Dexter High School - Signet Yearbook (Dexter, ME)

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30 THE SIGNET you'd play my game. Joy wins the prize, I guess. She passed Joyce another slip of paper. The other girls looked over her shoulder as she read. Could it be true? She was to go abroad with Aunt Beth to study her beloved music. That's what the paper said. At her incredulous look Aunt Beth ex- plained. I wanted a companion this year. I guess I'm getting old. I heard your con- versation, and I thought of testing you. I decided to take with me the one who passed in the best report. I'm sorry I can't take all of you. Isn't that just our luck? I guess we paid too much for our selfishness, said Ar- lene as she and Doris walked slowly home. Gardys Woodside '27. A SCENE FROM THE PAINTED DESERT The desert. What does that word convey to our minds? Do we think of the Hopi Indians of Arizona who dwell in their an- cestor's cliffs which form a very beautiful and historical part of the Painted Desert, or are we reminded vaguely of some tale from the Arabian Knights? Do we see vast weary stretches of hot burning sands which rise and fall into rolling dunes, and often become whirling, destructive storms blinding travelers and causing many to lose their way and to perish on the tractless ex- panse, or does the word cause us to view an oasis, the wayfarers' haven of rest and refreshment, because of its green shrub- bery, date palms, and fresh supply of wa- ter ? Do we imagine tall, dusky Arabs silently folding their tents and stealing away in the clear moonlight, or do we be- hold an aged Mohammedan performing his sacred rites with his face turned toward Mecca? Do we glimpse long merchant caravans having numberless camels which wind picturesquely across the purple sage or do we try vainly to solve what the veiled women are thinking? It is quite natural for us to picture the deserts peopled in such a manner. How- ever, there are many times when their solitude remains undisturbed by even the faintest murmur. At such moments, the marvelous colorings of the deserts predomi- nates. Especially is this true of the Paint- ed Desert near the Grand Canyon of Colo- rado. At dawn, as the last star disappears, this whole desert Hames with color. A stain of violet, a dash of emerald, a blaze of ruby, the molten gold of the rising sun! The coppery sand dunes dotted with multicolor- ed cacti add more brilliance to this flood of tropical beauty. The arched dome of the heavens is cloudless. Crimson, gold, green and lavender far-fiung against the sky of a vivid purple hue! Dimly, on the far horizon, the scene is framed by deep pansy- colored mountains. All is loveliness, peace and silence. Such is morning in the Paint- ed Desert! Gradually, the golden disk of the sun ascends higher in the now asure ether. It tints the fantastic waves of sand to a pink- ish amber which makes a fitting background for cacti, of orchid, yellow, green and red shades. An occasional light bluish-green cliff rears abruptly from the levels. So, the day lengthens with an ever-shifting color scheme, each more harmonious than the last. Darkness falls like a velvet curtain. The blackness is intense until, silently one by one in the infinite meadows of heaven, blossom the stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Quietly in the far east appears a faint streak of silver, which rises among the other planets. It is the orb of the pale moon casting shadows dark and weird. The mass of color is hidden but new day will bring it forth more dazzling because of temporary concealment. ' Beatrice Titcomb '27,

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THE SIGNET 29 HOW JOYCE WON HER HAPPINESS Oh, to be happy for one whole month at least! groaned Arlene. Oh, I'd rather do anything I wanted to for a month, replied small Doris. Well, what's the difference? If you are doing what you want to, you're happy aren't you? said Arlene pettishly. Not always, answered Joyce, there is a lot --if' Oh, never mind preaching, broke in Ar- lene. If you could do anything you want- ed to what would it be? I'd travel every- where, and see beautiful things. I'd never wash dishes or do any work. What fun it would be! Oh, I'd like to play all the time. Never help mother or anything. Just play, said Doris. Why girls! gentle Joyce was disturbed. Well, what would you do? challenged Arlene. Joyce looked dreamily across the lawn, why, I'd be pleasant to everyone, help sick people, do errands for old people, and 1'd just love to go abroad and study music. The girls were sitting on the porch out- side an open window, one bright, spring day, Ruth Meredith, a girl of sixteen with discontent written on her face, her small, wilful sister, Doris and their cousin, Joyce, whom they envied for her gentleness. Aunt Beth sat just inside the open win- dow, thinking. She was going to Europe in a month, as she always did in the sum- mer. Somehow she hated to go alone this summer. She heard the girls talking. She listened smilingly, then stepped out to the porch. May I help you find happiness for your desired month, girls? she asked. Surely! Yes! Oh fine! chorused the girls. Very well, come to me to-morrow and I will give you directions for finding happi- ness, she said and disappeared. The next morning the girls trooped into Aunt Beth's room. She greeted them affectionately, and passed to each a small slip of paper. They thanked her and went out. Eagerly, the girls opened their slips. Each contained the same directions. Be polite. Be kind to everyone. Do er- rands cheerfully. Keep your temper. Try this for a week. Pass your reports to me at the end of the week. I'm sure you will find happiness. Aunt Beth. Arlene looked wrathful, Doris disappoint- ed, but on Joyce's face was the light of determination. Who could ever do that? snapped Ar. lene, I can't and I'm not going to try. I don't see any happiness in that, said Doris with disgust. Oh, girls, what fun. We'l1 try anyway, said Joyce exultantly. Then followed a week that seemed to be filled with opportunities for the girls. A little bird with a broken wing lay in the path. Arlene ran down the path, saw the bird and kicked it aside into the grass. Joyce came along, picked up the bird, bound his wing, and cared for him until he was able to fly. Grandma wanted some yarn. Would Doris get it? Immediately Doris began to pout. No she wouldn't. She hated to run errands. Along came Joyce, skipped away for the yarn and was back before Doris had stopped pouting. An old tramp limped up to the door and asked for a drink of water. Pm sorry, but I really haven't time to bother, Arlene told him. Joyce gave Ar- lene a pained look and got the water. Aunt Beth wanted someone to help her pack. She asked each of the girls but Joyce was the only one who had time to help. The night came when the reports were to be made out. While Joyce wrote rapidly, Arlene and Doris sat gazing at their pencils. Well, what had they done? Surely they must have done something kind. They thought of numerous hateful acts but not one good one. Again they trooped into Aunt Beth's room. Joyce was the only one to pass in a report. Joy, that's fine, said Aunt Beth, after reading the report. Turning to the other girls she said, I'm disappointed. I thought

