Bristol High School - Green and White Yearbook (Bristol, RI)

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12 THE GREEN AND WHITE Mr. Browning and had lived there ever since. From the first day Mrs. Browning had realized there was something odd about him. He didn't trust anyone, he made trouble with the Brownings’ friends by his rudeness, and he also had a hobby of collecting keys—he liked outdoor keys, especially. Then he began to walk in his sleep. “In fact. Mrs. Browning added, several times we have almost had him committed. But we thought he was one of the family; so we couldn't; now we'll put him where he belongs—in an insane asylum.” Then Mrs. Black said: Now that you’re positive that that man isn’t your Uncle, have you thought who he might be? Has he ever said anything that would give you an idea?” No, he hadn’t said anything about his life before he came to the Brownings’. When Mrs. Browning left the next day, nothing had been decided. Who Uncle John might be was still a mystery—and very likely to remain so, as there seemed no way to prove that he wasn’t John Steward, or that he was someone else. Several months later, I again had occasion to call Mrs. Black on the telephone. In the course of our conversation 1 asked about the Steward affair. She was silent for a minute, then she said. “It’s still as strange as ever. When Mrs. Browning returned to her home, she and her husband talked the matter over. They had the poor man sent to the State Hospital for Mental Cases for observation. While there he was absolutely identified as Colonel Steward. They had his record as several years previous he had been one of their patients. He had been discharged as cured, but now his mind is a complete blank and he has developed a mania that all the world is against him. The authorities can make nothing of the case, as there is proof for both men. and yet, how can there be more than one John Steward.” “Was the man identified as John Steward?” I asked. “Mrs. Browning didn’t mention that in her letter. She simply said that he had been absolutely identified as her uncle.” So being still interested in the case, 1 wrote to Mrs. Browning herself for information. In her answering letter, she inclosed a report from the hospital saying that Colonel Henry Steward had been a patient there for many years. So the two old men were both Mrs. Browning’s Uncles—and the whole matter was closed. But 1 can’t help but be sorry for poor Colonel John, who thought he had been forgotten—and who died with bitterness toward his country in his heart. CLAUDIA DEWOLF, '31. CRIPPLED GERDA It was a holiday in the little German town of Slaternburg, because it was the birthday of the duke’s only daughter, Princess Olga, and the schools were closed. It was the children’s holiday, for the princess was only a little girl. At the left side of the castle ran a road, with a few poor cottages along it, quaintly built. At the door of one of them stood a group of girls, clad in clear white clothes. In a little chair on the threshold sat a pleasant looking girl with a very pale face. Poor Gerda could not move unless she was lifted and so she had to sit in her chair all day long while her mother worked. “And where shall you go first?” she asked her companions. Why, to get our bouquets at the market,” said one, and then to the great hall at the castle, where we must wait till the princess comes into the gallery; and then to sing our anthem and lay down our flowers.” “1 should like to go, too, just once,” said Gerda, softly. “It seems cruel to leave you at home, Gerda,” said one girl. “Oh, no!” she replied, “I always enjoy the princess’s birthday. You all bring home such pleasant news.” “How contended you are?” remarked another. “Do you never wish for anything, Gerda?” “Oh, yes, I do,” answered the cripple, smiling. “What do you wish?” asked the other, kneeling beside her. “I wonder if you wish the same as I do.” 1 wish I were useful,” answered Gerda. “Oh, I never think about that, replied the other. “I only wish for finer clothes or French bonbons. I’m useless enough, as we all are.” “Oh. no,” said Gerda. “See now, today you are going to please the princess. They say she does not look happy and that the duke’s new wife is not so sweet as her own mother. When she sees your flowers and hears your song, it will cheer her.” Then they all said good-bye to her and went laughing and chatting down the road. Gerda sat there, knitting, until she thought that her young friends visit at the castle must be over, and she began to long for their return. Soon a small chaise came along the road. In it were two ladies, one with gray hair, while the other was still very young, hardly past early girlhood, with a pale, worn face, and large eyes. She checked the reins when she saw Gerda and . whispered to the other who said, “Little girl, how is it you are not with the other children at the castle?” “I cannot go, I am unable to walk,” said Gerda. “I am a cripple.” “Are you not very lonesome?” asked the lady. “No,’ ’answered Gerda. Just now I expect them back with the news from the castle. The strangers exchanged glances. We have been there, too,” they said. “What would you like to hear?” About the princess. Is she happy?” The younger lady bent forward. “The princess may well envy you.” she said. “Btu she needn’t. God's will is good for her as well as for us,” said Gerda. A smile broke over the stranger’s pale face. Will you tell me your name?” she asked. “I am Gerda Hatisler,” she answered. Then the lady touched the ponies and they went away, and Gerda wondered who they were. That evening the Princess Olga sat in her

