Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA)

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s THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION ■GYP.” Gyp always spent the mornings with me in my study. She would lie quietly, half asleep, on the sofa, only opening an eye now and then to see what I was do- ing. ( ne morning, however, she semeed restless, running from one window to another, and then to me, whining soft- ly. Suddenly the door of my study was thrown open. Hey, Professor, your barn's on lire.” I started down the stairs, but Gyp was ahead of me. By the time I reached the back door she was at the barn door, jumping against it. Then 1 remembered, and hurried to her. The smoke in this part of the barn was not as yet very thick, so we reached the loft in comparative safety. Gyp darted over to the old corn-bin. 1 grasped a struggling mass of puppydom and started out, the little mother following me. Leaving the puppies on the porch, and Gyp in charge, I returned to the fire. The season had been unusually dry, and the flames spread rapidly ovei the doomed building. The firemen did their best, but soon all hopes of saving it were given up. Suddenly a small, white body hurled itself against my legs, and 1 saw Gyp going back in the direction of the fire Better grab that animal, Professor; she may go back in the fire. They do sometimes.” I leached down to grab her collar, and, for the first time in her life, she snapped at me. Surprised. I stepped back. The fire was burning furiously, a burning beam fell in front of us. let- tering a piteous cry, the little dog dart ed forward, and was gone. The firemen yelled to the crowd to stand back, and a deep silence fell over all, broken only by the crack of glass the hissing of the flames, or the sound of falling limber. Suddenly, as if one man, the crowd looked up to the win dow on the second floor. Instinctively all held out their arms and began to whistle. There stood Gyp, her little trembling body outlined against the furnace of flames. In her mouth she Held a struggling puppy. The smoke grew thicker. A long, hungry flame shot out over the brave little dog. She pushed herself forward, and, grasping the puppy, which l had so carelessly left, jumped. A shout went up from the crowd, and they all gathered around her, then turned away, for the brave little body was still. B. K., ’17. TH REE THANKSGIVINGS. 1830. The whole family are up at four- o'clock, for it is Thanksgiving Hay. Great-grandmother's kitchen is a large, low room, with a buttery opening from one side. A long settle stands on either side of the fireplace. A few straight-backed, rush-bottomed chairs are arranged about the walls. i In those days only the elder members of the family sat at the table to eat; the children stood.) While the brick oven is heating, great- grandfather and the boys are out in the yard, wringing the necks of the turkey and the chickens. A great variety of pies had been baked the day before, and now stand ready- upon the pantry shelf. The older girls of the family are busy preparing vegetables of all kinds. A1 most everything used for the table had been grown upon the farm. At ten o'clock all depart for the meeting house (except Betsy, the hired girl i , for the two-hour service of thanks- giving. It is two o’clock, and the abundant dinner is served, but not in courses; everything is on the table at once in heaps. The children are very hilarious, while their elders behave very sedately. At candle-light, hymns are sung, a chapter from the Bible is read, and the children are sent early to bed. 1870. At grandmother's house, forty years later, they do not arise until six. Her

