Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

Page 12 text:

10 THE PILGRIM the rest of the scenery- and I loved it. . Next morning early I rose and watched eagerly for the cows and Jean. I heard them coming and soon I saw a barefoot boy. He was not a blonde. He had not the flashing teeth and bashful manner of my childhood friend. He passed on staring as he went. How d1s- appointed I was and how silly to think that he should remain a cow- herd all these years. That afternoon brother and I took a ride through the hills. On the return trip brother's horse lost a shoe. Fortunately there was a smithy in the village. An old man pointed it out to us, a long, low, brick-red building, and dirty. Within I could see the smithy working. How dark it was and how the hammer clanged. The smith came out to us. How strong he looked. He was tall and had blonde hair and curly. His sleeves were cut off at the elbow and the cords stood out in the arm in which he held the hammer. I knew it was Jean. But why did he look at us so oddly? He didn't even know me. I who had spent days with him in the pasture. He fixed the shoe and brother paid him, but he looked at me only once, and then casually, as he might at any stran er g . Many times I rode toward the smithy's, however, and met him fairly often. I was a little frigid at first fbecause he didn't recog- nize mel but after a while became very friendly. One day he asked me to go riding with him. I was delighted! Brother had gone home and my rides were lonesome. I waited with girlish excitement for the day to arrive. Usually boys bored me, but Jean was handsome and strong and had blonde curls. How manly he looked as he grasped the great hammer. I com- pared him, I think, with Adonis - but then I was a little girl. At last the day came. I recall now how big and splendid he looked, though he did appear a little uncomfortable and unnatural in his dress-up clothes. His cravat was gaudy but every man likes a gaudy neck-tie. When he smiled and threw his head back. how his teeth flashed and how his blonde curls shook-I liked him then -- better. It was on the way back we came to a delightful little tea house. Jean asked me in. I don't believe he would have if I hadn't hinted refreshments and if he hadn't felt it the proper thing to do. We sat at a table in the corner. Every- thing was so pretty and the table so neat. Jean's great hand rested on the table. How large it was and what broken nails he had! A sweet waitress brought our orders and Jean smiled at her, but I didn't care. We had wafers and tea in dainty little cups. Jean was so large and the cup so small! As I looked at him he prepared his tea for drinking. I'll never forget it. A stranger across the way laughed and told another to look. He grasped the cup around the sides. I-lfis hand was too large to put a finger through the handle, and, my stars! He poured the tea into his saucer. Then placing his forefinger on the edge of the cup, just enough so that its tip soaked in the tea, then the thumb back around the edge for additional balance, and the rest of his giant. hand underneath-he steadily raised the saucer to his lips and without spilling a drop-have you ever heard a person sucking the last remains of a soda out of the bottom of a glass through a straw-well, it sounded just like that. A lady turned and glared. I raised my handkerchief to my mouth and bit my lip. He

Page 11 text:

