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

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THE SPECTATOR 23 tell tlie Doctor he might come up this evening after his office hours to inspect my sketches and see if I could improve them in any way. ’ ’ Mary was Gerald’s twin sister. When their father died, he had left a family of five children and very little money to support them. Their mother, a well educated, refined woman, had declined aid from friends, had given up her comfortable apartments and secured a couple of cheap rooms in the tenement house and was earning an existence in the manner mentioned. Her baby, a delicate child, was not yet old enough to creep; the other two children, four and five years old; the twins, but eight. On this day she had gotten up feeling faint and dizzy, but so anxious was she to finish her work, that the strength of the ambition which burned in her soul had kept her working. “Can I finish them? Can I?” was the refrain running through her mind as she sat on the rug near the couch on which two other children lay taking their afternoon nap; Gerald, taking the blocks off the table, began to amuse the baby. Just then little Mary came in, a bag of apples in her hand. “Oh Mother, may we bake the apples for dinner?” she cried. “Oh goody, here’s Gerald! And the Doctor said he’d come right away, and he gave me this for the baby, ’ ’ she continued, speaking hurriedly, as she gave her mother a piece of money. ‘ ‘ Yes, you may bake the apples when the boys wake up. Now help Gerald amuse baby for awhile,” answered the mother, continuing her work. In this way the afternoon sped on, the shadows creeping darker and darker, until at last the children pushed aside the things they were doing and went into the next room to begin their apple baking. So happy were they laughing and talking that they did not hear the Doctor enter at the invitation of the quiet voice of tlieir mother. “Alice, how long are you going to keep at this? Let me look at you! Uli-huh! Just as I thought—aren’t well, are you? l r ou simply must put away this work and rest; you will be seriously ill if you do not.” “I cannot, Doctor, I simply cannot; I must finish these by tomorrow. Please don’t mind me, but look, at the sketches— criticise them as only you can, help me as you always do. I know I am ill but I’ll promise to rest when these are finished,” and she held out her work appealingly. The Doctor gave in, and for an hour he helped her, suggesting, praising, until at last he rose to leave. Gerald saw him and asked, “May I not give Uncle Doctor an apple, Mother?” and, upon her assent, he went to prepare it for the Doctor to carry with him.

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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

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24 THE SPECTATOR “You won’t take my advice then, Alice!” asked the Doctor. “You won’t give up this work and come to me? Tell me now 1 for I want to help you.” “No, I cannot—but I appreciate all your help and kindness —I will not forget,” she said—and thus the Doctor left. ‘ ‘ Oh Mother, he went away without his apple, and it was so nice.” ‘ ‘ He will come again soon, and then you can give it to him, dear,” she said aloud, but to herself she was saying, “Only too soon, I fear, but I must—I must complete this work; then I will rest, as he advised.” The next day came bright and clear, but the tired mother lay quiet. Gerald, looking in, was alarmed as he leaned over her and asked what to do. “Tell Dr. Fisher 1 want him quickly,” she said feebly and tried to raise her head only to drop wearily back with a sigh. “Thank God, the sketches are finished,” she breathed. “My poor babies, will he take them? But what a sacrifice! Oh God, have mercy upon me and let me live!” Weeks passed, still she lay hopelessly ill; the children were taken to the Doctor’s home, and tended by his mother. The Doctor and nurse fought many a hard fight, but it seemed her strength was gone. “It can’t be, I will save her,” the doctor murmured as he paced up and down the room, after seeing the children safely tucked away in bed. “My poor Alice, why wouldn’t she let me help her? I might have prevented her illness, had she let me save her this racking nerve-strain. ’ ’ “Telephone call, sir,” announced the servant, and the Doctor hurried to the phone. “Hello,” he said, and listened intently to the voice at the other end of the wire. “Hello, Doctor, the patient has had a decided change, and I can’t tell as yet whether she will rally or not. Will you come quickly? You may be needed. ” “Yes, Yes,” answered the doctor, “I’ll come at once,” and, hanging up the receiver, he hurried away. Alice lay quietly sleeping. She was pale and thin and to the anxious eyes of the doctor she looked like a great soul at rest, as he stood by her bedside. Her eyelids fluttered and she looked up at him, at first wonderingly, like a little child, then smiling and whispering the one word, “Doctor,” she closed her eyes.