Plymouth High School - Pilgrim Yearbook (Plymouth, MA)

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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

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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

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12 THE PILGRIM afternoon when the Bixbys came. Well, we did get here anyway! they chorused gleefully. Yes, I see, murmured Mrs. Clayton. Then you - didn't write ? Why, no. We weren't to, if we could come, you know. Yes- er -I mean no, stam- mered the hostess. After the hastily prepared meal was over, Mr. Clayton and his eld- er son and daughter met in a se- cluded corner of the library. Now whose letter do you sup- pose it was? began Jimmy. Mine, groaned the father. I know it's mine-and it means hun- dreds of dollars to me. Why father! exclaimed the other two in unison. Yes, it does. Dennison was go- ing to drop me a line here if cer- tain things happened. And if they have happened, and I don't sell my Marconi before to-morrow noon, i1,'ll mean-well, there'll be the dickens to pay. On the other hand, if those things havenit happened, and I do sell - it'll be worse. Both Ethel and Jimmy assured him it must have been the letter and went off, feeling easier in their minds. On Thursday morning, the maid brought in the mail and left it at her master's plate. One for you, Julia, he began, and-by Jove, here's Dennison's letter, he finished joyfully. Twenty minutes later, with head erect and shoulders back, he could be seen hurrying down the street. Behind him, on the porch steps, were a young man and a young girl looking at each other in blank dis- may. . You said you were expecting a letter, didn't you? began Ethel hopefully. Well, so were you, weren't you ? Yes, but-- Well, don't you think it's yours? - It might be, but- You said you thought it was yours, the first thing. Yes, I know, but,-well, per- haps it is. ' Of course it is, asserted James as he ran down the steps, leaving Ethel looking after him in vague wonder. That noon the mail brought three letters, all of which Ethel pocketed. I know which one I'll read first, she said as she hurried to her room. That night Jimmy refused to come to dinner, saying he did not feel well. Yet, later that evening, after a sharp peal of the door bell and a knock at his door, he left the house, and one who saw him then would not say he looked like a sick man. a The next morning Ethel rushed headlong into the dining-room. Oh, Jimmy! she cried. It was your letter the dog hadg here it is! But it wasn't, replied the young man. I got it last night- special delivery. Yes, it is. Teddy found it in a hole under the barn. See! Well, it is for me, muttered Jimmy as he saw his own name among the marks left by the dirty paws and sharp teeth. Humph! he ejaculated as he looked at the paper which the envelope had con- tained. What is it? asked the rest of the family. It's an advertising letter from the Reynolds' kennels. Do you think we-er-need another dog? F. OTTEN '25