Beaver Falls High School - Tiger Yearbook (Beaver Falls, PA)

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“Finis Coronat Opus” Commencement Story by Mary Shaffer. Ho-o-o The call echoed wildly, wierdly down the valley until at last it died away in a faint whisper. And then again I heard it, “Ho-o-o, this time more wild, more wierd than before. For eighteen months our lumber camp had been situated on the highest ridge of the foothills in Pennsylvania. For eighteen months we had seen no faces, heard no voices other than those of our lumbermen,— and now—out of the recesses of the forest, I hear a call, the high piercing i a'l of a woman. Puzzled over the mystery 1 determined to find the cause of the w oman’s solitude, the reason for such a call in such a desolate region. Descending the mountain, I crossed the valley and ascended the opposite hill, guided by the calls, now louder and anon so low that they seemed but the faintest echoes. The illusive receding notes led me over difficult by-ways and rugged paths until 1 emerged at last into a small clearing in the midst of which was a tiny one-room cottage. “Ho-o-o.” This time .he call was clear and 1 was startled beyond all reason. Curioir v and half fearfully 1 looked about me. In the shadows with which ie desk decked the forest I could but dimly discern the outline of a woman's figure. Slight and girlish in form, her unconscious grace of ]X)se suggested a noble nature. She was standing in an opening of the clearing, her face turned toward the last red beams of the setting sun, and in the dull light of those laggard rays I observed the delicate features display a wealth of sadness. Never moving a muscle, she kept up the wierd call, now high, now low. What could it mean? Loth to intrude myself on sorrow I was about to slip quietly away, when my attention was arrested by the approach of a second woman. The same features, touched with a similar sadness, though softened by age, left no doubt as to the identity of the newcomer. Gently she sjxake to the girl and was answered in an undertone. But 1 could with ease hear the mother reply. “Well, daughter, sometime, I hope he will return. Unwillingly 1 heard the girj sob in a petulant manner, “O, tell me the story again.” 29

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When I think of the pleasant times we have enjoyed together; of triumphs and defeats; of our mutual joys and sorrows; it is with a deep feeling of sadness that 1 address you for the last time as President of the class. But before we go further, it might be well for us to consider the value of that which we have acquired in our course. Is it of any value to you? Is it of any value to those with whom you daily associate? Is it cf any value to the world in general? Classmates after today we meet as individuals. We turn over a new leaf in the book of life. We begin a new chapter. Always keep in mind that the end or aim of education is not to enable us to make a scant living, but what is vastly of more importance, education is to enable us to make a life. In reply to this some may say education does not make lives; citing Lincoln and Carnegie. The question arises how much greater would these men have heen, if they had received only a High School education? On the other hand, some may cite men who have made complete failures in college. Those who have gone through and thrust themselves on the public as parasites. Comrades, such men would never have succeeded in anything. In our own.commumties we have examples of two classes of people. The educated and uneducated. The comparison is very plain. It can be read on their faces, their manners and their actions. To go further would be unnecessary for every one knows that a High School education is valuable. It would not be wise for me to advise or instruct, these, the companions of my school days. We should take a lesson from . small shell fish having this peculiarity; that each year it builds a new room 10 :,s house. As it outgrows its last year's apartment, it moves into a 1? rger 1 more commodious room. This habit has been moved into a beantifi.’ ntitled, The Chambered Nautilus.” “Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul. As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last. Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea ! 28

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With the patience which only a mother knows, the soothing voice of the woman repeated a story that the girl had evidently heard before. “You were just beginning to talk, dear, and to call your brother all sorts of funny names. Hut for the most part you delighted in calling him “Wim’ although his real name was William. The speaker paused as in retrospection she heard the childish treble of her sunny haired babe. Then she resumed her story. “We were living on a large farm. One day when your father had gone to town for provisions, I was troubled with several tramps who insolently demanded food. I was young and refused to be frightened by their mumbled threats, hut when near evening, your brother and his playmate failed to return for supper, I began to he alarmed. For awhile T comforted myself with thinking they might have gone to the home of the playmate and forgotten the flight of time. Hut when 1 went to the neighbor's house, neither William nor the playmate had been there. Sighing, the woman paused, mentally viewing the vista of bygone years. “When ! reached home, your father had returned and, together with ti e neighbor's family, we searched far and near for our boys. The woman’s voice broke completely, and the girl in contrition softly said. Xever mind, mother, maybe sometime they'll come back, and you’ll forget the grief you’ve had. Concealed in shadows. I listened to the whole story, first because of a strange interest in the characters and then because of a stranger turmoil within my heart. My name was William. Jack was my companion and always had been. We had never known a home hut had been taken with the lumber jacks wherever they moved their camp. Searching in my memory for more conclusive evidence, I convinced myself that I remembered a barn, a trout brook, and a large elm tree by the roadside. 1 had never understood why I had no mother, hut the lumberjacks had been such rough companions that neither Jack nor T had courage enough to provoke their ridicule. Like a truth, that although unreasonable yet convinces, it seemed that this woman must he my mother, this girl my sister. T entered the clearing and approached the two. I addressed myself to the woman. 1 told her of the pictures my memory painted; 1 told her of my life as I remembered it. But why should T repeat the story of our meeting! Those were sacred moments about which one never speaks. As the evening stars succeeded the amber twilight and the now happy sister went to prepare the evening meal, the mother voluntarily answered the question I longed to ask. She told me of how the little sister of long ago had cried during the night for her missing playmate. She told me of how that same sister, as 30