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THE SIGNET 31 MEMORIES CF INDIA I Indian It was one of those really alluring nights when the tropical moon slips silently across the heavens in full glory. We stood before the great bronze shod gates which give ac- cess to an enclosure as near to Paradise as can be found anywhere on earth. The Toj Mahal the mausoleum built by Shak Jahan for himself and his favorite wife. I was standing on a wide marble terrace and I gazed on that all superb scene of solitude and unsurpassed beauty like one in a trance, its huge celestial form pierced by dark pointed arches and the dome appearing as a mighty crown resting on its everlasting body. Then I saw another image even more II Shew Crowning a hill nearly symetrical in form and rising from an infringement of waving palms stands the golden temple of the Shew Dagon resembling as we saw it a huge penical headdress, the kind one so often sees worn by the dancing girls of Burma. Approaching the foot of this sacred mound we saw hundreds of little shrines -clustered to the sides of the hill as if seek- ing protection from their queen enthroned above. There we entered the inclined street which leads to the top of the hill. This curious street is unlike all others in the world. It is footed by an ornate Burmise archway bristling all over with projections lacquered in various shades. Passing along we were aware of the heat and humidity of the airg then we realized the street was covered with matting ,and coarse cotton fabrics dyed purple and red. The little shops or booths lining the sides were curious to us in that their wares consisted of in- cense, sandal-wood, teak-wood and alabast- ed images of Buddha, but the, most unique and rarely seen object of all was gold-leaf cut into sheets about three inches square and tied in little packages. Every good Bud- dhist worshipper and those of Rangoon are purchasers of this gold-leaf taking it to their family shrines where they plaster it on every image, point and projection. At last we came out upon the summit of Paradise celestial than the first, appearing in the long reflecting basins. This one seemed fairly to float as it really did being agitated by a multitude of fountains. The four minarets were like four Vistal Virgins standing at a humble distance from their Queen Mother. The oil in a chased silver lamp is continually burning within the mausoleum and this gave a faint yellow light which shown thru the aperture in the main vaulted arch. Then turning to go I gave this Paradise one last look and I saw it engulfed in the light of the moon, a vision in reality and one to be remembered for all time. Dagon the hill and if the fire of our expectation had burned how it immediately sprang forth anew, for there we stood right in the shadow, right next the golden heart of one of the most powerful and pure Buddhist cults in the world. All was glittering, fiaky gold and the breeze laden with incense fumes swayed the myrid lace-like umbrel- las with their brass ornaments and bells which tinkled very pleasingly to the ac- companiment of the monotone chanting of the priests and worshippers at their shrines. But there as everywhere in India there were the half starved dogs, the beggers and even worse the lepers crying for back sheesh for they must have their betel-nut to chew-a spicy concoction pressed between two leaves. Encircling the Shew Dagon pagoda we saw big and little shrines, -rich and poor even some crammed into dark recesses with barely room for Buddha to sit in. At all these, as in China and Japan, were the gold- en streamers of prayers hanging from the golden umbrella atop the shrines. There in a crack of the Shew Dagon I espied just the head of an elaborate Buddha abandoned by man and gods alike, so picking her up I brought her home with me. At one particularly large and richly orna- mented shrine a high ceremony was- in progress, the magnificent peacock fans, the abundance of gold, the richly robed