Ashtabula High School - Dart Yearbook (Ashtabula, OH)

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THE DART old fellow,” exclaimed Ruth. Hardly before she had stopped speaking-, Periwinkle Joe’s voice could be heard in the distance. As he came nearer they could distinguish the words, “Listen while they say, ‘Oh peri, peri, winkle, winkle’ In another moment he was knocking at the door. “Oh let me go,” cried Ruth. In a few minutes she was back at the table, but her face burned. “I’m sorry I said such a horrid thing just now, for when he came, he had such a sweet patient smile on his face; but when I said such a mean thing to him, he just turned away with- out a word, and his shoulders seemed a little more stooped.” “Oh, never mind,” said some one, easily, and the next moment Jce and his troubles were forgotten. Periwinkle Joe had lived a solitary life for many years. Year in and year out he had occupied a small lonely hut by the water. Twenty years ago a great sorrow had come into his life. His only child, a girl of eighteen, had died. His grief clouded his mind. All his love seemed now centered on the lake. It was his only confidant, his only friend. Every hour of daylight he spent in its company, so the next morning after his introduction to these gay young people, he was up early. As the sun arose a certain freshness, belonging to that hour alone pervaded the air. The lake looked like a big emerald as it lay without a ripple breaking the surface. Soon after dawn, Joe could be seen upon the beach, ceasing, now and then from his work to gaze at the wide expanse of water. Then with a sigh he turned back again to his work. He sighed as he thought of his daughter who left him so many‘years ago. When she went how different was she from the girl he had seen the night before, the girl who had spoken so sharply to him, who had made him feel so far below her. “And yet,” he thot, “she has eyes like my girl.” Then he would go at his work more diligently, looking under this stone, and behind that rock, for even one periwinkle must not escape his hand. % It was toward evening of the same day, Joe, weary and foot- sore, for his tramp had been an unusually long one, was plodding westward toward his little shack. He was thinking of his daugh- ter, she had been almost constantly in his thots that day. Suddenly, as if compelled by some unseen force, shading his 12

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PERIWINKLE JOE JANE DICKINSON, ’16 Periwinkle, periwinkle, Periwinkle, wink; Here’s a wave, and there’s a wave, Now, periwinkle, drink. Hear the little fishes, Listen while they say Oh peri, peri, winkle, winkle. Won’t you come and play?” HE high quavering voice rose above the roar of the great gray waves, as they beat upon the stone covered beach. A bent old man, whose face was nearly cover- ed by a long white beard, plodded thru the sand. Now and then he stooped to pick up a tiny white shell, so pure and fragile in form that it seemed to be made by the hand of an angel. As his voice rose above the noise of the wind and waves, it reached the ears of a jolly crowd of young people, whose gay chat- ter immediately ceased. “Oh,” exclaimed Bob Harris carelessly, “that’s old “Periwinkle Joe,” a funny old duffer, who goes up and down the beach picking up periwinkles. He makes bags and box- es and knickknacks of them, that he sells to the campers. He will be over to see you girls as soon as he knows you are here. The only way to get rid of him is to give him a good squelching.” “Trust me for that,” exclaimed Ruth Dearborn. “What a fun- ny song he sings! But isn’t the tune catchy? I’m going to try it on my guitar, when we go back to the cottage.” The Jolly Crowd had arrived that day to spend a week at Camp Happy” on Lake Erie shore. II Periwinkle, periwinkle, Periwinkle, wink; Here’s the bread, and there’s the ham, Now pretty camper, where’s the jam? Ruth’s song was greeted by a roar of laughter, as the Jolly Crowd gathered around the table for supper. “Has old Joe been around bothering you yet?” asked one of the boys. “Oh no, and I do hope he doesn’t come; I’d hate to turn him away, but I’m sure I don’t want any of his old periwinkles,” said soft hearted Mary Dennison. “Why, I think we could have some fun, making sport of the 11

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THE DART eyes, with his hand frcm the slanting iays of the setting sun, he shifted his glance down the beach to the pier. There on the end of the pier stood a little boy. He evidently had a boat in the wa- ter, and as it sailed beyond his reach, he made a dive for it. Joe began to run. In another minute he was in the water hurrying to- ward the struggling child. The Jolly Crowd, attracted by Joe’s peculiar actions, at once saw the little lad’s danger. “Oh,” cried Ruth Dearborn in a frenzy, it’s my brother Hal. Oh, boys, run! hurry! Joe can never reach him.” With that, two of the boys rush- ed into the water and, in less time than it takes to tell it, one of them came back, triumphantly bearing young Hal, apparently none the worse for his ducking. Joe turned back, with a prayer of thanksgiving in his heart. As he reached the beach he sank down exhausted. No one paid any attention to Joe. Oh no! For who thot of Joe as a he- ro? The hero was the boy who had saved the child. Joe lay on the beach so exhausted that he could scarcely move, but after a time he managed to stagger home. That evening he sat dreaming of his daughter. How happy she must be. She never was tired or hungry as he was. Later he fell asleep and dreamed of angels singing, and best of all his daughter, just as she had looked twenty years ago, stretching out her hand to him. Outside the darkness deepened; a cool wind blew in from the lake, but never again was Joe tired, or hungry, or never again did he long for his daughter, for he went to her that night. When the Jolly Crowd heard of Joe’s death, they all felt deep remorse, but more than any other one, Ruth Dearborn grieved, for it was she who had made his burden seem heavier, by her unkind word . She felt even deeper remorse, when the doctor said that Joe’s death was probably due to the shock of the water. The sud- den shock undoubtedly weakened his already feeble heart. All the campers, in turn tried to comfort Ruth but she would not be comforted. If I had only said one kind word, or done one nice thing, for him, I wouldn’t feel so bad,” wailed Ruth, “ but I didn’t, instead, I made his life just as miserable as I C3uld.” “Oh, well, Ruth, never mind now,” said Mary, “for it can’t be helped; but any way it’s nice to know that he’s happy now.” They all found comfort in that fact, and soon dismissed the matter from their minds. Before they broke camp, they had all regained their usual spirits and were a “Jolly Crowd” again. 13