Weymouth High School - Campus / Reflector Yearbook (Weymouth, MA)

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4 Man went away and never came back. That was three years after the storm. But I must be getting along. Stopping here a spell? Yes. Won ' t you visit Mother and me in the cottage up the shore? We ' re liv- ing in ' Rock-a-Way ' . She nodded her assent and stepped lightly on the sand. The old storekeeper gave me a brusque nod. Mornin ' , Miss. Been talk- in ' with our Sunshine, I see. Know her story now, I bet. Tells everybody here at least once a week. Strange girl that. The storm is nigh thirty years gone. She was only a slip of a thing not quite eighteen ; and she hadn ' t lived with us but a few months. Didn ' t know where she came from. Always thought she was a little off her moor- in ' s. Suspicious of her at first. But she seemed all right after a while. She used to have a head of hair like fire. That night of the wreck she grew years older. Her hair turned like it is now. But from that day to this she ain ' t grown a mite older looking. Says she ' s keepin ' young for Jack. Never could understand him. Said he came from Baffin Bay; but he didn ' t know much aboiU fishin ' . Here a few years ago she wandered off. But she came back all right. Just naturally queer, I guess. I made my purchases and with a remark on the weather I turned and looked out to sea. As I stood a moment watching the waves, one, particularly large, washed up around the side of the building. As it re- ceded it took some sand with it, revealing what might have been the top of a window frame in the basement. About two feet from the building the wave removed the most sand, as though the firmness of the ground had been shaken by digging. A second wave made the depression even more pronounced and revealed still more of the foundation. When I had returned to ' Rock-a-Way I found waiting for me my cousin, Alice Remick, who had occupied the same cottage a few seasons before. T expressed to her my opinion of the people I had met. I said that you ' d meet some rare char- acters around here, she laughed. What do you think of the hotel story? I don ' t blame the man for not coming back. But it seems a pity that the building WEYMOUTH HIGH SCHOOL should have been left to the mercies of the elements for the past twenty-odd years. I ' d like to see what it looks like up stairs. It was a perfect summer day — the kind made for vacations when a lazy feeling takes possession of one, and the best occupation one can think of is enjoying the beautiful out-of-doors. We strolled along the beach down, toward the cottage of the fisherman whose little daughter Alice knew well. I suppose she is nearly a young lady now. The summer I was here she seemed too old to play with dolls; but she was as pleased as any child I ever saw when she dug up that old doll in the sand. One eye was completely obliterated. Its hair was a sight to behold. And one arm was missing. But she loved that doll more than an ordi- nary little girl would a Marshall Field toy- land specialty. ' ' You say she dug it up out of the sand ? ' ' Yes. Where? In front of the hotel. Why? Don ' t you see, that might be the doll that the other little girl was playing with when she disappeared; it might be a clue. Oh, I don ' t think so. Elise had any number of toys, and probably half a dozen dolls. Then too, it isn ' t likely that whoever kidnapped her would leave a clue so near home. Quite the contrary, I think. He ' d do that to fool us if he were clever enough. And I ' m not so sure she was kidnapped. Anyway, I intend to get hold of that doll. If I can. By that time we were in front of the hotel. I looked for the depression the waves had made. It was still there. Look there! And I pointed to my com- panion the imprint of the wave?. That happened this morning as I was standing here watching the waves. And see : It ex- posed part of the old bungalow. I ' d like to explore that cellar. Either some one has been digging for that doll, hoping to find it where Elise used to play, or What a cheerful prospect your interpre- tation gives the world. You make me shud- der. I declare I wish I hadn ' t come if

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The Telling of the Tale A remembered dream with an imaginary conclusion The tale was told to rae on a secluded stretch of fishing coast between the month of the St. John River and the Canadian border of Maine, where Mother and I had elected to spend the summer months. It was a tiny settlement which could scarcely claim the name of village. There were few summer residents besides ourselves ; yet a hotel, whose only apparent use was as a store, occupied a pleasant site on the water front. The second day of our stay I had an errand at this hotel. As I ascended the broad steps, a girl, dressed in a manner which identified her as a year-round resident, ap- proached me from the store window. Good morning, I smiled in my pleasantest man- ner. She raised her head of wonderful gold- en brown hair and looked at me with steady hazel eyes. I marvel that you have this fine building here. You are expecting guests during the hotter weather? No. No one ever comes here now. But it looks prac- tically unused. It is. No one enjoys weathering our storms. We have dreadful ones that come up like squalls. My sailor lad could tell you that. He used to call me ' Laughing Sunshine ' because ' You are always the merriest of all, even when Ave sail out. And after everything else has faded to a blur, I can still distinguish your hair, ' he used to say. Then one day at sunset they were returning, I know Jack was looking for me. And I was standing on that boulder over there, waving. They had been gone only a month ; but it seemed years to me. Then one of those pesky storms blew up. All night they tried to steer clear of the rocks with the wind blowing straight off the ocean. All night we watched and listened and prayed. Then toward dawn we heard, above the roar of the water dashing against the rocks, the sound of splintering wood. They knew — -the fishermen ' s wives. I knew, too, that I would never be one of them. That ' s what our storms are like. That ' s why we don ' t have visitors, I guess. There was a man, the one who built this, who lived in a little cottage here. In fact, he built the hotel right over it. Nobody knew who he was or where he came from. He had a little girl with him. Then one day the little girl was playing with her dolly in the sand, and she disappeared. After that, Mr.

