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

Page 30 text:

THE SPECTATOR The Cabin by the Sea Beside the swelling waves, Beside the rugged shore, Near the sounding ocean caves, Stands a cabin by the sea. There’s a tang o’ brine in the flying wind, There’s a smell o’ the rank seaweed, There’s the sound of the ocean’s song And there’s the cabin by the sea. Oh, can’t you see the roses twining Round the old and rustic doors? Can’t you see the lights a-shining From the cabin by the sea? A-shining far out to the sea Just a-shining there for me. It’s been long, long years a go Since I left the cabin by the sea. Oh, the years have rolled above me. I have wandered far away O’er the restless, surging main, From the cabin by the sea. Someone keeps the lights a-shining. Someone prays for my return. Someone’s waiting there for me In the cabin by the sea. It is homeward now I’m turning, For my Love and Home I’m yearning, And I know she’s waiting for me In the cabin by the sea. Irnita McPhail M RX1

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THE SPECTATOR had been like—why he had died so young. Then, in the midst of my meditations, I heard a soft step behind me. On turning I beheld in the gathering dusk a beautiful girl, tall, lithe, with soft brown hair, a rather pale face and glorious brown eyes—yet in their depths lurked an indescrib ' able sadness. In her arms she held great clusters of roses. “Good evening,” she murmured. Then, on seeing that I had been reading the inscription, she asked, “Did you know Jim Blakely?” Upon my answering, “No,” she said, “Then you are a stranger?” “Yes. The name attracted me somehow, I don’t know why, and I was wondering what his story had been.” “ It is a sad, sad story,” she replied slowly, as she dropped to her knees and began to arrange the flowers. “Jim and I were children together—we were playmates. We loved the same things, the meadows, the birds, the flowers and especially—roses. “As we grew older we gave up our play, but our friendship remained— we were still companions. We would sit and talk in the evenings or walk by the stream in the meadow or in the woods. Jim had grown tall and handsome. He had raven black hair and great dark eyes. “Then one day there came a girl from the city. She said she had come for a rest. She amused herself with Jim. He believed that she was sincere, but when the time came for her to leave, she laughed at him and called him a ’fool.’ “Months passed. One evening, while I was sitting on the rose-covered porch of my home, someone stopped at the garden gate, then came slowly up the path. I rose—it was Jim, but not the Jim I had known. He was thin, oh, so white and thin. His eyes, once so merry, had become, in a few short months, black pools of sadness. “We sat on the steps in the twilight and he told me all—how she had scorned and laughed at him; the terrible hardships and privations he had suffered. Then when he was leaving, as we stood on the steps, under the roses, he whispered hoarsely: “ ’ I trusted her, because I thought she was like you—pure as the roses.’ “After he was gone I realised that his sorrow was killing Jim—and I was right, it was Jim’s last night on earth. “You see, ” she explained, as she knelt in the gathering darkness with her head bowed over the roses, “ Jim wasn’t used to the ways of the world— he took things so to heart.” M Irnita McPhail

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THE SPECTATOR SOCIETY he following is a list of those who have earned a place on the 1 honor roll this year. At the time of printing, only three re¬ ports are in. The figures indicate the quarters during which each member has attained the excellence required for membership. Irnita McPhail 1-2-3 Isabelle Murray 2 Yell Nobles 2 Beatrice Horn 1-2-3 Alice Grace Yordi 1-2-3 Rodney Capps 2-3 Arthur Hover 2-3 Oria Orr 2 Earl Murillo 1-2-3 Jane Carol Whitaker 2-3 Walter Winrott i