Technical High School - Tech Tiger Yearbook (Springfield, MA)

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TH--51 'Ctbe NUOI6 : 1907 23 straight tree and make it into a white Hag-pole, then put it on top of the mountain where he can see your flag and know you are watching for him. Will you do this just to please me? He sank on his knees beside her and murmured, Yes, he could utter no other word. Then she smiled and closed her eyes in a gentle sleep. Gutside the night was very still. A star lost its hold among a wealth of stars and shot across the heavens. The wintry wind ,moaned and slammed a shutter. The clock in the corner struck twelve and the old year melted into the new. Slowly the old man rose from his chair and softly began to speak. The new year be lonely without you, mother, and the boy haint come back yet. Yes, I have hunted the woods for nigh a year and have found the tree at last. Next summer I shall ask the town to a Hag raising and the pole will be sot in stone and cement. Again the shutter slammed and the wind moaned. The old man walked to a window, threw it open, and secured the disturbing shutter. Then he left the big room and went to bed. A great change had taken place in the town since the rail- road had been constructed. City people had built summer cot- tages on the hillsides that they might glory in the freedom of wild nature. They drove over unknown roads and felt like ex- plorers of old. Our favorite drive was to a mountain about five miles from the town where, in a blue distant mist, we could see the Catskills and looking towards the town we could see a stretch of railroad track, on which ran toy trains in a midget world. But the view and the beautiful drive were not the only attrac- tions. Standing close to the foot of the mountain was a large white farm house where there lived an old man, strong, slightly bent with age, with white hair and a long white beard. He would leave his plough and oxen standing in the field to greet friend or stranger and show him the view from the mountain. The village people called the mountain Snow's Hill, after the hospitable farmer who always made them so welcome on his land. Gne September it was announced from the pulpit of the little village church that there was to be a flag raising on Snow's Hill to which everyone was invited. So when the appointed day arrived there was a long procession of carriages headed toward

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22 Ube 011016 : 1907 V0f- iv looking for you. They said no more but slowly drove the oxen home where the mother was anxiously waiting for them. Fred unloaded the wagon and turned the cattle out to pasture. That night when the boy had finished his studying and gone to bed, his father broke a long period of silence by saying to his wife, The boy be sot on leavin' and it would be cruel to make him stay. I had hoped he would be here to run the farm when I got old and was fit to work no more. There be many hundreds of acres of timber land as 'ill want cuttin' in his day and aint ripe yet for me to cut. But if we ask him to stay he'll not be happy for his one ambition is to be an engineer. We must let him go, motherg he'll come home to us often. A log in the fire broke and rolled out on the hearth. The old man rose mechanically and pushed it back with the toe of his boot. Then resuming his seat he again became absorbed in the slowly passing pictures. Eighteen -years had passed since the boy left home and no word had been received from him at the old white farm house for more than ten years. The father had climbed the mountain late every afternoon to watch for the whistle on the little stretch of track. But this day he could not go up for his wife lay very ill and could not live. The doctor told him that her life lingered like the flame of a candle-and would go out in a very few hours. She talked of her absent boy. He isn't dead or he wouldlhave spoken to me in my dreams. I have seen him, though, oh so often in the past few days. He is in some distant place and can't get back to us. Last night I dreamed there was a tall straight flag- pole on the mountain top and that one evening, as you were taking down the Hag, an engine whistled on the track. It was Fred coming home. She stopped and turned her eyes on her husband. He was such a grand old man with white hair and a long Howing white beard. He seemed the reflection of the man by the fire. His eyes were filled with tears as he took the hand of the fading flower on the bed before him. She looked pleadingly at him and asked: When I have left you for a little while, I want you to do some- thing for me. Hunt through your forest and find the tallest

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24 UDB NNOI6 2 1907 V01 iff the mountain. Every one who could leave his work and find room in some wheeled conveyance put on his best clothes and went to the flag raising in honor of the beloved old man. Mr. Snow stood on the sheep-cropped lawn, and, as the carriages arrived, greeted each person so cordially that the hearts of the roughest among the visitors were warmed. Soon the little party assembled on the top of the mountain and the people seated themselves in the form of a crescent on the slope of a mossy knoll. Before them were Mr. Snow, the village minister, and the men who were to lift the pole into place. The great white pole lay upon the ground as if resting before the long years of never ceas- ing duty which were so soon to begin. The old man stood forth to speak and every noise died away except the whisperings of a clump of nearby pine trees. He was dressed in a brown woolen shirt thrown open at the neck with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his brown trousers were tucked inside his leather boots. As he lifted his head to speak, a breeze parted his long white beard, flying it in streamers over his broad shoulders, and threw back his long silver hair, thus sharpening the strong and beautiful lines of his face. Friends, he began, we have gathered here to see sot up a tall straight pole to bear up above the tops of these mountains, the most wonderful work of nature, the beautiful flag of this free country. Now to find that pole and make it ready has taken me nigh a year. I have hunted for months through these many acres of tall trees, which God has given me a right to cut, before I found the one as lies here. One tree was straight and tall, taller than this one by many a foot, but when I hit it with my axe it gave a hollow noise and so I left it standing, sorry that it wasn't as good as it looked. A week after that I ran agin another tree that seemed good, but it had a crooked top and I went on with my huntin'. At last I found this one here, and felt that my long search was worth while. It's solid all through, and straight as an arrow, and'll brave the strongest blasts. Now I think about how my lookin' for the pole be like lookin' for the best and strongest men. The world be full of men and many of them look all right on the outside, but, when they have been sounded, prove too hollow for their place in life. Then there! are lots of men as are strong enough to stand where they