he had been the first to learn that Mrs. Kelly had taken another into her brood, had come to remonstrate, and stayed to beg for Peter for his own. But big-hearted, motherly Mrs. Kelly already was beginning to love the lad as one of her own, and refused to give him up. Old Doctor Tom used to come by the Kelly house sometimes on bright mornings, and stopping his horse, would call out gaily in his deep voice, “Any little boy here with brown curls who wants to go riding ?” And Peter would come rushing around the corner, Jim yelping under one arm, and shout. “Me! me!” “Well, hop in,’ Doe Tom would say, his eyes twinkling, “but that dog stays here. Won’t have any scrubby pups in my buggy. No siree!” Then Peter’s face would fall, and his lips quiv-