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 11 THE CASE OF COLONEL STEWARD As I glanced over the paper, an obituary caught my eye. I paused at that page to read it. It simply said that Colonel John Steward, for the past fifteen years an inmate of the Old Soldiers’ Home, had recently died. Colonel Steward—the name was familiar ! Oh—then I remembered the pathetic looking old gentleman whom the matron had pointed out to me, several years before. What had she said about him? She had said that Colonel John was the saddest case she had ever seen in all her experience; that he had been the bravest and most cheerful of her charges until two years before; that he had suddenly seemed to lose all interest in life. Then we had passed on to the next old hero; but now, as 1 thought of it, I remembered that I had looked back at the Colonel. He was in exactly the same position in which we had found him—his hands in his lap, his head bowed, and his eyes not closed, but staring straight ahead. He certainly looked as the matron had pictured him—the saddest and most hopeless case in that rather sad and hopeless house. As the Colonel had interested me, I had asked the matron for more information about him. All she knew was that at the time he had entered the home, although he had been gay and friendly, be had seemed to be expecting a letter. He had told her that he would probably be leaving the Home soon to go to his niece’s. When he had thought the arrangements were complete he had written a letter containing the final instructions and asking for the final information. A week had gone by—a month; but not until a year had passed had he broken down. The matron said that during this time his interest in his surroundings seemed to cease. He thought that no one wanted him—that all he got for risking his life for his country was to have his family close its doors to him—that he was being thrust upon the Government, which didn’t want him any more than his people did. So, in a few years, he became the unhappy person whom I had seen. I now read through the Colonel’s obituary. He had been a Union officer in the Civil War. He had received several decorations for bravery in action. He had remained in the Army after peace was declared and had served in the Spanish-Amcrican War. The Colonel had retired from active service in 1902 and had run a shoe shop until, in 1909, he had entered the Home. No relatives were mentioned in the notice. Being rather curious why the niece wasn’t mentioned, I called the matron on the telephone to ask if the niece hadn’t been notified. The matron told me that a letter had been sent immediately to her home and that a very-curious answer had come. I asked if I might be of any assistance, so I went up to the Home. The matron met me with the letter in her hand. 1 read : My dear Mrs. Black: I was much surprised to receive your letter announcing the death of a Colonel John Steward. As my Uncle John has been living with us for the past two years, I could not understand how he had also been staying with you at the Home. I hope you will be able to straighten this out, and to identify the poor man; but I assure you he cannot have been my Uncle. Sincerely. MARY STEWARD BROWNING. Mrs. Black had wired for Mrs. Browning to come on, as she had definite proof that the poor man had really' been Colonel John Stew-ard. Mrs. Browning arrived the next day. She was a pleasant woman; but she was utterly convinced that the Colonel Steward staying with her was her Uncle John. The two women went over the records and personal papers that seemed to prove satisfactorily that the late inmate of the Home was the real relative. Mrs. Browning was astounded! If her Uncle had been living at the Home, whom had she been taking so much care of? Been taking care of? Mrs. Black wanted to know exactly what she meant. Mrs. Browning explained that her pseudouncle had one unpleasant habit of helping himself to anything that pleased him—at any time or place. In fact, her husband bad had to go out frequently at night, to get her Uncle, who had been found wandering around on the neighbor’s property. The man seemed also to have a particular hate for fences and gates of all kinds. By the time Mrs. Browning had told us this, she was quite hysterical. She was going to have the imposter arrested; he’d have to pay for all the time and trouble she had spent on him. Hadn’t her husband said: “Uncle” was criminally inclined, anyway? While Mrs. Black was attempting to calm her, I tried to solve this puzzle. Here were two men—each supposed to be Colonel John Steward. I decided that there were three possibilities • either, Mrs. Black’s Colonel was John Steward; or, Mrs. Browning’s was; or, both of the men were impostors. For some reason, I doubted the value of the papers Mrs. Black had provided—they certainly proved that Colonel Steward had been admitted into the Home; that Colonel Steward had been awarded an honorable