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MARCH REFLECTOR 5 you ' re off on that track now. You ' re worse than the Rev. Knowal. And to whom have I the honor of being likened ? Who is this Rev. Knowal person and does his character fit his name? Xo. His name fits his character. He was dubbed that years ago when he first spent the summer in a little town about thirty-five miles from here. He gained re- nown through solving the mystery of the murder of his housekeeper ' s pet poodle. In summer, you know, folks aren ' t too busy to play with the least bit of gossip. Jingoes! I ' m glad you spoke of him. I think I ' ll h ike up and see the old boy. But aren ' t we pretty near there ? I ' in not keen on leaping over the rocks up ahead. Yes. And my little friend ' s cottage is ahout half a mile from here. Another fifteen minutes ' walk brought us to our destination. Nancy was certainly all that Alice had pictured her to be. She was still young enough to enjoy her toys, so I soon had her talking about her dolly. And when we left I had the prized possession with me in order to fit it to some new dresses. When we reached home, we found Helen and Frank and their family down for the week-end. I related the story to them and showed them the doll. ' ' What ' s all the fuss about? Frank asked. Why not all pitch in and dig. Then I ' ll warrant you ' d find out something. But I ' d rather like to meet this Knowal person. If anything does come of it, I ' d feel better to have someone else in on it, and see what he savs. Just as soon drive me over? Sure thing. Wouldn ' t your mother like to go? We can go after supper. An hour after supper found us in search of Rev. Anderson, alias Rev. Knowal. We found a very smiling gentleman entertain- ing one of his friends, another minister. Both were wearing green ties. We made known our errand. Then Mr. Anderson turned to Mother as if to say. ' ' Will you leave one or both of us come? Mother in her nervous anxiety said to me, I ' ll take the one with the green tie. Each looked at the other, smiled, and promised to come on the next day if the weather should be good. Let me see. The paper said, ' for north shore and vicinity, fair and warmer today and Saturday. Partly cloudy. Probably showers. Gentle, gentle, — ' What did it say, Dick ? Do you remember ? ' ' Mr. Ander- son addressed his friend. Ah! I have it. ' Gentle southerly winds. ' I ' m quite sure you ' ll see us tomorrow. The morning was misty and partly cloudy. About half past nine a beautiful rainbow appeared in the west and the mist rose enough to allow us to look around the point. Early in the afternoon a group gathered at the old hotel. Mr. Anderson and his friends, seated on the broad steps, were discussing the possibilities of the case. Helen and Frank, Mother, Alice carrying the doll, the old storekeeper, Sunshine, and I completed the group. ' • Well, we may as well to business, ' ' Frank said, picking up his shovel. The other men quickly followed suit, leaving the ladies only spectators. Soon the sand was shovelled away from the foundation of the building. There! Mr. Anderson exclaimed. All eyes were fastened on the tiny object he was carefully wiping with his hand. The doll ' s arm! Alice was the first to recognize it. It was indeed, the mate. She challenged me, Well, what does that prove? Anything she might have said further, was ecbpsed. Frank had uncovered the win- dow and was swinging his shovel back to crash it. 1 ' Stop ! Don ' t ! You must not ! ' ' AH eyes were turned toward the uppermost stoiy. It was Sunshine. Well, I ' ll be— I told you there was more to this than met the eye. Mr. Anderson and his com- panion renewed an evidently well-worn argu- ment. It ' s her nerves, of course. I don ' t wonder with such goings-on. And Alice turned her nose in the air as she started back to Rock- a-Way. Nerves! Nuts! It ' s the truth. The minute after you crash in that window this building comes tumbling about your very ears. And — But I promised him when he died that I ' d