Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

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THE ECHO less fair. They knew why he lay stiff and cold—their hands had done the deed. Ottima, one of the Happiest Four in Asola! Just then a fresh, young voice broke in upon their passionate words with her dainty song: “The year’s at the spring, nd day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hillside’s dew pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in His heaven— ll’s right with the world!” “Oh! ’tis that little, ragged girl. She must have rested on the step. She stoops to pick my heartsease,” cried Ottima. “God’s in his heaven!” cried the man beside her. “The little peasant’s voice has righted all again. I see what I have done. God’s in his heaven!” A repentant sinner replaced the man of crime. “Tis noon. I shall be Bridegroom and Bride. I shall be Jules and Phene 5 : happy in their love.” Yet bridegroom and bride were not happy in their love. False friends of Jules, the artist, had in treachery, played him a dastardly trick, and his bride, with the snow-white face and raven hair, disclosed their envious hate, on her bridal day. The bridegroom was sw earing his deep revenge when a child’s voice rang in a sweet, glad strain. The voice of the weaver, in her fancy, was gay as she carolled of love. Then the little maiden passed. But re heart of the Bridegroom was melted, and revenge was turned to trust. = “Now it is eve and I shall be Luigi, who loves his mother so well. It I only knew what was my mother’s face—my father’s, too!” thought the lit- e maid. In a turret, Luigi sat with his mother. Unknown to them, spies were a watching what he might do. Should he leave before night for Vienna, well and good. Should he remain, there was but one way to deal with traitors. His mother, loving the sight of her only son, begged her Luigi to remain with her, for his duty away was a dangerous one. In the midst of her plea an eaget young voice sang clearly: “A king lived long go In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher heaven than now. Before his palace in the sun He sate, to see his people pass And judge them every one. ’Tis said a python came one day, With jorky tongue and eye on flame, Where the old king sate to judge alway. [Page sixteen]

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Y G Z g 4 Y A y gy G Z We w cane VOL. V. SANTA ROSA, JANUARY, 1913 No. 5 AA New Year’s Day APPY NEW YEAR to you, one and all! I am going to tell you a story of which I a m very fond. It is a story of a New Year’s Day in sunny Italy; a story told long ago by one who loved and lived in that land of painters and poets. The glorious sunshine of a New Year’s morn gladdened the heart of a little silk weaver. Day by day, her tired feet 1ad stood before her web while her deft fingers twined the silken strands. sut today she was free; this was to be her one glad holiday—the only one in a whole long year. As she rose to delight in her glorious luxury, she whis- ered to herself: “I must not squander a mite of my twelve hours’ treasure. jut this one day I have leave to go and play out my fancy’s fullest games. may fancy all day.” So she was to spend her day—morn, noon, eve and night—in fancy fancying herself the happiest four in Asolo. These four were Ottima, the wife beloved of rich, old Luca, who owned the silk mills, where the weavers earned bread and milk; Jules and Phene, a bridegroom and his bride: Luigi and his mother, for none ever loved more tenderly than they; and Holy Mon- signor, “for best love of all is God.” Happy little weaver! With joy sure- ing through her heart, she went forth singing her New Year’s hymn: All service ranks the same with God. If now, as formerly He trod Paradise, His presence fills Our earth, each only as God wills Can work—God’s puppets, best and worst, Are we; there is no last, nor first.” “This glorious morn I shall be Ottima, rich Luca’s wife.” And the little maid went singing. High on a hillside, gleamed the place of Luca. Within its walls lay an old man dead. Without, in the garden below, stood a woman fair, and a man [Page fifteen]

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THE ECHO But when he saw the sweepy hair Girt with a crown of berries rare, Beholding this, he did not dare Approach that threshold in the sun, Assault the old king smiling there. Such grace had kings when the world was young.” “°Tis God’s voice calls, how could I stay.” And Luigi went—to Free- dom, to his duty. “T, tonight at least, would be Monsignor, that holy and beloved priest. Such had been the little silk maid’s fancy at the dawn. That New Year’s night the good Monsignor sat in the Bishop’s palace. His brother, the Bishop, was dead, yet his trusted attendant still lived; lived to tell of the perfidy of both master and menial. ‘And what had become of died that a fortune might pass from master to the Bishop’s child? Had it man? “No; ‘tis but a little, black-eyed, gay, silk-winding girl. Sir, I will make way with her for you. Is it a bargain?” hrough the window admitting of the waning light, float- Softly, sweetly, t “Suddenly God took me,” closed the song. ed the words of a young girl's. The good Monsignor lifted both voice and hand. A rush, a struggle, a hush ;—a villain lay dead outside Monsignor’s door! New’s Year’s day was done. Both Pippa’s songs and her fancies must maid entered her room that night, she close with the day. Yet, as the little wondered about the Happiest Four in Asola. “Now, one thing I should really like to know, How near ever might approach all these I only fancied being—this long day. pproach, I mean, so as to touch them,—so As to, in some way, move them, if you please, Do good or evil to them some slight way; Though I passed by them all and felt no sign.” Dear little Pippa! She did not know that her sweet, pure songs had wrongs of the Happiest Four in Asola. She rae | roused the right from the stifling did not even know that they had heard while she lived in fancy, through morn, noon, eve, and night, as the 1er songs as she passed, pouring out her joy Happiest Four in Asola. “God bless me! I can pray no more tonight. No doubt, some way or other, my hymn says right. ‘All service is the same with God— With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we: there is no last nor first.’ ” Pippa slept. Her happy New Year’s day had not be squandered! [Page seventeen]