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

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A BLESSING IN DISGUISE. T es ’ m °ther, I must finish this row,” said a cheery voice from under a big pink sunbonnet, then I will do your errand as I go to the store for a hoe. I forgot to tell the boys to get it for me.” She soon finished transplanting a long row of lettuce, and skipped gaily down the street on her errand. was now late in the spring. Commencement was drawing near, i! j °y s wer f joining the Boy Scouts and Agricultural Clubs, but the girls had thought little of their share in helping the nation in its peril. Most of them were planning visits with relatives or trips to San Francisco and Berke- e y- There were a few exceptions to this, among them one in particular. She had declined all invitations to spend the summer away from home. She bought few new clothes this spring and did not take part in many of the festivities. The girls all noticed this, and wondered what could be the trouble. One afternoon she surprised them by calling a meeting. They were all very curious to know what she wanted, so all flocked to the appointed place directly after school. 1 have asked you to meet here this afternoon to see how many of you would like to join an Agriculture Club,” she said. “I thought we might be able to help in this time of need.” Only three girls joined with her, but these four worked diligently. They called another meeting soon and six joined, so they now had a club of ten. They each had three kinds of vegetables to grow, so among them they raised lettuce, beans, corn, potatoes, tomatoes, cabbage, peas, radishes and onions. Our little friend with the pink sunbonnet, who was the leader of the club, was to raise lettuce, beans and peas. Here, mother, is your package. See my new hoe, that is to chop out those old rebellious weeds; and, mother, I got two packages of late peas, so will have my hands full. Saying this, she ran to the garden and hoed away for two hours. She and her friends worked faithfully. At last summer came and their crops were bearing abundantly. Now came the time for canning. At first the mothers helped in this but the girls soon learned the trick, so they could do it alone. They found that they had so much produce to take care of that they held another meeting and called for volunteer assistants. No fruit or berries had been raised by either the boys or the girls’ club, but lettuce and a few other vegetables that could not be canned were turned into the stores in exchange for strawberries and such things. The boys ' Agricultural Club brought in vegetables. The girls canned one hundred quarts each, making about five thousand five hundred quarts in all. When harvest was over a new plan was hit upon. Each was to keep fifty quarts of canned vegetables and fruit for home use, but the remainder was to be sold at a bazaar. All were delighted and entered into the prepa- rations with enthusiasm. F F t , Th ! !ffi aar tU l ne L ° Ut t0 be a great success - The y cleared over one thousand dollars which was turned in to the leader of the club, and then given to the Red Cross Society. In addition to all this their credit account showed a few more items: broken finger nails and calloused hands, to be sure, but—“Beautiful hands are they that do deeds that are noble, good and true.” And, furthermore they now needed no powder or rouge, because the sunshine, fresh air and outdoor work had given them rosy cheeks. They also had clearer brains, brighter eyes and nerves that were more sound, all from constant work and sunshine. 1 hey had been so enthusiastic over their work that they had no time to worry; and so they had really grown very beautiful. Their association 26

