Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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18 T II H S I: ;V () R ai A G N E 7 BILLY EVENS THE SCORE Helen Hindman It was three o’clock Labor Day, when a carriage drawn by a team of shiny black horses crossed the Oakmont and 1 larmarville bridge, and swung onto the hard, yellow streak of road that wrapped itself around the curves of the Allegheny river. The inmates of the carriage were of the 400 of Pittsburgh and it would pay us to stop for a few seconds and get acquainted. Mr. and Mrs. Madison were silently enjoying the beauty of the passing scenery, while Marian and Billy were thinking of the coming party. Marian’s wide, gray eyes were often and a little anxiously turned toward Billy, her young brother, who was tightly wedged between Mr. and Mrs. Madison. He did not return Marian’s appealing look, but sat there kicking the toes of his oxfords against the baggage at his feet. I lis mother glanced up and said, “Billy, what are you doing to that baggage and your new shoes?” She spoke mildly enough, but he at once turned his attention to some of the numerous objects that a boy of ten or twelve usually carries in his pockets. Something was undoubtedly wrong. Constraint hung in the air and none was more conscious of it than Billy. He could not forget the past evening when Marian had slipped into the house next door and found Billy and the young daughter of the house blissfully enjoying a box of caramels in the farthest corner of the veranda. Of course she had spread the news and poor Billy’s feelings were quite raw. All were quite ready for dinner when the carriage drove up to the door of the brilliantly lighted mansion, the home of Dr. and Mrs. Borland. The carriage was immediately besieged by laughing groups of young and old, and the whole family were joyously borne into the house. After dinner the girls were eagerly discussing the eligible young men present, and deciding which one they preferred. One announced that Dr. Borland’s son James had arrived a few moments ago and had brought Bruce Webster with him. Marian was silent, thinking of Bruce Webster, who had left his home town and had gone in quest of his fortune, before offering his love to her, the girl of his dreams. The day of his departure, Marian had returned home, after watching the train whiz itself away into a dot on the horizon. They had written long, newsy letters—and quite often a whimsically tender little note from Marian would cause him to keep his goal constantly in mind. For two weeks Marian had received no news of Bruce and this fact caused the one cloud on Marian’s happiness. The last weary guest had left the dance floor and all was quiet, when suddenly, shrill screams rent the air, issuing from the wing occupied by the young ladies. A floating white creature entered at the window. It slipped silently toward the girls, then retreated a few feet. Then it came forward, then retreating, coming nearer each time to the terror stricken girls. Bright eyes glared from deep sockets in a head which was shrouded in white. As the apparition glided through the room, a faint rattling of bones and clanging of chains was heard. Marian broke away from the terrified group and raced madly through the hall. People appeared as if by magic and the frightened girls were soon calmed. The strange apparition had vanished. Nothing remained but a wire extending trom the window to the center of the room. Understanding dawned

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7 HE SENIOR DA A G N E T 17 brought wealth and luxury, which eased and comforted his body, but not his mind, because the sight of the cabin brought back painful memories. One day, when strolling, he wandered farther than usual, and suddenly came upon a young girl painting a landscape scene. There was something familiar in the way she held her curly head, something in her figure that reminded him of his wife, although he could not see her face. At the sound of a twig breaking, she suddenly turned around, frightened at the sight of the man. 1 le told her not to be frightened, he meant no harm. He came forward and the girl drew back till she saw the expensive looking painting outfit of the stranger, then she stood still with amazement. He answered her inquisitive glance and told her he also was an artist. Then he asked her name, from sheer curiosity. But instead of an answer, he saw anger flash in the gray eyes so much like his own. I le explained the situation and at last the girl consented to remain and hear the sad bit of story from the artist. Shame, at her anger at him, sympathy, and pity awakened the woman in her, and she at once told him the brief story of her life in return for his. I low Auntie Prue loved and cared for her, a motherless child, how she had taught her from childhood, how many sacrifices she made to make life more beautiful for her. And at last the death of Auntie Prue and her dying request that she never would look in her desk till she was twenty-one. When the artist heard this, a desire arose within him to learn more of this fascinating and talented child. And as the days passed a strong friendship grew between them. They had so much in common—their art, griefs, memories and aspirations. One day when the girl was down in the valley, the artist went to her cottage. 1 le was surprised to find such curios and relics, evidently from distant lands. Surely the child’s aunt had lived elsewhere than in the cottage all her life. He went up stairs and entered a small room barely furnished. It contained a bed, so long unused, the linens were yellow, a dresser, chest of drawers, and a desk It was in the desk the artist found the written confession of Auntie Prue. She in reality was a childless widow who kidnapped the baby Elsa in a park in New York fifteen years ago. He was rejoicing over the confession when the girl returned. I le hastily explained his presence there and handed her the confession. After reading it, she flew' to him with open arms eager for a father’s love she had never known. The old cabin of the artist was torn down and the beautiful white cottage erected, which we saw along the winding mountain path. Wealth and luxury abide there, but the greatest of all is the love of the father and his long lost daughter.

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Till: SENIOR fMAGNET 19 suddenly upon the faces of James Borland and his friend Bruce Webster. 1 hey had remained in the library late that night discussing the events of the week when they heard a slight noise in Dr. Borland's laboratory and a few minutes later they had seen a group of boys, led by Billy Madison, steal across the moonlit lawn to the shelter of a grape arbor. After a hurried visit to the boys’ bedrooms and to the laboratory, they discovered the absence of the boys, and also that of an old skeleton which hung in a corner of the laboratory. I lence the strange apparition! Billy had evened the score with Marian. The next morning Marian slipped away from the guests and reached the edge of the garden unobserved. She scarce knew what to think of the unlooked for arrival of Bruce Webster, and what attitude she should adopt toward OUR John We’d set our hearts to take a hike, Hut not on foot, or on a bike; We bought ourselves a birch' canoe, A sixteen foot, just ’nough for two. We matched our brains against our luck, It cost six dollars, to a buck; We realised, but ’twas too late, It should have been two ninety-eight. The boles were small but they were plenty, I b’lieve there were close onto twenty; And when we tried; as I live. The blamed think leaked just like a sieve. him, when suddenly two strong arms grasped her and turned her gently toward a garden seat. “It can’t be Bruce,” breathed Marian huskily. “It can, indeed!” answered a well known voice. Ever since I met you I have loved you, he whispered as he slowly drew her closer to him. Now that I have realized my ambitions, I can tell you. But I have doubted happiness too long to receive it with open arms. I have made a stranger of it as does a miser by keeping his wealth hidden away from all eyes.” “Ever since 1 knew you, you have filled my thoughts and life,” answered Marian slowly. The margin of the garden was a few yards away, but it might have been miles, and the few trees scattered about might have been a forest of giant trees sheltering them from the gaze of curious eyes. B.H.S.------------- CANOE Byers We patched, and patched, and patched some more, And still it leaked. We all but swore; The way we daubed with tar and paint. Would try the patience of a saint. Before we got it to a trickle, We would have sold it for a nickle; But, as time for our departure came, We had to use it just the same. One morn we slung our heavy packs. Of grub and blankets on our backs; And made off for the river’s shore, A distance of two miles or more. We dumped our luggage in the boat, Surprised that still the thing would float. So thus at last we had embarked, Upon our voyage up the stream; I, sitting in the bow, remarked, “It’s true, what used to be a dream.”