Marlborough High School - Marlborough High Yearbook (Marlborough, MA)

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My Aunt 3essic loves to help people She is a generous and well-meaning person, 30 it is not her fault if her ventures don’t turn out as expected. It wasn ! t her fault, when she prepared a wonderful Christmas basket with a turkey roasted to a turn, that a dog got the turkey before she got to the poor family for whom the basket was designated. She can’t be blamed, either, for the accidents that happened when she offered to take care of a neighbor’s babies while the neighbor went to Boston for the day. Poor Aunt 3essie had never had any experience in cases like this. The woman came home to find the babies crying, their blankets on the floor, and the milk on the stove boiling over, while Aunt Bessie read a book about The Care and Feeding of Babies. 3ut, not a bit discouraged by these and other misfortunes. Aunt Bessie decided to offer her services to the Red Cross After: a few lessons in first-aid in which she tied herself up in bandages and couldn’t free herself, the instructor of the course thought that she would be more help if she took up something she could do easily. • Knitting, for instance, was her suggestion. Anybody can knit, even you,” she added, the last part in an undertone. Aunt. Bessie was relieved to drop the course. I can’t stand the sight of blood, anyway, she said. ”3ut, don’t think that will stop me from helping out in some other way. I do believe that I will start knitting. Any boy in the Army would appreciate a nice, warm, comfortable sweater. Yes, yes. I’ll start right away.” 1 She was right—any boy would appreciate a sweater, or at least a reasonable facsimile of one. But Aunt Bessie’s sWoater--well, you can guess how It turned out. First she bought the yarn. Then came the question of the size of the needles and the hunt for the right si2e Now the needles, the yarn, and the directions were all ready, so she sat down with the ball at her feet, and the needles in her hand, but, ”0h dear, I’ve forgotten how to ' cast on, She put the needles- in her pocketbook and went down street to the store where she had bought them. She walked up to the sales¬ lady and asked, Pardon me, but would you please show me how to cast on stitches? Of course I knew, but with so many things on my mind, I ? ve just forgotten. You understand, don’t you?” • The demonstration was completed and Aunt Bessie understood it, or thought she did until she got homo. Looping the stitches on in one way or another, Nobody will notice this one row, she thought; then she started to knit. At least she could do that much--plain knitting. But naturally she ran into difficulties--purling, slippiig stitches, otc. After a few more visits to the department storo,

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Aunty truimphantly said, Now I ' ve got it dov. r n pat. This sweater will be done in no time,” Fritz, her dog, seemed to have an objection to that, for the next time Aunt Bessie had her knitting out, he worried the yarn and the knitted part to bits ' . Poor Aunt Bessie ' , That wasn ' t her fault, either. After that, she gave up, went to the store, and bought a sweater. She decided, Now I know any boy would appreciate a nice, warm, comfortable sweater—if the sweater is bought. —Helen Hovanesian n I TT Saturday, liarch 21. It ' s funny that it never bothered me before; but now—I want to find a corner, curl up, and have no one bother me for the rest of my life. p ' Have you ever felt that way? Of course you have. ' Y hen that certain time of the year rolls around, you get that lazy, sleepy feeling. They call it Spring Fever. Here we are, in class again! I guess I’m not the only one here who has spring fever There ' s Millie Jones over there gazing into space; she must be dreaming about her date tonight with Glamour-Boy Joe. Chick Rogers, over there, is thinking about his next period class. He ' s a whizz in Chemistry, and Hath., but he just can ' t master his Latin. There he is worrying. Then there’s Jackie Graves, Bob Tunney, and Jim Allen They ' re the school ' s baseball heroes. I suppose they ' re thinking about practice this afternoon and their future on this Athletic Field. Everyone seems to be far away, gazing into space or out the window. Students seem to be in a world of their own. That ' s Spring Fever, you know—a world of your own! The teacher, Miss Y illard, goes on talking, trying her best to pound something into our numb brains. ie listen, but it either goes in one ear and out the other or goes in one ear, stays there, but has no effect whatever. Well, that ' s how it is, Hiss Vuillard. Blame it all on the spring. 6h—the bell for next period. Ho Hum! jiu t I move? —Gladys Cahill