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

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r 7 er, as he would slowly draw back and say, “I guess I can’t go then, thank you sir, cause me ’n Jim we belong!” always goes together “There, there,” old Doc Tom would cry hastily, “[ was only joking. Hop in. Why, we couldn’t go without Jim, no siree! This old horse would pos- itively refuse to move! He would!” Then Peter’s face would be fairly transfigured with joy, and he would clamber excitedly in, hug- ging Jim tightly to him. Pretty soon old Doe Tom would lean forward and say, “Peter, you reach in my left-hand coat pocket, will you, an’ see what’s in there. I feel something poking my old bones.” And Peter would stick his hand eagerly in and pull out, with a delighted squeal, two great pepper- mint suckers—one for him, and one for Jim. Then when they were far out in the country, old Doc Tom would let Peter drive, and how they would fly—the kindly, silver-haired man, and the little eager boy, his curls flying behind him in the wind, his eyes shining with joy and excitement. and between them the little mischievous, scrubby dog, his ear wiggling joyfully and his tail thump- ing vigorously. And after the doctor had made his calls, they would make a big turn and come along by the river up to the Kelly’s, where Peter and Jim would get out till “next time.” Then came a day when all this was changed. Mrs. Nelly was standing in her front yard watering the lawn when suddenly she looked up and saw Peter come stumbling blindly toward her, tears running down the little cheeks, gasping sobs coming from the little breast ; and in his arms was clasped tightly a white, bloody little body—Jim! Mrs. Kelly rushed toward him. “Why Peter, Peter, laddie, shure an’ whut’s happened? Why, sonnie, sonnie, don’t cry so. Is it Jim? Shot, ye say; an’ dead too,” feeling the little form already growing cold. “Come, come, laddie, give him to me.” She tried to take the little body; but Peter shook his head and sobbing laid his cheek against the cold little ear. He ran into the house, and throwing himself upon the bed called again and again the name of his little comrade. “Peter, Peter,” Mrs. Kelly cried in distrac- tion, “shure don’t ery so, laddie; I'll git ye another dog tomorrow.” But Peter only shook his head. “T want Jim,” —2 he sobbed, “I want Jim. Jim an’ me belongs! Why don’t he open his eyes, Mrs. Kelly? Why don’t he bark or move? He ain’t dead, Mrs. Kelly ; oh, say he ain’t dead.” Mrs. Kelly shook her head sorrowfully, “Shure lad, an’ I only wish I could say he ain’t dead. But he is. Come, come, laddie, Mike an’ you an’ me'll give him a foine funeral and make him a rale stone for his grave; an’ maybe I’ll give ye some 0” my sweet-peas fer a wreath. There, there Peter, we'll git ye another dog tomorrow.” But Peter made no answer; he only lay sobbing wildly, clasping Jim closely to him. Almost frantic Mrs. Kelly sent for Doctor Tom, and the old man came sadly, to give comfort where none could be given. They buried Jim the next day in the little churchyard, and Peter lay all day beside the grav e refusing to leave his little comrade. “Me an’ Jim belong,” he would repeat over and over again to poor Mrs. Kelly. “Me an’ Jim belong. Oh, Mrs. Kelly, I wish I could go where Jim is, I wish I could go where Jim is.” The days passed, and each day Peter grew a little paler, a little more wan. He only smiled piti- fully and shook his head when the anxious old Doctor brought him a dog as near like Jim as was to be found in the county. He never asked to drive anymore when the old Doctor took him rid- ing; and when Doctor Tom would ask him if he didn’t want to, he would take the reins in such a listless fashion, and with such pale. thin little hands that the old Doctor’s heart ached to watch him. At length the day came when he no longer got up from bed in the morning, but lay all day silent- lv looking out toward the little green where Jim lay. Mrs. Kelly, heartsick, would come in every morning with a tempting tray, arranged as well as she knew how, but Peter would only take a few bites and then lay back on his pillow, with a wan little, “You mustn’t fix me, Mrs. Kelly.” And Mrs. Kelly, tears in her eyes, would answer. “Oh Peter, Peter, Pd fix all day ef only ve’d get better.” Then came a morning when Mrs. Kelly went in to see how he was, and found him lying silent, motionless, a smile on his lips, and his thin little arms by his sides as though they had been ex- so much extra for a

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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-

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tended in welcome, and then fallen as the little head, said as he stood beside the soul fled. mounds, “After all, Peter was They buried him the next day beside the grave belonged.” of Jim, and the old Doctor, sadly shaking his The Myth of the Raisin. Bacchus one day sat musing Before the green grape vine, Inspecting the grapes he was using To make the sweet red wine. Long the fruits he regarded, Seriously and with care, But threw them from him—discarded To le in the sun’s bright glare. “T have left them too long on the bushes To use for the glorious wine; Their fair skin too deeply blushes: [ did not pick them in time.” Long on the leaves they rested Untouched by the hand of Rain, Till one day a nymph them tested. Found them pleasing and tested again. She flew to the wine-god, then eried she, “What new fruit is this I have found 2?” Bacchus glanced at her hands—then replied he. “Tis the grapes which I cast on the ground. So long have they lain midst the grasses, So long in the warmth and the light, Unnoticed by mortal that passes, Untouched by the dew in the night. That they have become dried and wrinkled Like a man who has lived too long, But upon them Apollo has sprinkled A charm to be told of in song. Hear, Nymph, the Raisin I name them, Made from the grape, sun-dried, And give them to Man, who will claim them And cherish their wealth with pride.” two little right—they