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advantage and to give the best results; who leads and directs the great mass of laborers; who stands firmly for what he knows is right and for that only, is the man who is worthy of the title of Hero. Labor is everywhere the dominant power. Then is it startling to assert that the man who organizes the workers, who unites them and obtains a coherent statement of their demands, who judges as fairly as he can what their rights are, and stands for what his judgment dictates, who directs the nation’s forces and so plans for the masses as to give them the greatest oppor¬ tunity to enjoy life—is it unfair to assert that he is the hero? If not he, then who is? Elliott. THE HERO AS PRESIDENT. A hero is a man distinguished for valor, fortitude, or bold enterprise; anyone regarded as having displayed great courage or exceptionally noble or manly qualities, who has done deeds showing him to possess such quali¬ ties. Heroes are the leaders of men. They are modelers, patterns, and, in a wide sense, the creators of whatsoever the general mass of men contrived to do or to attain. Therefore, the hero of today is the Able Man, the Man who Can. Some are inclined to look for heroes exclusively in high society, or among those who have had the advantage of a college education. But heroism may exist in the heart of the commonest workingman. Can anyone estimate the good a farmer can do, for instance? With the love for his coun¬ try and the national welfare in view he can accomplish inestimable good. He cannot only produce from his farm, supplies and food products for his fellow- man, but also by his enthusiasm he can inspire hundreds of others to bend their energies in the same direction for the same purpose. Has he not proved himself a hero by exerting a beneficent influence in behalf of the nation in such a crisis as this when every man’s assistance is solicited and greatly needed? There are heroes also among the capitalists. Notice, for instance, Mr. A. C. Bedford, President of the Standard Oil Company, the world’s greatest business organization. He deserves credit for the masterful manner in which he handled the Standard Oil dissolution in 1911. This was done without disturbance to a great industry, and yet increasing the welfare of hundreds of thousands of our citizens. Among the inventors there are two heroes who stand pre-eminent: Thomas A. Edison and Marconi. What wonderful assistance their inventions have already proved. The army and navy no longer go at their work blindly since wireless telegraphy has been invented, for they are able to keep in touch with the whole world. Thomas A. Edison is now working eighteen hours a day in order to perfect inventions which will be of inestimable value to our country. Are not these m en heroes? But who is the hero of heroes? It can be no other than President Woodrow Wilson. He has put forth all his strength, energy and power of mind to guide our nation thus far through this stormy crisis, with a wise and loving hand, restraining the impetuous leaders who would have rushed the nation into war. He dealt with the situation step by step. Planning ahead with his great foresight, he mapped out a course of action. He considered well and calculated the steps necessary to carry the nation successfully and honorably along a path of right, resorting to might only when unavoidable. Now that our President has seen fit to declare war, the nation as a whole is unanimous in its endorsement of the stand which he has taken. Never in history was such unity of thought known. This is entirely due to the wisdom and influence of our President. Vive le President, our hero. Pauline. 25

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with their boy friends in this useful enterprise had given them a thousand times more pleasure than they had ever found at the dances and parties. It had given them a chance, also, to find out who were the really manly and worthy fellows. This hard but wholesome work had really been a blessing in disguise. Flora. PATSY WINKLES. “When is mother coming home?” asked Patsy one morning as she rushed into the library where her father sat reading. “I hope soon. We may get a letter today,” said Daddy. “Daddy, do you know that tomorrow I will be nine years old, and mother told me I should have a lovely present, and now she is not here to give it to me?” Tears began to fill her eyes, but her father, lifting her upon his knee, said: “This is not like my Patsy Winkles. What is mother going to give you? “Oh! 1 have no idea what it was going to be, said Patsy. You know she always gets something to surprise me. Last year it was this ring and the year before my necklace. I cannot think what it will be this year. James Crowe was a wealthy and prominent mining man of Denver, where he lived in a magnificent home with his wife and only child, a daughter, named Patricia. She was so named because she was born on St. Patrick s day, but they always called her Patsy for short. She was a beautiful, fair-haired, blue-eyed, light-hearted child. When anything greatly pleased her she had such a merry twinkle in her eyes that one day a friend, who was calling, christened her Patsy Winkles, and by that name she was known for miles around. Patsy ' s mother had been away for some time visiting her sister, who was very ill. When the postman came that afternoon he brought a neatly addressed letter, written in her mother’s handwriting, directed to Miss Patsy Crowe. How eagerly she tore open the envelope to see if her present was within! But it contained only a short letter, saying that she would be at home on the next day’s train and would bring her, as a birthday present, little Rosalie. She flew to her father as fast as her little legs could carry her, exclaim¬ ing, “Daddy, daddy, mother is coming home tomorrow and says she has my present, Rosalie, with her. What do you suppose it is? I 11 bet it is a doll. “Well, Patsy, you will have to wait and see. You may go with me to the train and find out.’ When the train came, very much to Patsy’s surprise she saw her mother, not carrying a bundle, but leading a little girl of about six years with black curls hanging over her shoulders, black eyes that shone like stars, and smiles that made sunshine all around her. Her mother had died and Mrs. Crowe had taken her to live with them. “Here, Patsy, is your birthday present, Rosalie. A look of disappointment flashed over Patsy s face. She did not think a girl was a good birthday present. Rosalie had such a pleasant smile that Patsy made up with her, and said, “Oh mother! 1 thought Rosalie was a doll, but it is a girl instead.” “Yes, Patsy, I thought you would rather have a real girl than a doll for your birthday. I want you to be the best of friends forever.” Patsy took Rosalie’s hand and helped her into their auto. They soon grew quite friendly. Patsy and Rosalie were the very best of chums ever after, and Patsy was ?ure she had much more fun with a real girl than she would have had with a doll. M. F. H. 27