Cloverdale Union High School - Spectator Yearbook (Cloverdale, CA)

Page 22 text:

20 THE SPECTATOR We, the Class of 1914, do give and bequeath to the Junior Class our thrones in Row A, and our splendid ability as actors and actresses in high school plays, to be used by them at their Commencement next year. Our honorable and enviable positions of course fall to them. To the Sophomores and Freshmen, we bequeath our reputation as the most brilliant and best loved class ever graduated from this high school. Treasure this gift, classes, and we know the benefits will multiply as years pass. To the Sophomores we give our golden silence during the study periods in Room I. To the whole student body, we of the art class, do bequeath all our drawings to be used for the decoration of the study hall in our new school building. To the faculty we, as a class, do give and bequeath our most sincere appreciation for their kindness to us during our four years of high school life. In prospect of the fine new school building for which we have sighed so long, we do give and bequeath to the Board of Trustees our old school building, to use to the best advantage and welfare of all. To them we also give our hearty thanks for the elegant sheepskin diplomas which they have given us. We appoint Miss Genevieve Phelan of the Junior Class of the Cloverdale High School, Cloverdale, Sonoma County, California, as chief administratrix of this, our last Will and Testament. IN 4 ITNESS WHEREOF, We have hereunto set our hands and seals, this eleventh day of June, Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen, the year of our graduation. WITNESSES: F. A. White Hanna Pierson Flora Bagley Signed—Class of 1914. (SEAL) Zola Hotell John Cooley Charles Grant Philipp Prell Lucille Brush

Page 24 text:

22 THE SPECTATOR ©Ijpir GHiristmaa flrpsntt T was a bright autumn afternoon; nothing disturbed the quietness but the soft murmur of the leaves as a gentle wind moved them on the tiees, and blew the driest ones down, where they dropped around the little boy who sat on a rustic bench in the park. He was watching them , . bright, gayly colored autumn leaves, and his sad little face brightened. “Yes, I will take her some perhaps it will please her.” So gathering a handful of the golden leaves on their long stems, he started briskly homeward. His Way led through thickly crowded streets, hemmed in by high, massive buildings. No one stopped the little boy with the shining eyes and golden curls, but a few glanced at his treasure, the bright autumn leaves, and smiled. He left the busy thoroughfare and walked quickly through a dark alley. Pausing at length, he drew a deep breath, then turned and mounted the steep stair of the tenement house in which he lived. ive long flights of stairs and once more he paused, this time beside the door in a dark corner, and knocked gently. “Come in,” said a quiet voice from the inside and the door was opened by a woman of a refined though not expensively dressed appear¬ ance. . “ You did not forget your mother, did you, dear!” she said lovingly, as she took the beautiful leaves from his hand and led him into the room. “Mother, are you ill? How pale you are!” exclaimed the little boy, as he looked at her in the light from the window. His mother sat down and took the baby in her lap holding her away from the work. On the easel was a sketch done in ink, for by her sketches she earned a scanty living for herself and her five little ones. “I am not feeling well but I must finish this sketch for the magazine,” she answered, “and I have not much time in which to do it. Mr. Rosenheimer says I must have them all in the office by tomorrow night, else he will not accept them.” “Let me help you, mother; let me take baby and we will play awhile with these blocks until James and Willie are awake then we will cook something for you to eat,” said the little boy who had spoken before and whose name was Gerald. “ Thank you, ’’ she said gently, ‘‘Mary will be home directly. 1 sent her to the store on the corner to buy some apples, and to