Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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might and main, there being in sight no living thing with which he could pick a fight. Hello, Ted, Son said in his genial manner. Ted gave the tree an even more vicious kick. Ted looked at Son ' s satiny legs as if he were wishing that they stood where the tree did. You waitin ' to see Auntie Marg come? beamed Son. Shut up, came from the other. ' ' My Auntie is coming. ' ' He smiled unconcernedly and was turning away when fate took a hand. Inside Son ' s pocket his hand was closed over those kisses. He brought them forth and displayed them proudly. See my Auntie Marg ' s tisses, Ted? See, one, two, three, four, five. Ted spat contemptuously on the ground. Who cares for your Aunt Marg? he growled. Then with a quick ugliness he snatched the paper from Son ' s hand and tore it into bits and scattered it to the winds. After which he looked at Son with the expression Well, what are you going to do about it? At first Son ' s lip quivered, then something inside him began to boil. Next his hands were clenched and he shot forward like a shot. It was a whirlwind fight while it lasted. The two figures seemed as one. Now they were down, rolling, striking. From a window two people were watching. They had seen the start. As they watched Betsy rung her hands and wept, while her husband held her with a merciless grip from interference. Let him finish, let him finish. He ' ll be killed, sobbed Betsy. Oh, let me go. Ted ' s going home, said father. Son brushed a hand across his eyes. There was a scratch across his cheek and a growing bump on his forehead, and his white linen suit was dirty. But Son wasn ' t thinking of himself. With careful diligence he was gathering up the scraps of the precious paper. Then he made for the house and came in. He tore up my Auntie Marg ' s tisses. That ' s why I fought him. Son ' s father coughed as he realized that Son knew that he had done some- thing wrong. It was up to him to give the child a lecture. But how could he when he was filled with the keenest satisfaction? Then noticing that Son and mother were rushing into each other ' s arms, he quietly left the room. Outside the door he said to himself, He ' s my son, all right, but who would have thought that of him. Then he laughed and taking his hat slipped outdoors.

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COflKMG GOOP COICH PflP Edith Zimmerman, ' 23. HIS name was Son. There wouldn ' t be any better and bigger name for a four-year-old. His mother was a little woman with a disposition of captivating exactness. Yes, her son w r as just like her. Son was well liked by his grandparents, and uncle and aunts, and could have had as many homes as he desired. First of all there was the home of his mother and father. Then that of his grandmother Perkins ' home and his grand- mother Hollister ' s home. But the first and second were the ones he liked best. Mother, auntie and all the grandparents thought Son as nearly perfect as a child could be. Only his father was not satisfied with the perfection, and at times would grumble thus : I tell you Betsy, he ' s too good to be true. You take a thing from him — does he howl ? No. ' It isn ' t natural. Now I ask you, what kind of a man is he going to make, if he fails to develop some spunk? Wait, was always Betsy ' s answer. You forget because he is so big that he is only a four-year-old. ' ' Yes, but a four-year-old who wears a six-year-old suit isn ' t a baby, retorted father. Son wasn ' t like the other boys of the neighborhood. For whenever other boys plucked a flower Son would do his best at repairing their damage by replanting it. Son ' s father was a college man even if at times he alluded to his son as a mush head. When Son ' s Aunt Margaret wrote letters sending him kisses of crosses, he would count them carefully and slip them into his pocket and keep them until a time came to redeem them. You can ' t beat him at a love game, his father exploded contemptuously one Sunday morning after he had come upon Son searching the hamper of soiled clothes for the discarded suit of the day before. My Aunt Marg ' s tisses, Son explained as he fished the kisses out and put them in the pocket of the white linen suit he had on. Mush-head, commented his father. His Auntie Marg was coming that day and Son was going out to watch for her. So he went forth — wide blue contented eyes beneath a crop of curly yellow hair. When he reached the street he came upon six-year-old Ted Jones, the bully of the block. Ted ' s mother had just been disciplining him by making him button his little sister ' s shoes, and help his little brother into his clothes. By way of revenge, Ted was kicking the tree in front of Son ' s house with all his

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If? Oie GLOflOOWG T Alice Cobb HE afternoon light is fast fading As the sun Anxious to reach his destination beyond The horizon Hastens with increased speed Westward. The western sky is ablaze with glory, And the waning light of the sun gradually Blends with the marvelous rainbow Of the sunset and is at last lost In the glorified heavens, And it is dusk. A soft brooding peace falls over the world, And silence, like a winged messenger from the sky Steals over the earth. It envelopes the most remote corners, And all is still Save for the gentle cooing of the turtle-dove, The subdued sounds of crickets, And a few last sleepy chirps of birds hardly awake. A gray cloud gently enfolds The silent world, For a few moments it remains Then comes the night like a peaceful Angel of Rest And the moon like a guardian angel. The little stars twinkle cheerfully And rival the village lights In brightness. Then the lights disappear But the stars remain And the moon sheds her benign brilliance Over all. And the world sleeps.