Marcellus Central High School - Marcellian Yearbook (Marcellus, NY)

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LITERARY

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SE TH GRADE As the year 1942 draws to a close, the seventh grade pauses to look in retrospect at the accomplish- ments of the past year. In their own small way they have carried on their part of the defense program. For the past several weeks they have been conducting a campaign for salvaging of tin. Already sixteen pounds have been turned over to the collecting center. They look with pride at their contribution to the sale of defense stamps which now totals close to eight hundred dollars. They have taken an active part in the school's extracurricular program. Many of the members entertained the students last Thanksgiving in an assembly program directed by Mr. Collins. A large number of the group are members of the band and Glee Club. Sixth Row-Kenneth Austin, Charles Masters, Robert Burns, Edgar Shetler, Francis Negus, William Copley, Jack Rice, Leonard Bishop, Kenneth Watkins, Mary Macholl, Nancy Parsons, Dora Webb, Joan Hayes. Fifth RowfJohn Prosonic, Raymond Masters, Sherman Jones, Mary Elizabeth Wicks, Michael Scallion, Rosemary Mac- Namara., Joy Olney, Donald Hartsch, Donald Thompson, Richard Thorp, Herbert Smith, David Holbein, James Freeman. Fourth, Row-Richard May, Shirley Kasson, Jean Dollar, Helen Loomis, Elsie Hale, Mary Ellen Dunn, Richard Edinger, Charlotte Cornish, Kathleen Kelly, Karen Mary Welsh, Patricia Ward, Anna Lennon, Ann Clement, Shirley Beare. Third Row-Jane Henderson, William Riggall, James Mahan, Clinton Woodford, Charles Dammers, Garth Snyder, Richard Daye, Norman Gordon, Richard Rising, Walter Legg, Edmund Smith, Michael Callahan, Agnes Mahan, Emeline Slater, Second Row-Sarah Brown, Eleanor Kortz, Nancy Kelly, Iris Aumock, Olive Shea, Wilma Clary, Marjorie Marshfield, Christine Sheridan, Eleanor Hazard, Mary Stopyro, Robert Mahan, Paul Wicks, Melvin Fike, Charles Barry. First Row-Constance Bishop, Gladys Mueller, Alice Finkle, Allie Brewer, Miss Fitzgibbons, Mr. Collins, Carol Hayes, Beverly Allen, Paul Lindsley, William Milton.

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FIRST PRIZE SHORT STORY THE MOON ROSE Upon this Iune day in the year 1780, the patriots were gathered outside the tavern door, the witch girl Iudith apart from the others, her black horse, Fonso, tugging impatiently at her arm, and Grandame Pettingbone's voice shrilling above the babble. Hiram won't be back tonight, I guess, and he's been gone three days. lt's pretty dangerous work carrying Washington's message, but he's bound to get along in the world, Hiram is, and that witch girl. Iudith, fools herself in thinking the lad cares for her. Why, l know he's another sweetheart in Boston town. The girl took a step forward to answer back hotly, then stopped and stood motionless. Happens the Boston girl is rich and comely, quoted the old deacon, but l would not have thought the lad be so soon drawn from his former fancy. Fancyl 'Tis but a madness she spreads over him as she spreads it over dumb animals she bends to her will. But in verity, the folly is over now, and Iudith may lind her another sweetheart, for Hiram will marry the Boston girl as soon as the war is over. With a malicious glance, the old woman passed on toward the tavern door, and the girl started after her, her hands clasped together. I care not. He may marry her if he pleases, but it is I he loves, and I am fair to look upon as any maid. He has wooed me only as men woo the women they would make their wives, but because of my grandmother's ill repute, he has grown faint hearted and must choose another. Let him and may the ill luck that ever follows broken faith attend them both. Even as she spoke there was the sound of horse's hoofs, and a tired steed turned in at the tavern road, stumbling in its weariness, as the rider flung himself upon the ground. Know ye aught of a man called Hiram Pettingbone? he wearily asked. A dozen voices cried, Aye, we know him. Is there news? Aye, the worst. He has been captured by our patriots in yonder town, with a British uniform underneath his own, and they believe him a British spy. He sent me to bring back this paper, signed as proof of his innocence, but the British hold the river road and 'tis fifteen miles around. Would to Heaven it had not happened so, for if word of his innocence is not brought back by moon rise- He made a gesture with his hands about his throat, and those who saw him gave a short gasp, as if they felt the rope about their own necks. But Grandame Pettingbone broke forth with impatient words, No, No, Don't say it! My boy, my own brave boyl There must be some way to save him. The Lord would not let an innocent man die a traitor's death. There is a cross road that leads by the meadow. Can't someone go that way? But it leads by the British camp. The Lord would help him past. Even so, there comes the big ravine. Not a horse in town could take that leap, unless- He looked at Iudith and the huge black stallion tugging at her arm. The girl took a step forward, then turned away. Love and anger were lighting a fierce battle in her heart and would not let her speak. In the silence that followed, the tavern clock struck seven.