Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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p b offense was committed in Canada, a Justice in the United States had no jurisdiction in the matter. It was many days before the wom- an saw her son again. She had not much opportunity to indulge in mel- ancholy fancies; she spent much of her time in pulling brush and wood out of the snow and breaking it with an axe, so as to adapt it to the size of her stove. The neighbors tried to be kind, but after all, what could neighbors amount to, when the nearest of them lived a mile away, and all of them were plain to say that they believed she was the mother of a murderer? But the neighbors also said the woman did not seem to mind the solitude and the rough work. She received three letters from Alexander in the course of the win- ter. The first told her that he was imprisoned, and awaiting his trial; and the last two said he had been convicted and must die. As March went out, and spring days and sunshine came, it was no- ticed that the face of Alexander’s mother looked sharp and white, but she went about the same duties as before, without seeming to be weak or ill. As the warm weather advanced, the time came for Alexander’s exe- cution. It was a sorrowful scene; the woman saw her son before he went to his death, but only for a few mo- ments. The son that she raised to a man was being punished for a crime he had never comniitted. She knew that he was not guilty, the only one who really believed in him. The strong woman became weak; and, as the June flowers began to bloom, she ceased to move about and sat most of each day in a chair by the open door. A few friendly neigh- bors came to the little house and helped the woman carry on the work to be done. Her mind changed with the relaxation of her physical frame. She no longer strove to hide her tears, but, like a tired infant, would weep without restraint or conceal- ment. (Continued on Patre SO) iQford i-ibi ary atp sb ‘jBqj punoaS aq} qoo Uaqjoui s,.iapuBxaiv M paXoiduia) pasnooB aqj .ioj psunoo aqj qiy aAisnpuoa puB .iBap ajB.usi2Biu aqj oj pauiaas .lapuBxaiv jsuib b aouappa aqj, Xjojs siq p[Oj A’poq aq} punoj pBq oq.vv uBiujBoq aqj, aonsnf aqj aaojaq uoi uiiUBxa ui qiads aaaAv sqaaA qiBf Xjunoo aqj ui jqSiu Sui -iuoo aqj puads pino.vv Xoq uayo aaq jBqj Avauq aqs uooy auid paBq aqj uodn HBj uaq; puB ayou ppiOAv sxBaj AABaq aqj jnq ![Bnsn sb ‘q.iOAv aaq qioqB aaaqi sbav ubuioay 2uo.ijs aqj, •asnoq aqi ojui juoay zuiy ‘iqSis jo jno ‘pBo.i aqj jo puaq aqj punojB passBd pBq Xaqi uaqAV uiaqj iajjB AqnjjsiAV pazBS ‘aouaj aqj jo doj aqj uodn SA Bda.ioj siq qqAv dn SuipuBjs ‘Azuiy uiBaj qaqj jjai pBq saaoqjo aq) aaaqAY ‘asnoq )xau aq) o) pBo.i aq) UAvop )ooj uo )uaAv ou) aqj, , lIOS A HI ‘q A ouq i laXq-pooS ‘sa ,, ‘paaaAvs -UB idiuis aqs , Jaqjoiu ‘)q2u apBiu aq ip3 qiAv q ;aXq-pooQ„ ‘P! s puB pau.in) ‘.loop aq) jo )no )ua.vv aq sb uapuBxaiv pa).iB)S Xaq) pus pa.iBda.id uoos sbav ay ‘saaoipo aq) qq.vv o2 O) XpBa.i apBiu ‘uoipafqo qio -qq.vv pun ‘Anuaps aq ja C ;2uuaAinb puB aqqAv sbav an qaj aq puno.vv aq) jo aouapiAa a.ioiu oabS .lapiiBxaiy •uSis paBAvqio aaqjo ou )nq ‘s.iaoqjo aq) qqAv paq(B) aqs sb aoBj aaq jo sapsmu 2uo.i)s aq) jo SuiqoqAV) jqSns b sbav aaaqj, ■q jnoqB ssnj Xub apBiu aaqjoui siq ,iou .lapuBxaiv .laqqau )Bq) payi)sa) s.iaoiqo aqx ‘Suiq) qons ou sbav a.iaq) mq iauaos b puB Suia.ia aiuos uaaq aABq o) jqSno a.iaqj sdBq -,iaj -ssaiuapiiAv b ui pajBiosi SuiAq aidoad Xpuoi oavj asoqj o Avojq qij -pua.ip b iCipaiqnopun sbav iapuB -xaiv pajsa.uB puB ‘asnoq jauoi aqj 0} pBO.i daajs aqj paquiip puB auiB) XBiWB saqiu Xjua.wj uavoj Xjunoo aqj luodj saaoiqo oavj ‘jaquiaAOM ui XBp X.iBaap b uo ‘Xi8uip.iooDy •pajsaajB aq oj iqSno .xapuBxaiy jBqj piBS puB jpj sbav ji uBuuaH uisnoo siq pa.iap -anui pBq aapuBxaiy jBqj uoiuido juaaano aqi aq oj AvaaS uoos ji aOH-NHCTIOD HHX ZZ

