Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

Page 26 text:

On a September morning two months later, Cyras sat in the postoffice and re- read the amazing article on Uncle Cy — The Man Who Builds Doll Houses. True, it was only a little People Who Are Doing Curious Things article squeezed into a half a page; but the magazine was very prominent. Even Tom Dillon was urging Cy to start his bank account with the Union Bank, for, he pointed out to Cy, that so much money left around the house might be stolen. Well, I might consider giving Bee the position she wanted, laughed Dillon. No, she and Dan are going to be married, I think, replied Cy. I see, twinkled Dillon, and I can ' t say I ' m surprised. Tom left Cy in a splendid stupor which he came out of to find Dodo ' s small face tilted toward him. His heart fell — she covered her face with a tiny hand as if in fear. But wait — she was peeping at him through spreading fingers, laughing. Cyrus was only conscious of the smiling neighbors as he swung her up to the window ledge. Could Uncle Cy use pretty stones that Dodo finds, could he? she asked, patting his cheek. Pretty stones? His hand clasped over her sticky fists. Why Uncle Cy could use pretty stones any number of ways. Alice Cobb small round hole, a little mouse, The mouse creeps from his tiny house. A square steel trap with grim aspect, Has many a mouse ' s family wrecked. Within the trap the mousie sees A golden, luscious piece of cheese. The mousie doubts, yet tempted feels, And toward that piece of cheese he steals. A frightened squeak, a sinister snap, And mousie ' s caught in the cruel trap. So let me then the moral map, Where there is cheese, beware the trap ! A

Page 25 text:

She took the child in her arms and inquired of Cyrus, Is there a hotel here? Taney Town has one hotel, stammered Cyrus, but who wants such a fairy child as that to be taken to that dingy place? We have a spare room, so come home with me. Hugh, dear, she said, wheeling to face the dark-skinned young man who entered. The postmaster says he ' s a spare room. It ' s mighty fine of you. My name ' s Laidlow — my wife and child. And I ' m Cyrus Holmes. Supper went well. Mr. and Mrs. Laidlow hailed from New York and were jolly young people. Mrs. Laidlow and Mother talked of jams while Sylvia played with Dickie. Cyrus, finding himself superfluous slipped away to the loft when the meal was over. Dickie padded after him, Sylvia trailing. On the threshold she caught her breath. ' ' Oh, ' ' she cried, dropping to the floor bf eore the little colonial house. Sylvia ' s house. Does Sylvia like it now? But now, Uncle Cy ' s forgotten. We ' re going to make a bon-fire out of this great big beautiful house. Sylvia can watch it burn. No. cried the child, stamping her foot. No, Sylvia ' s house. And suddenly bursting into tears she ran sobbing from the barn. Cyrus was still standing helpless when she returned dragging her mother with her. Why, it ' s colonial. Even the spinning wheel, exclaimed Mrs. Laidlow. Her glance leapt from one house to another. Claire ' s crazy over colonial stuff, her husband remarked coming in. You ' ve struck her hobby. She haunts unique places. But you ' ve struck something else, he said, eyes narrowing. I sold a doll house to a wealthy customer last Christmas for a hundred and fifty dollars. I ' m in the business, and if I had a couple of these for window features — ' ' Down here in a little town like this, when he ' s so marvelous. Why, Hugh, it isn ' t right. Anyone who can design things like this ought to do something big, Mr. Holmes. I was going to, once. Cyrus ' eyes were vague like an old man ' s but I been building doll houses so long, I doubt if I could ever do anything else. Bosh, cut in the younger man. The value of the things is in the uniqueness. ' ' Later mother found an envelope in the house containing fifty dollars from Mrs. Laidlow for the doll house. Seems like robbery, said Cy, but I guess Mr. Laidlow knows. Here Bee, take this money and go to the dance tonight, will you? . His daughter stared at the money in bewilderment; then took the note from her mother ' s hand and read it twice.

Page 27 text:

T eueomG Francis Eu Daly, ' 23. HE sun is sinking in the west, The day is done. The birds fly homeward to their nests, The whole wide world is seeking rest, Low sinks the sun. The last light zephyr has gasped out, Night ' s mantle falls, The blundering beetle drones about, The cock gives out a final shout, The night wind calls. The bull-frog in the marsh below Begins his song, The robin in the dark hedge-row Sings sleepily. The fireflies glow, Shadows are long. The first faint star turns up it ' s light And twinkles clear, The faithful watchman of the night. Above all, God, who guides aright Till day appear. CHeBLUe-BIRD I Edna Peters know of one who has no care His joy is free for all, He travels miles without a fare Singing his song for all. With freedom from the world he sings His little song so true, Indeed, ' tis happiness that brings The little bird of blue.