Eastern High School - Echo Yearbook (Baltimore, MD)

Page 20 text:

'Ps N75 N f 7 ry Z 7, C4 1 0 o ig JK + lilo Q X0 ' dp 1-.7 ang Come ii' 3? Go to Bed early! 094556 agxwhx 3 Q Fly! 'US' 'Size 'ow Three fi serious 7-RN Hours S'l'uc17 ' ' 3- QD f GTGJ New xg w o b' rxfgv'1T,l ixfmi '5 ' No QI durlnq X V X 'more J 'fha fl dcu-:egg wedkl K- Q ol: r , 'N 46-iw? W fx Q A R 'T' ,5 jj? 2 3 , x Jn 0 5 K j 5 u BZ! K .L ,. Pay 7our Clos-S Lose, no more 'PraT pinSl clues re, 'dl rl Q q QLMM Some New Year Resolutions PL

Page 19 text:

THE EASTERN ECHO I7 Two months later, a sad-faced, dark-eyed girl sat on a huge davenport in front of an open fireplace. Beside her sat a tall, hand- some young man, his ruddy color giving evi- dence of an outdoor life. Gazing fondly at the girl beside him, he said, Do you care to tell me now, dearest? Yes, Jack, she replied, it has been won- derful of you to refrain from asking me ques- tions. My letters told you nothing. I am home because I was expelled from college. ExpeIIedI exclaimed jack. You? Erna then repeated the story which had troubled her for the past two months. She concluded, The story of the tampering with the examination papers and the finding of my handkerchief by the desk, that is the knowl- edge the college possesses. But, Jack, here is a story that is known to but two persons. You will be the only other one, I suppose, that will ever hear it. On the day before that horrible examination, Mary, my supposedly best friend at Kingley, admired and examined my handkerchief box. She knows and I know who put that handkerchief beside the French instructor's desk. Remember, in the eyes of all the students that senior was my chum. I did love her for what I thought she was. And how could I accuse her of all people? Would anyone have believed me? No, of course not. I had no evidence against Mary like that which was held against me. After that hear- ing in the dean's office, not a soul believed me. All of my companions chose evidence in preference to my word. Mere evidence! she finished slowly and bitterly. She was silent a moment, then exclaimed, Why, Jack, this is the night of the junior-senior basketball game. Doubtless the girls are cheering this very minute for Mary Lyston. Oh! I ask you, is that justice? No, little girl, said the man slowly, you have not received justice, you have had a bit- ter taste of life. Life quite often does not seem just. But you have survived this cruel experience with still a great many friends. These people here are your true friends. Since Miss Lyston appears so successful, so triumph- ant, I am not surprised that you view life and justice with the eye of a pessimist. I truly believe, however, that sooner or later Mary Lyston will be found out and her true char- acter revealed. The wrong-doers very often seem to be on the top in this world: the great mass of people never hear the end of their stories. If people would look at the end of the life of a seemingly successful criminal, they would, perhaps, be more optimistic about their own plain, honest, everyday lives. Mary Lyston will some day suffer for her sin. I knew you would sympathize and un- derstand, dear. This pain and sorrow will not heal yet awhile, but, she added, blush- ing and smiling, I still have you. Silently they watched the glowing embers die out, each thinking of ways in which to save the other from the many hardships in life. On a gymnasium floor far away, quite a different scene was being enacted. As Erna had prophesied, Miss Lyston held the center of the stage. At a casual glance she appeared to be the same old Mary, laughing and gay. On close observation, however, one might perceive dark circles beneath her eyes that told of long, sleepless nights, and a feverishly bright and high color that was caused by her fear and anxiety lest her true self be revealed. The deed which she had committed was prey- ing on her mind night and day. Although to outward appearances she had gained her goal, each hour seemed to her to become a greater burden. -QQHZIIIIIIIIIIIIIllIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlllllllll-2+-M A SOLILOQUY NORA E. KIRWAN, 1924 The beach is just a stretch of gleaming sand, That separates the ocean from the land. The sky is just another stretch of blue, That separates the heavens from our view. But miles and miles of earth and sky and sea Are stretched between the one I love and me. Sometimes a little wandering bit of spray May hop the beach and touch the land that way: Or when the glimmering stars creep out at night, We get a glimpse of heaven through their light. And often now I wonder how I, too, Can play a trick on fate and be with you. There're many ways of tricking fate, it seems, For every night I meet you in my dreams, And each night send a message through the moon, That I am true and hope to see you soon. It may seem strange-I think it is a fact- 'Tis through the moon you send your answer back.

