Astoria High School - Zephyrus Yearbook (Astoria, OR)

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THE ZEPHYRUS 5 “Then all I c n say is that Vriginia Hilliard ought to be locked up where she can’t throw her money away on such worthless nig - !”but the sad face and trembling lips of little Eliza recalled Mrs. Whitmore, and patting Eliza kindly on her drooping head, she gave her the note to carry to Virginia. When Eliza had left the room, Mrs. Whitmore turned back to her gifts, but the glaring pile of ribbons re¬ minded her of her insult. “There, I told you so,” she said, nodding her head vigorously at a wreath on the window.” The idea of giving a lot of niggers pink pearl necklaces at a charity tree! Eliza will be getting so grand she will have to dress suitably for pink pearl neck¬ laces! We shall be simply be over¬ run by these people if we begin by treating the children like that! I let Eliza go the Mission to learn some¬ thing, not to be given baubles that turn the child’s head. This ends it! Eliza has been to the Mission for the last time! When she - ” She stopped abruptly. Thee door was thrown open, and Virginia, her hat in one hand and her hair flying, burst into the room. Eliza was close be¬ hind, a broad grin upon her usually solemn features. “Oh, Aunt Susan,” she gasped, JUST A LITTLE LA TIN. Boyibus kissibus Sweet girlium. Girlibus likibus, Wantie somorum. Popibus hearibus Kissi somorum — Kickibus boyibus Out of the dorum. Darkibus nightibus, No lightiorum; Climibus gateibus — Breechibus torum. dropping into the nearest chair, and laughing till the tears came. “I’ve done the funiest thing!” “Did you get my note?” coldly asked Mrs. Whitmore. “Oh, dear, yes, and that was the first thing I knew about it, until Eliza began to thank me for the pearl neck lace, poor child, she didn’t seem very happy over it, either, until I told her that the ribbons were really hers and the necklace yours.” “What is the child talking about?” gasped Mrs. Whitmore. “Why, don’t you see, Aunt Susan, I was in such a hury that I got your present and Eliza’s mixed up. The necklace is yours ! ” “Oh!” said Mrs. Whitmore, the light beginning to dawn on her, and then the funny side of the situation pre¬ sented itself, and she joined Virginia and Eliza in a hearty laugh. When Virginia could control herself, she gathered up the ribbons and thrust them into Eliza’s hands. “Here, take them,” she cried, “I can’t stand them any longer.” “Oh, Mis’ Virginia,” cried the now radiant Eliza, “I think these are jes’ be-au-ti-ful.” “And I think this necklace is “jes’ be-au-ti-ful,” cried Mrs. Whitmore. “I'll cast my bread upon the wat¬ ers,” said the young wife. “Have you no feeling for the poor fish?” chuckled the brutal husband. Inquirer (to farmer’s son) — “Where can 1 find your father, son?” “He is in the pig pen. You will know him, because he has a hat on.” —Ex. A Query. ..He asked a miss what was a kiss, gramatically defined. “It’s a conjunction, sir” she said, “and hence can’t be declined.”