discharge from the United States Army; but they did not prove that the dead man was Colonel John Steward. On the other hand, Mrs. Browning evidently didn’t have any papers or proofs of his identity. Then Mrs. Browning told us how she and her husband had taken their Colonel in. A letter from Uncle John had arrived, saying that he would come soon. Several days later a neighbor came over to tell Mrs. Browning that there was an old man down at the station, who seemed to be waiting for someone. Mr. Browning, guessing he was Uncle John, went down to get him. The old gentleman had acted very queerly. He had at first refused to answer all questions addressed to him. Finally, however, when Mr. Browning had suggested his name might be John Steward, and that he might be loking for his niece’s house, he had eagerly assented, saying over and over, John Steward, John Steward, that’s my name, John Steward,” as if trying to convince himself. He had gone home with

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THE GREEN AND WHITE 13 dressing room. Her nurse, who called her “my darling,” instead of “your highness,” said • “The pleasantness of the day has done you good; you look quite bright, my darling.” “Ah nurse,” she answered, all thanks to little Gerda Hansler. She did not think I must be happy because of my station and castle, but she reminded me that they were the will of God as much as her own suffering. If she, a little criple, can smile, should I not smile though a thorn lurk among the roses of my crown?” Gerda told me: “God’s will is good for both. That is my best birthday gift.” MARJORIE L. MANLEY, Class of 1932. “AN ENDLESS DAY” The eight fifteen bell has rung; Everyone is on the run. We all rush to our seats, Now and then shifting of feet. A book drops to the floor. Miss Sisson says, “Close the door.” Then we pass from class to class, But the time just won’t pass. There comes a soft patter of feet. It’s Mr. Brightman to test the heat. A sweet voice in English struggles in vain, Motta starts “Singing in the Rain.” We pass back to home rooms, Lunch hour is very soon, Down the stairs we dance with glee, There’s ice cream, sandwiches, but no samples free. Few minutes later each face falls, For now the bell is calling all, Up the stairs we march in dread. Some are wishing they were dead. The time is now drawing near, But it seems just like a year, Till the last bell has rung for the day, Now every face is bright and gay. It’s all over for one day, Even the teachers seem gay, In our hearts there will be sorrow, For there’s another day—tomorrow. ELLA MAE LeMAIRE. “PATTY” Patty is a pretty maid. But to me, no reverence has she paid, My poem which I tried so hard to make, She did scorn and all its glory take. I do not question her, In fact I pity her, To think she has not heard in her day A verse to equal the one I read to her along the way. MARY CELONE, 32. SEA SHORE IN WINTER The sea shore in Winter is a strange plaything of nature. She makes the waters cold and gloomy : the shore a cold and bleak spot. The waters lash the protruding rocks. The gulls swoop low over the sands in a vain search of a stray fish that might casually swim to the surface. These birds of prey hover for a second, then suddenly dive with a headlong rush. Soon they emerge from the cold water—sometimes with a fish and sometimes—nothing. Soon snow begins to fall. The water rats those little gray thieves of the beach, scurry to their shelter or under some low lying rock or pier. The snow falls silently on the waves that roll continuously up the sand and back down again. Sometimes a heron is seen standing shivering in the cold. So falls the wintry night on the sea shore. Morning on that shore means nothing to its inhabitants. The sky is cold and gray, sometimes filled with snow, falling silent. The beach is all white except at the waters edge On the water are huge cakes of ice floating about. They freeze together as the cold increases. The gulls stand about. They cannot get fish and it is too cold to fly. A flock of geese go flashing past them. They are screaming: “Come away, you gulls, come South where it is warm.” The gulls cast a shivering glance at the geese. The wind increases, the ice breaks up. The gulls have to fly now, for there is no place to stand. The wind and water later lashes the ice into a fine slush. Night is coming on again. With it comes sleet, snow and cold winds. As we go away, we hear the faint cry of the heron, and the water washing up on the snow-covered beach, as it seems to say: “Break, Break, Break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.” CHARLES YOUNG, Class 1930. WHY WORRY? Why worry if you flunk a subject or two, If your lessons for tomorrow you are yet to do. If your girl has turned you down, and you feel blue; Or if you’re on the football team with not a victory to boast. Don’t worry, for you will soon find it doesn’t pay. Your work remains undone and your hair'll soon turn gray; You’ll find the joys of life slip by; While you sit still and worry or sigh. Meet your defeats with a grin and a laugh; Grit your teeth and curl up a smile. Tackle your task with joy in your heart, And show that you’re glad to do your part; And I'll bet a cent to a million that you’ll land on top. M. SECURO, Class of 1930.