Paxton High School - Reflector Yearbook (Paxton, IL)

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The Paxton lliyh School Reflector 3 fr 'Twas A Night Before Christmas An Original Christmas Monologue Written as a Part of Composition Work in English II. (By Agnes Johnson, '17 = == It was the night before Christmas; the house was very still; no sound could be heard but the wh'stling of the wind and the slow ticking of the clock down stairs. Yet, in spite of the silence and my weariness, I could not sleep. The day had been a long one for me. Dad had taken mother to Chicago for some belated Christmas shopping, and I was to keep house for my brother. The unaccustomed duties had tired me completely; yet, for some reason, I could not sleep. I lay awake and watchful, waiting for the first peep of dawn, and listening for the clock to strike the hours.) Soon the sound of the wind grew fainter, and I was just losing consciousness when—I suddenly sat erect, every nerve tense. From the hall outside my room had come a loud, unmistakable thump! Not a sharp bang, like the overturning of a piece of furniture, (which would hgve been bad enough), but a thump, as of a soft body falling, like a man falling! Burglars! I stuck my hand frantically under the pillow and grasped my cameo ring while I felt my hair rising until the kid-curlers hurt. What should 1 do? I wouldn’t yell—he’d shoot me sure! I thought of my mesh-bag and my silver vanity box, in full view on the dresser. I made up my mind that if he entered -- . the room I’d make a dash for the window, seizing my valuables on the way, jump onto the veranda roof and slide down the pillar. Of course I had on my prett:est n'ghtie and it would probably be torn, but it would be a worthy sacrifice While I was evolving my desperate plans, I sat bolt upright, my ears straining and my eyes trying to pierce the dark, but not a sound was heard, no glimmer could be seen. I lay down, pulling the covers over my head and shutting my eyes tight. I stayed so for a long time, hardly daring to breathe, but nothing happened. I remember really feeling a little disappointed. That was just my luck! I never had surprising adventures like story-book girls. If I were in a story-book, I wrould have shot the man. or reformed him. or something, and recued mother’s silver and gotten my name in the papers. But such is not my fortune, and I’m sure it’s all because my name’s Mary Jane. If my name were Theodora, or Violet, or Geraldine, I know I’d have adventures, but who ever heard of a Mary Jane having adventures? Their lives are prim, just like their names, and they always live to be old maids. So I finally dropped asleep, lamenting my awful name, as I do every night of my life. I awoke early the next morning, be-

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2 The Paxton Hiyh School lief lector in® :[5® 0 0 [5] FOREWORD, EDITORIAL COMMENTS AND SUGGESTIONS 0 00 FOREWORD. When you step before your mirror in the morning and gaze within, you see reflected in its smooth surface, yourself. If you are contented, contentment will smile lack at you, if you are happy, your reflection is happy; likewise discouragement, amusement and disappointment may be seen —all according to your mood. The aim of our little Reflector is to be the mirror of the Paxton High School. As we look over its pages, we see reflected within, the various phases of our school life; our pleasures are all there, as well as the records of our striving in the class room; and if any of the pages should recall disappointment or failure, they are quite overshadowed by the greater and brighter reflections of victory and contentment and pleasure. Although our efforts may seem crude and unpolished to our readers, yet we ask them not to turn the strong light of their criticism on our Reflector, bringing its defects into prominence, but rather to regard it as the sincere efforts of the High School students to reflect those phases of the school-life and school-work which ar deemed most interesting. The greater portion of the poetry, parodies, and prose writings found in these pages wag not prepared especially for the Reflector, but is here given to our readers to present the kinds and quality of work which is beinc done in our English classes, under the direction of Miss Felmley. Space will not allow us to publish all of that which is deserving, but enough ha? been chosen by our teachers to clear- ly reflect the efforts of our English classes. TWO SUGGESTIONS. This issue of the Rejector contains no Alumni notes. This is to be re gretted, and some one should be ap-po.nted to edit an Alumni Department. This department should be under the direction of some former graduate of the school who is so situated as to be able to report items of interest concern ng alumni. Many P. H. S. graduates are Reflector subscribers, an 1 s ich items would be especially interesting to them. Perhaps the editors of the Junior number, which will appear about the 1st of April, will se? that this defect s remedied. In many high schools a forty minute period is set apart each week for special talks on live topics by members of the faculty. In others a similar period is set apart for talks on assigned topics by the more advanced students Our faculty members could give us something worth while, and it would be a valuable experience for some of the older students to try themselves out as platform-speakers, especially those who expect sooner or later to teach, preach, or practice law. Those in favor of one of these, or of partly one and partly the other, signify the same by saying, aye.

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4 The Paxton High School lief lector fore the sun was up. But I didn’t linger as Iona: as po-sihle under the quilts, as I usually do, but got right up, even if it was cold. Dick had pretended to despair at the thought of ■ny housekeeping, and I had determined to hurry down and prepare a sumptuous breakfast before that lazy Dick’s alarm clock sounded. I’d show him! He’d have to confess that Mary Jane was some little housekeeper, after all! Now I was able to laugh at my fears of the night before. How glad I was .that I hadn’t ’roused Dick, and how he would have teased! Mv cameo and mesh-bag were safe, the noise was probably a product of my active imagination I always hear noises at night after the light is turned off. 1 dressed hurriedly and started toward the door. I’d surprise Mr. D!ck an(| then perhaps he’d have more respect for me in the future. I cautiously grasped the door-knob, but the door wouldn’t open! I tried again—again it stuck as if held bv some force on the other side. Then my fright of the night before had not been false. Ha! I knew what had happened! Some bold robbers ha.1 entered the house, ravaged it, and were keeping me prisoner so that I could not spread the alarm. But where was Dick? My dear, brave, big brother! I forgot his teasing, the dead mouse he had put in the dresser and the fudges he had stolen. He would-not hesitate to fight the villians! So neither would I! Although I was so frightened my toes seemed to be tied in knot9. and It felt as if there were ice chunks coasting down by back, I gritted my teeth and marched to the door like Joan of Arc marching to the stake (and with much the same feelings), I gave a sharp tug—the door op- ened, some horrid inanimate object toppled over, rolled the few feet to the stair and went humping, thumping down! With a wild shriek for Dick, I ran to the closet, and burrowed far into the corner behind my last-winter's coat, with the ice chunks worse than before and mv eyes tight shut. In an instant, Dick entered and I told him of my terrible experiences. He turned to the door and started for the stair, but this only increased my terror. I didn’t know what horrible thing might happen to him down th'-re. “Dear, dear, Dick”, I sobbed, “Don’t go down there, you will be killed! I’ll never. n°ver call you a torment again! But my pleadings fell on deaf ears: Dick can be very stubborn at times. I turned stiff at the thought of what m’ght be waiting at the foot of the stairs, but I was still more terror stricken at the thought of remaining alone; so we picked our way down, through the dark, I, clinging wildly to the cord of Dick’s bathrobe, while the tears rolled down my cheeks and 1 called him pet names and implored him to turn back. He in turn swearing at me in a whisper. (Dick never did have any consideration for my feelings). So we reached the bottom, Dick stumbled over it and rushed for the light-switch and I flew blindly to a corner, crouched behind the piano. The light blazed up. Dick uttered a shriek, the floor flew up and hit my face and everything turned dark------ A little later 1 found myself lying on the conch, with Dick pouring cold, wet water all over me and taking all the curl from my hair. But strangest of all. he was calling me pet names! (Continued on Page f .)