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THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION birds possess? What exquisite com positions they would be, if the musician could only catch their strains on his in- struments? One evening, after a long, hot sum mer's day, I sat on the porch, just as the sun had set, and the rosy after-glow was still in the skies. The heat was slowly disappearing, and the cool of the night taking its place. I could see the mist settling on the lake, and, be yond, the black pines stood, tall and green, against the sunset sky. Every- thing was still, a hush seemed laid over everything by some unknown, unseen hand, when all of a sudden a bird-note broke the stillness. It rose clearer and higher until it seemed as though it must have come from Paradise. Then it stopped. In a moment a beautiful, rich song burst from the solitary singer. It rang in the damp evening air like the notes of a clarion. Now it was broken by a little trill, then a ripple, and at last the high, sweet call of the begin- ning. Then it died away into silence. Not many minutes afterward another song broke out, almost identical with the first, and it seemed to come from the throat of the same singer. Its bell like notes rang once more o ver the lake Again and again the bird repeated his call, until at last he stopped. The her mit-thrush had finished his evening song. Early, about four o’clock, one morn ing in June, I was wandering in the meadows, gathering some wild flowers, which had just opened. Dawn was breaking, but the world had not yet awakened from sleep. It was going to be a beautiful day, for the haze had lifted, and the sun, just risen, was flooding the world with its brightness. I was making no noise, as the ground was very soft. Soon from a tuft of grass not a stone’s throw away a little flutter seemed to come. I stood still where I was, and waited expectantly, almost knowing what was about to happen. Then a bird rose slowly from the tall grass, shaking off the dewdrops from his wings as he flew. Going straight up into the air for a short dis- tance, he instantly broke into song. A flood of music poured forth from his little throat — his glorious tribute to the morning sun ! I 'p and up he flew, until he was but a speck dotting the sky. Hut I could still hear his song, away up in the heavens. Fainter and fainter it grew, until I lost, together, sight of the skylark and the sounds of his song. One other morning 1 lay in bed I I was not such an early riser as before), just between sleep and consciousness. It was very early, as I could just see the light beginning to creep in behind the curtains, and could no longer feel the cool night breeze. All of a sudden I was startled into wakefulness by a whistle, clear and sweet, from another room. Soon came a twittering and crooning, then a low chirp, interrupted by a trill, and finally a whole melody broke out. It swelled clearer and higher, ike the notes of a (lute, until at last — the perfect song of my canary. And so if seems as though the birds were but strains of music from Phoebus’ lute, caught and held together by plumes; and as though the least breath of air would blow them away. Let us try always to love and be care- ful of the birds, and shield them as much as we can from harm ; because, who knows, some day the “wind may sweep them away from us and leave us disconsolate. M. E. A., ’16. THE VESPER SPARROW. When o’er the world the twilight shad- ows softly fall. Then is heard the vesper sparrow’s silv'ry call ; Almost Sabbath-stillness tills the fresh ’ning air, In the west are ling’ring rosy tints and fair ; Soon, where sank the golden sun, the stars will gleam : ’Tis God’s love over all, and ITeav’n on earth, ’twould seem. Dorothy Allen. ’16.

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THE ARLINGTON HIGH SCHOOL CLARION 9 kitchen contains a wood stove, with a large oven, in which is baking a stuffed spare-rib of pork and a generous chicken pic. The children look forward to the cranberry sauce, sweet cucumber pickles, and currant jelly, as they are not served every day. Pies, cakes, plum pudding, nuts and raisins are all pro- vided for dessert. All the relatives have gathered here for the day. The young people rush off. with their skates, to the pond, while the older ones sit and talk of olden times. At last, to the delight of all, dinner is ready, and the long table is surrounded with happy faces. At dusk the kerosene lamps are light- ed, and all gather around ihe organ to sing old-time songs. Then both young and old play “blindman’s huff” and spin-the-cover,” until grandfather and grandmother come in with cider, apples and doughnuts 1913. Mother gets her family down to a nine o’c-Iock breakfast, chiefly prepared at the table by foe use of the elect it toaster and coffee percolator. The large turkey is placed to roast in the oven of the coal range. The veg- etables and pudding are steaming in the tireless cooker, and the gas range is ready for any quick cooking. The automobile is waiting to take a merry load to the football game. The guests for the day are college chums of the son and daughter. Now the game is over, and they take a spin on the boulevard before coming home. In spite of the cut glass, silver and hothouse flowers, the dinner seems, at first glance, very simple, as little food is on the table at one time. It is served in courses, beginning with grape-fruit and ending with fancy ices from the caterer’s, black coffee, and imported cheese. The young people, after leaving the dining room, turn on the electric light at the piano, sing the latest songs, and dance the alarming new dances to rag- time music, while the older people play bridge in the library. No one has remembered during the whole day ihe notice of the special Thanksgiving church service, or has even thought oi the true significance of the holiday. Julia Currier, M7. A TURKEY TROT. Down the way the couple flew, While many natives turned and gazed ; For such a sight in such a town Was one at which to be amazed. A dip, a hop, and on they sped. Pursuers in hot haste; And none too gently were they seized When homeward they were faced. A few harsh words, and then a blow. In garnished splendor now they lie; No more they’ll strut about the yard ; Hurrah! for turkev dinner’s nigh! T). B„ ’15. THE MYSTERY OF THE EMPTY STABLE. The clock chimed twelve slow, solemn strokes. I awoke from mv doze to find the fire out, the room cold, and a dreary wind whistling around the corners of the house. 1 had told mother that I wasn’t afraid to stay alone, and yet, somehow, 1 hated to go to bed; sfill — horrors! What was that? A bright light filled the room with a sectral glow for an instant, and then was gone. I ran to the window in time to see an automobile stop before an old, deserted stable, which stood a little way down the road from our house. Two men sprang out, one of them quickly throw- ing a robe over the glaring headlights which had startled me so. Yet I could still see that the men entered the old stable. An instant later a dim light flickered for a second inside, and then a blanket was hung at the window, blot ting out the tell-tale light. f dont