THE PILGRIM 9 to seek the boys' find. As the days of the contest passed the girls saw the prize slipping away fron1 them. Guess we'll get it, said Jimmy confidently a day before it closed. I bet it'll be somethin' swell. P'haps a shotgun or somethin' like that, anticipated Eddy. Say, Jim, you know the fiowers are all under your name on the board. Don't forget we helped you, though, said Eddy anxiously. Course not. said Jimmy dis- dainfully. What d'yer think I am! Then came the day on which the prize was awarded-and to James Parker. He was called to the principa1's room and presented with a medium-sized package. Eagerly the boys waited for him after school and they hastened to a secluded spot to open it. Speechless they gazed at-a book-entitled Wildflowers and Where to Find Them. Disgust was written on the three faces. , Gosh, all that work and two lickin's fer not gettin' wood after school, fer just a book, came Jimmy. Good-night, and what I got fer trying' to sneak my father's gun to scare the girls, from Buddy. That's nothin', I got a cold that was so bad I can't go swimmin' till July, my mother said, from Eddy. Here, said Jimmy, who wants the first turn takin' it ? Aw, you can keep it fer havin' the good idea and' doin' the hard work, said Eddy, and Buddy nodded agreement. Guess my sister can have it if she thought it was such a peachy prize. C'mon home 'n' ask my mother fer some doughnuts. K. SAMPSON '25 TEA AND TEARS It was when a little girl I met him. He had bare feet and curly hair, and was just as brown as he could be. Every morning he passed by with the cows, and every morn- ing I watched him, furtively, from the porch, but he never so much -as smiled. It was only after much encour- agement and not a little urging that he became friendly enough to say hello and usually he said that way down deep in his throat -and I distinguished it only by closely watching his lips as he formed the word. One day, how- ever, I gained courage enough to offer him a doughnut, and for some reason I was surprised to see him take it. And how he ate! As I remembered it, there were two bites and it had disappeared. But I was glad. He was friendly enough to take it, anyway. One morning I made him prom- ise to let me go with him and help drive the cows, but he did so only on condition that I would bring him a doughnut or some other form of sweets every morning. I did so gladly. Each morning I saved some of my good things for him and I enjoyed watching him eat. Those days in the pasture were happy, but one day I had to leave and go to the city. Mother thought I had grown well enough to go to school. Six long years I went to school and then I traveled for one year, not writing to my blonde, curly- haired Jean all this time. When I returned home after traveling, I became ill and the doctor urged mother to send me to the country where I had been so happy when a child. I longed to go-to see Jean again. As my brother and I rode, I thought of him, his blonde curls and flashing teeth, his deft hand- ling of the great staff he carried. I wondered if I would see him in the morning. At last! There was aunty's house, unchanged as was

Page 13 text:

THE PILGRIM 11 sipped again-rather musically. I didn't know whether to laugh -or cry. My blonde, curly- headed hero! I became angry at last and when I heard another long sip followed by a guffaw I rose and ran out with tears in my eyes. If Jean knew why that person had laughed, he'd have broken his back. He followed me out, but I was angry and rode home in silence. On reaching home I threw my- self on my bed and cried, then laughed, and cried again. I'm afraid blonde curls don't make a man, and no matter how deftly he may drink tea he cannot necessarily have blonde curls. Anyway -I'm still a spinster. D. W. SUTHERLAND '27 THE LETTER Tuesday noon the postman handed a letter to little Teddy. As Teddy started for the door, Rover came up, and Rover wanted to play. The next minute the letter was disappearing around the cor- ner of the house, held fast in the jaws of a small dog. A few minutes later Teddy was telling the family, who had gath- ered in the dining-room, of the loss. Whose letter was it ? they asked. I don't know. I didn't see the address, Teddy replied. It is probably that note from the Bixbys, Mrs. Clayton said. They were going to write me if they couldn't come, but I wish I knew what they said. It might have been for me, cut in Ethel. Ethel was eighteen, exceedingly pretty, and had numer- ous admirers. Well, I was looking for a letter, too, said James, the older son. You weren't expecting a letter, were you, Charles ? Mrs. Clayton asked her husband. Yes, I was, and it was a very important one, was the answer. After luncheon every one joined in the hunt for Rover. They looked everywhere and finally found him, asleep in the barn, but there was no trace of the letter. Oh, if only dogs could talk, moaned Mrs. Clayton, as unable to sleep, she lay on her bed. I won- der where that letter is. But it must be from the Bixbysg I'm go- ing to think so anyway, she said resolutely. If that should be Dennison's letter, mused Mr. Clayton as he locked up the house. If that should be, and I know it must! I suppose it serves me right for tell- ng him to write to me at the house instead of at the office. Oh, if that letter should be an invitation from Fred! thought Ethel in her room. And I'd so much rather go to the dance with him. I wonder where Rover could have put it. Jimmy was also thinking aloud in his room. What if it were May's letter after all? How fool- ish I was to tell her that if I didn't hear by Thursday night, I'd under- stand it was 'no'! She may have written and be expecting me and I wouldn't even know it! Next morning Mrs. Clayton broke the silence at the breakfast. table by saying, I don't think I'll do much to get ready for the Bix- bys. I'm so sure the letter was from them! Do you mean it? asked her husband, brightening. Are you positive ? Yes, really positive. They said all the time they didn't think they could come, and that I should probably get their letter saying so. The others became much more cheerful at that news. It was about five o'clock that