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

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GRANDMOTHER’S MACHINE AND GWENDOLEN’S. “Anon from the belfry Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascending, Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and contentment ” One of these homes was a large red brick house surrounded by firs and hemiocKS which shaded its spacious verandas. To the west were large fields of flax and to the south were orchards and cornfields. Here lived Dr. McFar¬ land, a wealthy country physician, with his wife and seven children. Alice, the eldest, was just sixteen when she returned from the boarding school, which in these days was called an academy. The following year she re¬ ceived her certificate, and taught school in a nearby village. One winter her friend Susie came to visit at the McFarland home. She was very fond of Edward Templeton, the son of a Methodist minister. His father was an old friend of the McFarlands, and often brought his family there to spend an evening. Alice was always a shy little creature, and would often go up to her own room when they had company. Susie had a delightful visit. She spent her time in visiting school with Alice, and going sleigh riding and ice skating. Every Friday night, in a vil¬ lage about ten miles away, they had singing school. This was the chief amusement of the time and every one attended. One night Alice and Susie went to singing school in the McFarland sleigh. Susie had dressed very carefully that evening, as she knew Edward would be there; but Alice never let such things enter her head. What was Susies chagrin when she had to go home in the family sleigh with Alice’s brother, while Alice went home with Edward. After this they were often together making it a point to see each other at church and at the singing school In the spring of 1863 they were married and lived at her old home for a few years. One day when Alice was sitting by the open window sewing on a pair of white linen trousers for her husband (for in those days men always wore white), she sighed: Oh, if I only had a machine, how much work it would save me. bhe worked on. A few days later when her husband came in from town he carried a large box. “What is this?” she asked. “I did not order any large package from the store. But he only smiled and commenced taking the nails out of the box for her. Then he said, Now lift up the cover and see.” She did so, and to her surprise found a sewing machine. The kind that we have now with electric motors? Oh, no! , L B a very S , ma11 machine - whic h she set on the table and worked by hand. Of course this was a great deal of work, and her arm became very tired, but how much more quickly she made the clothes. She was generous and very often the neighbors came in to use it. Gwendolen Brookwell lived in a handsome home on West Street In fact, it was the most beautiful home in the little town. It was surrounded by large oak trees, and in the front there were spacious green lawns. At the east side of the house was a tennis court, where many of the young folks gathered every afternoon after school. The interior of the house was very luxuriously furnished On the upper floor was a large hall with polished Hoors. Often Gwendolen s friends would dr op in for a dance. 28

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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

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Gwendolen was quite a horsewoman. In the morning bright and early she would be seen off for a ride before school. She was the envy of all the girls, for her horse was the finest that money could buy. Her favorite ride was across the river to her father’s orange grove. When school was out that summer she went to visit her cousin, Gladys Clark. Now, Gladys lived in a much larger place than Gwendolen, and there were no places to go for horseback rides, but she had a roadster, and they took many lovely rides in it. Of course Gwendolen made up her mind to have one, too. After she returned home she kept putting off asking her father for a machine. One morning she was seated at the piano when he came into the room. As her birthday was only two weeks off, he said: “Well Gwendolen, what are you going to want for your birthday? “Oh, Daddy,” she cried, “can I have what I most want? “Yes,” he replied “Oh, a machine. You know, Gladys has one, and so have all my other friends.” “Well Gwendolen, he said, I will not promise for sure. On the morning of her birthday, she awoke bright and early. She decided to go for her morning ride, as usual. She dressed very quickly and hastened down stairs. There on the driveway stood her machine. It was the joy of her heart, as was grandmother s little machine fifty years ago. And she can run it with great skill, too. Will this make her despise the daily round of work that falls to the lot of the homekeeper? Let us hope, rather, that it will only add another accomplishment without lessening her devotion to the homely duties that made such capable and lovable v omen of the daughters of our pioneers. A ROMANCE OF THE FUTURE. Joseph Richardson was a lad of seventeen, exceptionally bright and of a mechanical turn of mind. When he was only a Junior in the college of Science and Mechanics he astonished every one in his skill and genius as an inventor. He was far ahead of his time and even before he had graduated from High School he had turned topsy-turvy some of the estab¬ lished theories of physics and formulated better ones. Now he knew more than any book or professor in the college. On top of all of this he was in love and desperately so. She was very fair, and also seventeen years of age. When he had graduated from college he went to request her hand. She referred him to “Father.” Father was a rich, retired banker of the shrewd, precise type, taking nothing for granted. This potentate stared at him for a few minutes, and then asked: “What do you wish to become?” “My ambition is to be an inventor. The old man laughed at the idea. Inventors are the scum of the earth,” he said. Yet you are of very reputed genius for that kind of thing and if you had an equipped laboratory you might solve many prob- lems.” Finally the old man proposed that he would build Joe a modern labora¬ tory to his own taste, on condition that he would find the principle of an antigravity machine; that he would find the means and have executed the watering of the Sahara, and stop the war. Then he might have his daughter. Joe said he would try, for he needed the laboratory. Two years passed and the war was waging as fiercely as ever, only the warring nations were using machinery instead of men for doing the fighting. 29