Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 29 text:

-7 'rs .X i -ff Qi! ..7Ixvi- i5l'xr-ikim-it vriflgz Violins cbj hut, by the door, there was a white spot shaped like a violin. The woman gazed at it a long time, shaking her head mournfully. jimmy's fiddle! she murmured. My jimmy's fiddle! She gathered an armful of wood and built a fire in the old fireplace like one in a dream. At one side of the room was a rude bench, and on this she placed an old- fashioned basket which contained her simple lunch. As she sat thinking of the past and of those whom she had lost, she was startled to hear the call, Hello! outside the door, and looking out she saw a stranger sitting on his horse at the gate. He was a large, heavily bearded man, dressed after mountaineer fashion and wearing a broad felt hat. For a minute he did not speak, then he asked slowly: Can I git dinner here, ma'am ? The woman looked at him quietly. W'ell, stranger, if ye kin stand what I've got to eat, ye're welcome to it. 'Light off and come in. Accepting the invitation, the stranger turned his horse loose at the gate, and came inside. Ain't nobody livin' here? he asked. I jest saw your smoke, an' thinkin' it was nigh onto noon, I thought I'd stop. No, there ain't nobody livin' here, now, she answered. I jest took it into my head to come and stay here all day. This uster be my old home, where my chil- dren was borned and where my old man died a long time ago. Maybe I ortn't to come in, said the man. i No, it's all right, she said. Do you live clost by ? he asked. 'Bout a mile. Ye see, I live with William and his wife. William, he was my oldest son. Set down on the bench and I'll spread out the dinner. She had brought her luncheon in an old-fashioned basket, and, noticing this, the stranger remarked: That's a curious lookin' old basket. It's the basket my boy used to carry to school, she answered. XVell I reckon it's old sure enough, he said. An' you live with that son now ? I was talkin' about my boy Jimmy. I-Ie was the youngest and the only one that went to school. He was a good son, only jest a 'little wild. jest a little wild, repeated the stranger. So many air like that ma'am 'and they turn out all right. XVhar is yore son now? all B .xg 1, 4 I ,. i 3 .gft-Ii .. 25:3 5,6 ai, t ' n i.g.:ifi'f ii 1

Page 28 text:

WF .- l--. V -r.'. ,t - .' ' x .af N -4 llmllwlmj rr Q? ' IQCI -1-' Q f -.L - ,Q K -qw-1 v X if ' fx 's .-1' - -T llh 141.5 v. 5295! ..,, N qi'..!'lluzr.:mn I QaQsaS2i r : 'S v7l'xQv5l'xe6om v or 'flvz -VnoLi n v - : The house was an old mountain cabin of pioneer type, two-storied, and built of logs, with a rude chimney at each end. The building had long been deserted and the weeds had grown about the door 5 the fence and out-buildings were fast falling to decay. In the yard many an old-fashioned flower struggled to lift its head above the weeds. At the back of the house rose wooded hillsg before the door lay a green valley through which wound a small river. There was a look of haunting melancholy about the place. For years it had been considered haunted and the superstitious mountaineers avoided the road which led down by this house. Lights had been seen at night at the windows and various persons claimed to have heard the sound of a violin. Not even a traveler ever sought shelter there, so shunned was the spot. However, on a certain summer day a woman was standing in the yard, look- ing about with a sad, tender recollection. She was well past sixty, tall, gaunt, with piercing dark eyes, and hair which was streaked with gray. Her slat sun- bonnet was pushed back from her face, revealing the deep lines traced there by care and hardship. After a while she went inside the house, and for a long time stood in the middle of the sunken floor, thinking of her past life. This was the home to which she had come as a young wife -and where many of her dear ones had died. Here she had passed her happiest days, and the longing to go over it again had been so strong that she could not resist it, so she had come back to spend a day roaming about the old place. The walls of the room in which she stood had oncegbeen whitewashed, but were now discolored by smoke, and in some places streaked with yellow where the rain had poured through the decaying roofg LTATLTJ 1 QQIUIQ I L?ATACj l 'i'1 1 - - Q 4 ' T' 'i - - 3 an -m -we Pg.. . e ' , e 1,55--. 1 , v1'.!,av01.,'- 'A . , iliihiia xv X . ..1,::t1.i.l:.E.szSil:s..f..i.e',A.

Page 30 text:

' 4, 1-i'fTfz'-. A 1 5' J '-fig.. j , .QT 'g 34 -A x .-aff . ' .I 3. . , 4- ,H 5, H- ' f V.,-.f5j.J,.,i ' . it Tx J-.1 1 'SN My! if H lg' 'i ff fzfg I . . - C Qjl' . v'. vLf.' ' , 1 . . . , ,g .1-,1.,, 4 A. . i icggig-.'bqi-:iq ISD M Oh, Jimmy? he's dead, she replied with a catch in her voice. He's been dead 'most 'twenty years. 4 ,A I'm sorry I ast ye 'bout him. ,V She wiped her eyes with her apron and was silent for a While. I reckon I might as well tell yej' and seating herself in the doorway, she began her story. He was killed. Ye see, as I jest now said, he was a little wild an' he would drink sometimes. But he had the kindest heart and he was as good to me as he could be. Iie yvas good looknf an' mnarg too, and everybody hked jinuny and liked to hear him play the fiddle. Folks used to send fer him fer fifteen an' twenty miles to play fer them to dance by. Jimmy loved his fiddle and would set fer hours playin' with his eyes half shut. Seemed like he didn't care fer anything else till he got to courtin' a gal over 'cross the river. Her name was Mag King and every- body thought she was awful purty. He first met her at a dance, and he jest went crazy about her. lie vvent acrost the river to ah the parnes,'cause she wvas aHus there. One day a young feller come to this part of the country. He was jest 'bout Jimmy's age and size an' folks thought he looked jest like jimmy., After this feller come, Mag Wouldn't dance with Jimmy. This made him so mad he wouldn't play the fiddle, and once or twice him and this feller almost had a fight, but somebody parted thenn. f Mag always tried to aggervate jimmy and one night Jimmy couldn't stand no more and told her to choose between them. She laughed and took the other fel- ler. Jimmy didnit say another word, but picked up his fiddle and went out of the house. This was the last time anybody ever saw him aliveff She paused while sobs shook her thin frame. jimmy didn't come home, and the next evening a boy come to pay him for playin'. He told me 'bout the fuss and said they hadn't seen this other feller. Q William started out next day to hunt fer Jimmy but couldn'tifind a trace of him. Ever' time I heard a step I jumped up, thinkin' my boy had come back. It was three weeks before they found him up in the woods. He'd been killed with a shot-gun. They could tell it was him only by his clothes, an' by his fiddle. It was layin' by him. They never let me see him at all. They buried his fiddle with him. Everybody was sure that that feller killed him 'cause he had borried old man King's gun that 'nightf' You haven't .lived here since yore son died? asked the stranger. ' s I I I Q S 4 -iii - V fl i - 5-3..1.s'+w...y.fl 1 s I , . 2F'.f-Zeftlxilltiaf'-52. -1 Lw 5 .6 59 5 ','1'. , Q , .n u H ' 1 1-174' e ld fa ' ' 5 . .arg-mg. ,Ml . '-f' W