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4 THE ZEPHYRUS her present slowly, as if enjoying the suspense, and then a startled, but happy “Oh,” brought a flock of chil¬ dren over to inspect the present. El¬ iza was a little waiting maid of Mrs. Whitmore’s, and Virginia had obtain¬ ed permission from Mrs. Whitmore for Eliza to come to the Mission, only after frequent urgings, as Mrs. Whit¬ more asserted that Eliza would come back full of fancy notions that had no business to be in a darkey’s brain; but Virginia had finally won. Now Virginia watched Eliza with interest, as the group of curly heads bent over her wonderful gift. Present¬ ly the whole class was grouped about Eliza, who was plainly sensible of her popularity; for she had adopted a lit¬ tle patronizing air, and was warning the “chilluns” not to touch it with their grimy fingers. “What did I give that child, any¬ how, that could cause such excite¬ ment?” thought Virginia. “Let me see. Wasn’t it a box of those awful shades of ribbon that I got at the bar¬ gain counter? Yes I’m sure it was,” she continued. “Anyhow, it seems to have made a great hit, and I’ll have to tell the teachers about it for next Christmas.” After wishing them all a “Merry Christmas,” Virginia and her mother got into their carriage and drove home. Christmas morning, Mrs. Whitmore sat at her desk opening the dainty packages with which it was covered. “I’ll open Virginia Hilliard’s present first,” she said to herself, “for al¬ though I do not approve of a great many things that that girl does, still I must admit that she always sends me lovely presents.” She untied the ribbon, took off the tissue paper, and saw a plain white box which gave no hint as to what it contained. She lift¬ ed the lid gingerly, gave one look and sank back with an exclamation of horror. The box contained an assort¬ ment of colored ribbons, the brightest, most intense, and strangest shades the elegant Mrs. Whit more had ever laid eyes on. The colors ranged from bright orange to a deep purple with glaring yellow polka dots, and a few striped ribbons which made one’s eyes ache. “What can it mean?” gasped Mrs. Whitmore weakly, as she involuntar¬ ily shaded her eyes with ther hand. Then she caught sight of a card amongst the ribbons, and hastily picked it up. “Wishing you a merry Christmas. FromVirginia Hilliard, who hopes she may often see you wearing these.” “The audacity of that girl! ’’cried Mrs. Whitmore. “I remember now that she once asked me why I never wore any color but steel grey, and I suppose she has sent me these to brighten up my costumes. She’ll soon find, however, her little scheme has failed! The idea! I can hardly be¬ lieve my eyes, (which, by the way, are very much dazzled by those awful things)”, and Mrs. Whitmore glanced with a great shudder at the motley pile. “I’ll just write her a little note and tell her what I think of a trick like this.” and Mrs. Whitmore caught up a pen and wrote furiously for a few minutes. Then she rang for Eliza to take the note over to Mrs. Hilliard’s. Eliza came in, looking very con¬ scious, with a white satin box clasped tightly in her grimy hands. “See, Mrs. Whitmore, what Miss Virginny done guv me at the Chiss- muss tree las’ night.” Eliza care¬ fully pressed the spring, and the lid flew open, displaying to the aston¬ ished lady a dainty necklace of pearls. “Eliza!” gasped Mrs. Whitmore, “did my niece give you that?” “She sho’ly did, ma’am.”

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6 THE ZEPHYRUS Such a Mistake. By Wilma Young, ’09. Dony reached up every minute or two to feel it and squeeze the toe gent¬ ly. He was waiting for it to get light enough to take it down — and then— a subdued whistle from the little huddle of pink and white outing nightgown and boy. Slowly the room grew a little less dark — a little light; then light enough. Donny, on his bare tiptoes, took down the stocking. “O-o-oo!” It was pret¬ ty full but not so bulg y quite, as he had expected. It looked a little queer. There was a whole row of stockings — papa’s and mamma’s and Ben’s and even grandma’s white knited one. Pap had borrowed one of Don’s, because his own was too short to get his share into it, he said. Donny qut his hand in and pulled out — why, kind of funny things. They were veiy nice, but kind of different. He tried to whistle again, and not be disappointed. What had made him expect he was going to have certain, sure, an airgun, and a four- bladed jackknife, and colored crayons, and the tiny silver cornet? He miss¬ ed the cornet the most. He’d already asked Spence Copeland to teach him how to play on it. He went on pulling the queer things out of the stocking — the paper-weight, the silk handkerchief, the gold cuft- buttons, the dainty little gold and white book, with “Longfellow” on the cover, and last of all the gloves. They were kid, lined with soft fleece, and had fur around the wrists, lots of it. Donny tried them on. “Oh! Oh!” He knew all about it, then. The gloves told him. He hurried over to “Papa’s” stocking, and inspected it closely. It was all knobby and beautiful, and peeping out of the top was someting silver and shiney, like a litle cornet. The knob in the toe felt like a jack knife and the long stiff thing in the leg might — just might, you know — be part of an air-gun! But that was Papa’s stocking, if Donny did wear it “week days.” Don¬ ny didn’t consider Xmas, a week day. It was the stocking “Pap” hung up himself, and so it belonged to “Pap.” Santa Claus had made a terrible mis¬ take, but there was no help for it now. Donny went back to his stocking and packed the queer presents neatly back into it. He felt cold, but just then “Pap” came in. “Wish you a Merry Xmas, Donny!” he cried gaily. “W-wish you a Merry Xmas,” Don¬ ny piped bravely. “Now we’ll see what Santa has been stuffing into my — why!” Then “Pap” whistled and looked across at Donny. “Here’s a cornet and a gun and a top, and a jack-knife! What did you get Donny?” For fully two minutes papa played with his presents, then he made a wry face and said: “Say. how will you swap, Don?” Denny’s foce gleamed and even the little pink and white nightgown trem¬ bled with joy. “Oh, truly?” he stammehed eagerly. “I — I’ll swap even.” It’s a trade!” cried “Pap,” and so, after all, Santa Claus’ mistake came out right. Denny played a triumphant tune on his cornet, while he and “Pap” danced to it together.