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ALEXANDER’S TRIAL By Rita Doane UST where the edge of the wood began, in a little clearing, is a lonely, di- lapidated house. On the tenth day of June, 1902, a muscular woman stood at the door of the house, overlooking the vast extent of the valley. She saw the vast fields of summer grains and cornstalks, that were moved to and fro by the breeze. The woman knew that soon her son would return. That was why she watched so anxiously a speck that seemed to near the house. To make doubly sure she brought to bear an old spyglass, whose principal lens was cracked entirely through and gave her a smoky view of the road. Now she was entirely certain that her son, who had been three weeks absent, was coming home. Binzy, the house-dog, which had been watching her, seemed to know it, too, perfectly well; for, as the woman turned from her survey through the glass, his canine body developed a degree of wriggling friskiness, of which the grave old dog seemed half ashamed. He whined, and walked about the door- yard for a few moments, then gave iiis mistress a long, steady look, and seemingly satisfied with what he read in her face, jumped over the fence and started down the road into the valley at a full run. The woman knew that three or four hours must yet elapse before Alexander and Binzy would come along the path together, tired by their long tramp up from the valley. She thought and waited, as lonely mothers think and wait for absent sons. At about four o’clock a young, dark-eyed man, followed by the dog, came up the road and to the house. “Heigho, mother; all well?” was his greeting. The woman’s greeting was only, “How do you do, Alexan- der?” There was no show of senti- ment, not even a handshake; but a bright look in the man’s face, and a tremor in the voice of the woman conveyed the impression that these plain people felt a great deal more than they expressed. Two hours passed by, and after supper, the neighbors, who had seen Alexander and the dog come up the road, dropped in for a talk with “master Alexander,” as Alexander was called by his friends. Soon the inquiry was made, “Where did you leave your cousin Herman?” Alexander had taken his cousin Herman, who lived in town, with him upon his last trip, and hence the question. But Alexander did not answer the question directly. He seemed trou- bled and unhappy about it. He final- ly acknowledged that he and Her- man had not agreed, and that high words and blows had passed between them, adding that his cousin had finally left him and gone away in a huff, he knew not where, but some- where into the pineries of Canada. He declared, getting warm in his recollection of the quarrel, that he “didn’t care a darn” where Herman went, anyway. A month passed. It was July; Cousin Herman did not return. But certainly strange stories came from Canada, and reached the dwellers along the valley road. No Cousin Herman had been seen in the piner- ies; but just across the Canadian line, at the mouth of Fish River, where the sloops were moored to re- ceive their lading of lumber, a bruised, swollen, festering corpse had risen and floated in the glare of a hot July sun. The boatmen res- cued it, and buried it upon the shore. They described it as the body of a hale, vigorous young man, agreeing in height, size, and appearance with Cousin Herman.

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