Page 21 text:

THE EASTERN ECHO I9 The Spirit of The Spruce Tree Elizabeth Getzendanner, i926 I-IE. sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, when Seneca, a beautiful young Indian girl, walked to the edge of a pool in a still forest and -A 3C'Tt 4 knelt down to render her daily prayer to the all-powerful sun-god. Not a sound disturbed the calm of the twi- light save the occasional twittering of a bird. Spruces, pines, and evergreens surrounded her as she knelt, lifting her voice in humble petition to the god of the sun, beseeching him to allow her some day to return to the arms of her fa- ther and brother. Long had Seneca been separated from them. For two years she had wandered through the great forests, looking everywhere, but never meeting with success. I-ler father had once been chief of a sub-division of the great Crow tribe, and Seneca and h-er brother had lived in perfect happiness. Then had come the catas- trophe. In the middle of the night a tribe of warlike Indians had swooped down on the lit- tle tribe of Crows, and under cover of the dark- ness Seneca had been able to flee. Never since that fateful night had she seen any of her father's tribe. Now she wandered through the forests, seeking solace at twilight on the banks of pools or under the branches of a spruce tree, her only friend. Seneca believed that the spruce tree had a soul, and often in the extremities of her grief she would clasp the trunk of the tree and pour out her heart to it. When she had finished her prayer to the sun-god and stood looking toward the west, she fancied she heard a faint sound behind her. Turning swiftly she beheld a dim figure, so very elusive-looking that she almost believed she imagined she saw it. Suddenly a low, sweet voice said, Seneca, I am the spirit of the spruce tree. The sun-god has heard your petition and has sent me to answer it. Because you have believed in me, I am, here to help you. The girl, too overcome by awe and gratitude to speak, gazed on the spirit, who continued: Tomorrow when you awake at sunrise, I will have a messenger ready to guide. you to your destination. Follow it and all will be well. just as Seneca was about to open her lips to voice her thanks, the spirit disappearedg into -the uppermost branch-es of the spruce it seemed to go. Seneca thought she heard again the words, Follow it and all will be weI1 g yet the sound might have been only the rustling of the leaves. ' The next morning when the young girl awoke from her sleep beneath the spruce tree, she heard the sweet chirping of a bird over- head. Looking up, she saw a brilliant red car- dinal. The little fellow seemed very eager to attract her attention: it flew near her and even hopped around her. After it had acted in this peculiar way for several minutes, something in Seneca's heart told her that this was the guide that the spruce tree spirit had sent her. Rising hastily, she prepared for her journey, the cardinal looking on in a very anxious man- ner all the while. Now she was ready to start. On, on through the forest flew the little bird, always within sight of Seneca. Finally they came to a glen, which looked as though it had been used as a camping place not many hours before. The little bird perched on a spruce tree branch and twittered and chirped unceasingly. Seneca roamed around, examin- ing all the little nooks and crannies of the glen until she discovered some venison hung up to dry. Hope was in the heart of the girl now. Could it-but no, it could never be her father's campfire, yet the spirit had told her that this day she would find her happiness. Suddenly she heard the soft tread of mocca- sined feet drawing near. She drew back among the bushes, and for the first time no- ticed that the little cardinal had disappeared. Almost immediately two tall, strong Indians stepped through the bushes, just opposite Sen- eca. One was old and worng the other, young and handsome, but with lines of grief and anx- iety on his face. Seneca rushed from the bushes and into the arms of her father and brother. That evening a very different girl knelt to pray to the sun-god, and after her prayer to him she arose and stood under the branches of a spruce tree. Suddenly she saw standing in front of her th: elusive figure of the night be- fore. Seneca, it said, you have found your happiness by searching for it faithfully these last two years. I-lard it was for you, my child, but now you have reaped your reward. Al- ways remember to believe in me, and I will always help youf' '