Plainfield High School - Milestone Yearbook (Plainfield, NJ)

Page 16 text:

14 THE ORACLE “ Antonio, what kind of a toy are you making?” questioned Therisina, one of the wood-carver’s toy-lovers. ‘I don’t think you ever made one like it before, did you? How smooth it is,—how pretty.” “Yes, my child, this is a new toy,—zy toy it is. I am going to play with it.” “Why, Tony, won’t you look funny playing with toys!” “Maybe so, maybe so.”’ The toy was, indeed, very graceful with its pretty curves and lovely wood. As Antonio picked it up, he asked, “Child, do you know how many kinds of wood and how many separate pieces there are in this? No? Altogether there are about fifty-eight different pieces and six kinds of wood. Nearly every piece came from the various trees that I have chopped down.” But though graceful, the toy was very queer. It was rather large, but very light, for it was hollow. Stretched tightly across the top, which was made of the finest pine, there were tiny steel wires and long’ pieces of cat-gut. One end was large and flat, while the other was slimmer,—slim enough to easily grasp it. [his part was made of sycamore. At the narrow end were small black pegs of ebony, which regulated the tightness of the wires and cat-gut. The back was made of ash, while the sides joining the top and the bottom were composed of six different pieces of maple, bent to the required forms by a heated iron. “The whole toy was varnished an exquisite orange color, so transparent that the curls of wood beneath looked like clouds. But queerest of all, was a stick that went with the toy. It also, was very light of weight, but very straight and smooth. From end to end were hundreds of strong white horse-hairs, so tightly stretched that thev seemed as cne. It was on this that Antonio was working while Theri- sina, with her feet on the rounds of the chair, looked on with black, wondering eyes. With a last twist and rub, he exclaimed, ““There! At last I have finished it.’ “How can you play with that, Tony? What do you do with it? It’s the queerest thing I ever saw in all my life.” For an answer he picked up the larger part of the toy, placed the larger end of it under his chin, with the long slender part in his left hand, and drew the side with the many hairs across the strings. Back and forth, back and forth he drew the stick, at the same time pressing the different strings with the fingers of his left hand, and lo! from the depth of the toy came the sweet plain- tive voice of his daughter, Amelita, who still lived, and lives today to comfort and to cheer, for it is her voice that sings from the soul of the violin!

Page 15 text:

THE ORACLE 13 The Forest That Sang (Written by the Winner of the Babcock Prize—Evelyn Tennyson.) “Amelita, my Amelita; O to hear your voice again! Ah, me,—once I was happy, but now, why must I live? When you, Amelita, were here, I had some- thing for which to live. O why did you have to leave me?” Bemoaning thus, Antonio Silvano, a lonely wood-cutter, left his humble home for the deep forest, where, a year before, his only daughter, Amelita, had disappeared while playing. All seaching had been in vain, for no traces of her were ever found. It was here, too, that her father worked all day, earning his living by chopping wood. In the evening he whiled away his time turning a stick of wood into a bird, a goat, or a child, with his skillful knife. This work gave him much pleasure, for as his daughter once had shown delight in his toys, so did the children of the village revel in them. At the ringing of the church bell in the small Lombard town announcing noon, Antonio laid down his axe and seated himself beneath one of the tall, spicy pine trees to eat his mid-day meal of coarse brown bread, cheese, and wine. For him the trees had a peculiar fascination. They seemed like so many people whispering and bowing to each other. He loved them; they were his friends. Drowsy from his morning of hard labor, his head slowly sank upon his breast -in sleep. Presently, a breeze stirred: Among the many leaves it played a sweet, plaintive song, accompanied by the whistling of the pines. A faint flicker of a smile was on Antonio’s face. He raised his head. -““Amelita,’” he murmured. By degrees the music grew in volume, filled with breadth and splendor. Sounding chords caught from the.distance, one by one -were woven in. All the joy and beauty of the world were a part of it. But yet, there was something more. It was the cry of a soul in bondage, straining to be free,—struggling to break the chains and take its place with those who were alive. | Standing with arms uplifted, the wood-cutter cried, ‘““Amelita, my daughter! Have you come back? Speak, my child.” But the voice had ceased, and the only answer he received was the falling of a large, loose limb from a tree, that the wind had disentangled from its branches. That night Antonio-started early for bed, as if trying to push: ahead the hours, for he was impatient for the morning to come. He wanted to get back into the forest, for maybe—, he would hear the voice again. A noise startled him. He listened; someone was at the door. No, it was only the wind; he was mistaken. Antonio went to the open window and looked towards the forest. Yes, there they were,—his trees, and the trees that somewhere in their depths sheltered his lost child. The wind blew, the trees stirred, and to Antonio it seemed as if they were waving good-night to him, and not knowing why, he waved his hand in response.

Page 17 text:

BASKETBALL TEAM—FOOTBALL TEAM PHotTo BY STONE LUCKEY