Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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astra amsc nlne c1unRml n.ar with wide-open eyes at the shadows, shot through with points of light, dan- cing on the opposite wall. . ' f ' Everything seemed quiet, and yet Constance felt that all was .not Well. .Was that a slight noise at her shutters? It might have been her dream of the cold plunge that had aroused her, but she was so alertly awake, and the silence was imbued with such eeriness! Ah! A slight noise at her shutters made her turn. hastily in that direc- tion. Surely she was not mistaken, although things appeared wraith-like, 'de- spite the rasping noise at the window. She fancied she could discern a leering face outside. To save herself from a panic she tightly closed her eyes. Half unconsciously she repeated the lines she had been committing to memory when she fell asleep. They were the Lady's Words in Comus. if ' 'F That He, the Supreme God, to whom all things ill- Are but as slavish oflicers of vengeance, Would send a glistering guardian, if' need were, To keep my life and honor unassailed. . if ' it Constance stirred restlessly as shesilently repeated the wordsQ and she Hung one arm out across the pillow. . p . - Something crashed to the floor! Constance caught her breath, then relaxed as she realized that she had' knocked the volume of Comus from the bed. But, however inadvertently it was done, the act had served. The rasping sound ceased abruptly, and the shadows wavered strangely. Silence once more. By and by the girl's eyelids closed and she slept from sheer weariness and relief. . Outside the darkness remained mute until the moon faded and daylight came. Houses have no voices, nor the brown earth, yet they related the story the next morning, which Constance understood as well as if it had been articulated. On the ground underneath her window were impressions of heavy shoes-deep prints, as though the heels had been forced into the earth to insure a firm foundation. The window sill, just below the catch of the shutters, bore the marks of a jimmy which had started but not completed its flagrant work. . ' Inside the room, by the bed, lay the Hglistering guardian -a copy of Mil- ton's Comus. S -VIVIAN I. ROSS. 41

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W Chit GLISCERIDC1 GUHRIDIFIRE5' T WAS very still. Midnight had hushed the city, and the silent houses lay black splotches in the soft moonlight. The throbbing life of day had faded into the somnolent pulsation of a resting world. If sinister figures lurked amid the shadows, they created vo, Constance, asleep in her white bed, dreamed on oblivious of .. the. rays of moonlight filtering through the closed window-shut- I T ters, making grotesque shapes of the furnishings of the room. A N book lay beside her pillow-a volume of poemswhich she had been reading before she turned out her light. She had been trying to memorize some lines for future reference, but she went to sleep in the midst of it. Dreams are fantasies of the sleeping mind, and Constance's, unaccount- ably, seemed to be merely a retrospection of happy times spent on her grand- mother's farm. In her sleep she was a little girl again-her brown hair swing- ing in two lank 'pigtails,' her gingham dress fluttering above bare legs. Bird, docile in his senility, was waiting to take her for a ride on his broad back. Up she climbed, aided by a boost from her'uncleg up until she sat astride Bird's slippery back. She clung to his mane with both hands, half-delighted with the elevation, partly frightened at her own audacity. Away they went, step by step, up the graveled road that led past the house to the highway. She could see the mailman come driving his odd little wagon briskly along. He stopped at her grandmother's box, that sat high on the post, lowered the tiny tin flag, which signified that there was mail for him to carry back to town, and dropped in some letters. ' Bird simply wouldn't hurry. Constance urged him vociferously but it was in his own good time that he arrived at the mailbox, where she could lean down to take out the letters and papers. On the way back past the house,she threw the mail to her brother, who was waiting. Then they amblcd towards the barnyard. Constance drank in the fresh, dewy air, and viewed with delight the landscape which spread out panoramically before her, Unfortunately, she did not heed Bird's direction until too late. She gasptd in dismay. The horse was headed for the wind- pump and a cool drink from the partially filled tank. Constance felt herself slipping, and clutched wildly at Bird's mane. But down, down, down she went into the tank! The pellucid water was not deep, but very cold as she fell in with a splash! As she shivered, Constance awoke from her dream, which had such an icy ending. She was trembling at the suddenness of her arousing, and stared Si f X ftsx only deeper gloom, analogous to their own tumultous thoughts. fill'

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-W iX153 .?. 'TWWYKX-siis K N1ndl':- fxu-.I , ' , Q1-Q ii... . 'w-gp- A A A i g lla ss-A --K JKGUQT LJ I! Q YQ My OLD HEYIUUCKV HGNIY r- X P' xg X 'Mix y I . X' N '4 Q ' D g 47 . f I , i E it 14, J ' 1 lil l' ' F 1 12 - -:H-Q I '41 ww FT . 1- x. ff M 1- f n.---- . .Q Q, T IS rather amusing, perhaps, that we Hoosiers should print in our Annual such a sketch as this, about Kentucky. The picture which the following prose-poem presents, although it is true to Kentucky, could also be painted in honor of our Hoosier,State, ' 'v for it is a picture of home. Can't you taste fried chicken and lg. country bread and butter along with this? We know you will because of its unique style.-The Editor. BLUE GRASS waving in the warm breeze, TALLTREES arched high above, SUNLIGHT PEEPING through the leafy domes AND SPANGLING with yellow glory the blue grass belowg THE DROWSY hum of bees: GORGEOUS BIRDS and their songsg THE LOWING cattle in the distant pastures, AND THE rumble of a wagon as it rolls over the wooden bridge down the road: INDISTINCT VOICESQ THE PANTING of a dog napping in the shadeg GROWING ROOSTERSQ cooing pigeonsg A NEGRO'S weird melody from the faraway fields, where the dusky workers are busy at the plowg THE SQUEAK of the old pump in the back yardg THE SONG of the faithful old black mammy as she goes about her workg A FEW moments of suspended silence- THEN THE thud of a falling apple in the orchardg THE SPICY scent of Wild blossoms Heating from everywhere, ALL BLENDED together and subdued as in a blissful dream- MY HOME, KENTUCKY. -FRED LILLIAN DEMPSY. find the sketch delightful and refreshing, as well as attractive, sv