Plainfield High School - Milestone Yearbook (Plainfield, NJ)

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10 THE ORACLE “Dovid Chan!” he roared. Dovid, greatly changed, pushed out of the surging crowd, and hurried towards his wife. The man tried to stop him, but was swept aside; Dovid took his family towards the door. Again the official tried to stop and ques- tion him. “Go to h-ll!” he was told. He did not go, but he did not interfere any- more. And Slova, thinking of the new home, murmured to herself, “Better a tiny path than a wilderness.” In Imitation Chaucer LUNCH-COUNTER ther was in thise schoole Down in ye basement, wher that it was coole, And her ye scholars ate with suche dinne As ne’er was herde at ye Tabard Inne. Ye hotte-dogges and ye egg sandwiches That on his traye eeche one quyk pitches, Eech maketh haste to be ye first in line That while ye grub holds oute he may dine. And he that by mischance doth come in late Is like to get nought but an emptie plate. Twilight HEN the purple shadows are falling And the fire-flies swing their lamps, When the birds to their mates are calling From out of their leafy camps, I love to sit in the twilight And dream of a far-off land, While the moon unveils her silent face And the stars are lit by an unseen Hand. R. F. STRYKER, ’06. ‘Tis a land of dreams and wishes, Only castles in the air, (Unseen and formed in silence), Yet all are wondrous fair. And in the rosy morning light I shall seek, but all in vain, For the dreams I dreamed in the twilight I shall never see again. Eva M. RoceErs, ’06.

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THE ORACLE 9 z 1 i i ’, . RE 3K ok aK K 3K 3K 7 Slova was left with three children to continue the struggle for existence alone. Every day as she thanked God for her bread, she wondered where the next would come from. Winter came; the youngest child fell danger- ously ill; every known trouble seemed to come upon her at once. Then she did the work of two, freezing in the store from dawn till dark, nursing the child in the night, tho’ tired and weary almost beyond bearing. She sent piteous letters to her husband asking for help,—letters that wrung his heart because he had none to give. He was wandering in the streets, his stomach as empty as his pocket, not daring to look at food lest he should seize it, yet too proud to ask his friends for a meal. But she did not know. The first year passed, then the cloud began to lighten: the child became well; Dovid got some work now and then. As the second year drew to its close small sums of money found their way across the Atlantic. Very: small at first, coming irregularly, but afterwards every week, for Dovid had a steady job. And in the spring of the third year something else came, that caused the little store to be sold,—a ticket. Visits were made to kins- folk to say good-bye; everything was made ready for the journey. Slova’s last visit was to her father’s grave, where she fasted a day. Quite a crowd followed her to the wagon when they rode away, weeping. Slova sat facing backwards till the last home scene faded; then faced the front courageously, The journey was like any other. She stole across the border to avoid paying twenty roubles for a pass; was put in a vile immigrant house in Ger- many, where they fleeced all her money away; then she was taken on board a ship which, the officials assured her, they had paid extra to get her in. The ship was little, leaky, and almost unseaworthy. They sailed twenty days, enduring untold agonies, while Dovid in America was nearly sick with anxiety. He had paid a great deal more than the ticket cost to insure his wife a quick ship. The last night on board Slova had a curious dream. Instead of the proud, stately city, she saw a little hillock, up which a path was running, strewn with ashes. Tho’ greatly disappointed, she comforted herself with “Better a path than the wilderness I came from.” The next day, before breakfast, they were taken to Castle Garden, where Slova stood still in dismay. She had no money—the agents had taken care of that—for a telegram; while the children were crying with hunger, aggravated by the sight of the good things on the stalls around to be had for a few cents. Then she was told a certain man sent telegrams for nothing ; so, going to him, she asked if that were true. He nodded, then said, “What is your husband’s name?” “Dovid Chan.”

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TRE ORACLE it Our Baby ITH all his pretty golden curls cut off, With tiny suit in place of Russian blouse, With hands in his small pockets stalking round, The baby thinks he’s oldest in the house. I scarcely see him now, for all the day He runs about and has no time for me; And he and other small boys at. their play, Favor invaders not, as I can see. But when the sun sinks down behind the hill And darkness covers all the land with night, I find our little man is baby still, And that his grown-up ways have taken flight. For wearily into my lap he climbs And, looking up with dreamy eyes and blue, He begs for songs he’s heard so many times, And oft repeated “Mother Goose rhymes,” too. He listens now just as he used to do When golden curls encircled his small head ; And when he’s heard the old tales all anew He kisses me and scampers off to bed. ELLEN H. ULricu, ’o6. Man is like unto a kerosene lamp— He isn’t especially bright, He’s often turned down, usually smokes, And frequently goes out at night. Teas THE EDITOR’S REWARD. “What do you get for all this work?” I was asked the other day. “Oh nothing at all but the thanks,” I said, “Our glory is our pay.” And straightway round the corner came Some classmates on the run, And, advancing toward my helpless self, Said, ‘Gee, this issue’s bum.” Ex.