Arlington High School - Indian Yearbook (Arlington, MA)

Page 12 text:

,s Till-: AHF.IXC.TON HIGH SCHOOL CLAHION ter. Home! Home after three years’ figliting in France! Surely, as his com- ratles said, his luck could not he beaten. The day seemed never-ending so great was his tiesire to he off. When finally the next morning he swung aboard a returning supply truck and started on the first stage of his journey, he was as hajjpy as it was possible to be. Everything was peaceful; nothing seemed to he stirring save, high in the sky, a white speck — an aeroplane. Suddeidy a high, whining screech was heard, then a terrific roar, and a high col- umn of dust and smoke arose. What had been the truck was now oidy a heap of wreckage. High above in the sky a German aero- plane signalled to the hichlen batteries, “Cease firing!” J. Morgan, ’19. Subway Suliways sometimes have very interest- ing scenery. This does not consist of the subway itself, which is a bewildering mix- u]) of lights and noises. It centers more in the types of jieople that travel through them. Take a seat in a train and study the types opposite. Here sits a young lady of twenty-three or twenty-four, dressed in the height of fashion, with a bored look on her face. She is going in to a matinee, and she just knows the show will be poor. Beside her is a woman of about forty, with a large bag. She is going sho])ping, and her eyes are al ready kindled with the light of the fray. Next to her sits an im]josing jierson with his hair cut a la William Jen- nings Bryan, a frock coat, a cane and black silk gloves. He sits there sujiremely un- conscious that his hitched-up trousers show that he wears no socks. Several gig- gling schoolgirls are going in to the mov- ies. They are greatly interested in some- thing she said to me ami I said to her. There is a small boy who seems to have some strange affliction. Everv moment his face is convulsed in a spasm of such vehemence that it threatens to shake off Scenery his hat. This exhibition is noiseless, and seems to be caused by some nervous dis- ease. Einally he yawns and the mystery is solved. He is chewing gum. Beside him sits the inevitable knitter. Sbe is an expert, and tbe jarring of the train does not affect her in the slightest. Einally the boy beside her gives a wriggle and causes her to drop a stitch. She glares at him and proceeds to remedy the damage. At the end of the seat sits a small man with pale face and close-cropped hair. His cheap suit and shoes and his furtive man- ner stamp him. He sits there dully except for a gleam of hatred when a stahvart policeman enters the car. And so the scenery changes, and in one trip we may see life on all its sides. William Kenniston, ’1 . o Try your hand at writing a sketch of some athlete, boy or girl, for our “Who's Who” ] age. We are glad to hear from Mr. Burtt through the column which has been jilaced at his disposal in the Clarion.

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The Drafted Men oh. Legions! sailing out to sea, Wliither do you go? Oh, men from all America, From Maine to Mexico! Oh, Legions! sailing on to France, LIpon what errand hound? To fight for world’s democracy LIpon world's battle ground. Oh, Legions! sailing valiantly Ofi toward the rising sun: You are Humanity's great hope. Her last, her only one. Claka Allkn, '18. o His Luck Sergeatit Shaw, V.C., No. 2()(),89T, 2i;ci Nortliaiii()totishire Reginieiit. The War Office has decided to act u])oa the recommendation of your commanding officer, . e., that you he granted an honor- able discharge and he allowed to return home to England. In view of your service hotli in the present and the Boer war, and because of your loss of two sons in His Majesty’s service, the War Office has de- cided to grant you your discharge. Seely, Col. War Office, Whitehall, London. Over and over the veteran read the let-

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'I'llK AHFJXdTOX HIGH SCHOOL CI.AHIOX !) A Deserted Farm One afternoon rny cliuin and I went for a stroll. Oiir way led along an old ribbon road lined on either side by willows and alders. The berniit thrush was singing, and many little eyes were watching us to see if we would harm them. As we emerged Irom the woods, our ])ath was bordered by stretches of green meadows. A short distance ahead, upon a little knoll, we saw an old farmhouse, iu hack of which were the barn ami the wood- shed. When we ajiproached, it became evident that the place was deserted, except for the swallows and squirrels, which had made their homes for many years in the loft of the old barn. Beside the door of the barn was the bench where the milk pails had been dried in the sunshine. To the south lay the barnyard, with the (dd rail fence. Between the house and the barn was the woodshed, under whose sloping roofs the hornets built their nests. A flagstone walk, almost hidden by the grass, led u[) to the house. A ciunamou rose bush gave })ioof of its one-time beauty by a few blossoms. The lilac trees grew by the kitchen windowq where the busy housewife could enjoy the fragrance of their nodding blossoms while at her w'ork. dlie door, beaten by the storms of many years, sagged upon its hinges, and stood ajar as if inviting us to enter. We ste])j)ed cautiously through the little entry into the parlor, with its many paned windows and broad open lire])lace, on each side of which were the straight-backed settles. Opening from this room w'as the long, low kitchen, with a spacious brick oven suggesting row's of punij)kin j)ies and baked Indian i)ud- dings. The storeroom was just beyond, with long shelves for the shining j)ans of milk. From here we passed through the living rooms again into the little entry and made our way carefully iq the creaking stairs, hallowed by the many feet that had passed over them. Just a peej) into the chambers was enough, for we were beginning to feel somewhat awed l)y the cpiiet of these rooms. As we came out, we could see the family burying ground, where the stones stood hall hidden in the shady corner of the ail- joining held. Our homeward walk was (juiet, as we thought of the lives once so busy about the place we had just visited, now resting (juietly under the old elms which, in the late alternoon, cast their shadows upon the deserted farm. Willard Spalding, ’21. o NEW SHOES. I never like to wear a ] air of new' shoes because, iu the lirst place, they are uncom- fortable, and, in the second jilace, they scjiieak — at least, mine do. I shiver at the thought of juitting them ou, but, once on, my troubles are only beginning. If I am obliged to wear them to school, I am in- deed unfortunate. I enter the class room, the s([ueak increases, everyone stares at me! I try to reach my seat as quickly as j)ossible, I)ut my hurry oidy increases the noise. When 1 do sit dow n, it is comfort- ing to know the music has sto] ped, but oh! my feet begin to ache. By the end of the morning everyone knows who is coming without even turning around. Music with- out words is often telling. George Hurley.