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

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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

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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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The Passing of Kona of Yohomiti. DONALD LEIDIG In the early seventies, when the Grahams rounded El Capitan after their long and tedious journey along the ridges of the Mereed, the beauty of the Yohomiti of the Indians fairly dazzled them. Their first task—since they were the first whites to invade this Indians’ Paradise—was to come to a friendly understanding with the Indian Tribes which inhabited Yosemite, the Diggers and the Piutes. The Piutes held sway over the upper end of the Valley which contained most of the berry-produe- ing territory and the Diggers occupied the lower acorn-producing end of — the —? valley. They made a sort of ‘bread, neuputi, from the ground acorns which with yen- ison formed the chief article of the Indian diet. and woe be unto the Piute caught trespassing in the Digger territory. The Grahams had no trouble in getting amica- bly acquainted with both tribes although there seemed to be some suspicion in regard to the whites. They had just completed their log cabin at the foot of Sentinel Rock and started life anew when the little valley was filled with the cries of the Diggers and Piutes in a bloody fray over the tres- passing of Piutes into Digger territory. A fight was on between the two tribes just across the Merced river from the Grahams. Mr. Graham decided to reconnoiter to see if there was any danger of the Indians turning upon his little home. Warning Mrs. Graham to be very care- ful about appearing in the open, he cautiously made his way across the river. Scarcely had he gone when Mrs. Graham was startled hy a bumping against the side of the cabin. Taking in her arms her new-born son, Charles. the first white boy born in Yosemite valley, she crept to the wall and peered through a crack. She gasped at the sight which greeted her eyes. Quickly she ran to the door and went out. There beside the cabin lay an Indian girl with an arrow in her breast, weak from the loss of blood. Mrs. Graham gathered the girl into her arms and carried her inside the house. Although made weak by the task, she tore out the arrow and dressed the wound as best she could. ‘ When Mr. Graham returned, he, having ac- quired some knowledge of the Piute dialect, was able to receive the story of the girl’s plight. She told him her name was Kona, the snow-bird, and that she had stolen away from her father’s wigwam to see the fight. While watching at what she thought was a safe distance, she had been shot by a stray arrow and had just managed to creep from the river bank to the Graham home. Mr. and Mrs. Graham decided that under the 5