Mission High School - Mission Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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THE MISSION Self-Sacrifice June Martin was seventeen years old and a senior of the Dalesboro high school. She Was the only child of Well-to-do parents and the kind that was always getting special honors and privileges. She would study very hard to get the highest grades on her card, play a very hard game of tennis or basket-ball to get the praise of the onlookers, and dress rather extravagantly to catch everyone's attention. June was a pretty girl, slim, with brown wavy hair, large brown eyes and a clear complexion. In other words, June Martin was the school's most popular girl. Mr. E. H. Walton, an elderly gentleman, announced to the school board that he intended to give a five hundred dollar scholarship to a deserving student of the graduat- ing class. Of course everyone took it for granted that June would win it. Did I say everyone? No. Everyone but Mary Nelson. Mary Nelson was a plain, overgrown, studious girl. She knew nothing of the luxuries which June enjoyed every day, but she did know what it was to work. Mary worked outside of school hours and on Saturdays in order to keep herself in school. She lived about one and one-half miles from the school and had to walk this distance every day. One morning Mary started to school in the rain. It had poured all the previous night and she discovered, much to her dismay, that the bridge which had once spanned the little creek had been Washed out. What was she to do? She coiild not and would not turn back now. The final examination in English was to be given that morning. She had to get to school. She determined to wade across! Off came her mud-covered shoes and woolen stockings, and in she stepped. Mary arrived at the schoolhouse- just as June Martin was removing her wraps. Con- tact with June was an ordeal to Mary, always. June was at all times very courteous to her, but there was such an air of superiority about her. June noticed that Mary was trembling all over and that her arms and face were purple with cold. After questioning and cross-questioning her, June found out the cause of her condition and realized suddenly how much a scholarship would mean to the poor girl. Right then and there June decided that llfIary was going to get Mr. Walton's scholarship. Pretending to be merely curious, june asked Mary what her grades were. Mary, thinking that June was just trying to make conversation, told her, and June discovered that Mary's grades were exactly the same as her own. The dis- covery gave June an idea. She would Hunk this examination and let Mary have the scholarship. What difference would it make to her whether she had it or not? She would go on to college anyway, whereas Mary could not go without it. The English examination came and went. VVhen the reports came out, the students could not understand why june had done so poorly, but they did not dare ask. June's attitude puzzled them. She seemed perfectly contented and not the least bit ashamed. Was this calmness, they wondered, another phase of the over-confidence which had i16l

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MISSION HI G H SCHOO ,, YW 'mv 5 Q 1' 1 735 lf, ,,.A A .gr AQ. , , 'J ' -. Q, The M ission CPa1m5 04 6Uiew of Our School from Our CParlz H5 I

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MISSION HIGH SCHOOL made her take the examination without having studied for it? Or did she think that, because of her father's influence, she could get away with it and win the scholarship despite her failure. Commencement came and went! Mary Nelson had won the scholarship! f'Poor June! said everybody. Poor June? No! June was not to be pitied. Never in her life, not even when she had been the center of all attention, had she felt so keenly happy as in the moment when Mary Nelson was announced the winner of the scholarship. Lois OVERMAN. Fantasy At the edge of the great Forsaken Desert lies a sleepy little village. The drab adobe huts lie silently in the sun, patiently waiting to be worn away by the burning rays. Some of them are crumbling, and some already in ruins. None are inhabited, for long ago the dwellers were captured and made prisoners by a vicious tribe of the North, enslaved by the great chief 5 and humbled forever. N o more are there faces in the door- waysg the steady beat of tom-toms is deadg laughter and song has long been goneg only the murmur of the breeze in the parched grasses is left, to remind us of the life and gladness that once reigned there. But the burning glare of the sun begins to fade. The soft glow deepens to a purple haze, in the twilight. As evening advances, the village becomes slowly alive. Indistinct outlines of the huts are visible. The starlight fills the air with life, and the shadows creep forth one by one, forming mysterious figures in the moonlight, while their whispers are borne away with the soft breath of air. The supernatural dancers sway to the steady beat of the tom-toms. The midnight lark re-echoes the cry of the lost race. The little village awakens again in the light of the glowing moon, on the Forsaken Desert-undisturbed. ELEANOR WREDEN. Night I God has thrown A cloak of blue Across the ever reaching Sky, To conceal an Angel At his post Who guides Our wandering souls At night By a glowing, Sflvff star! SHELAGH Gowns. U71