Fairhaven High School - Huttlestonian Yearbook (Fairhaven, MA)

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23 THE HUTTLESTONIAN Frenchmen Do Not Cry T was a warm spring day in the year 1893, and the small village of Cogeac was bubbling over with excitement. Many leading citizens of the district were leaving for AMERICA — the land of hope and success. However, it was a sad day for Paul Lecour and his sister Jeanine. They sat down unhappily on the steps of the orphanage. Paul took the girl’s hand in his. Don’t cry, Jeanine — everything will be all right. America is not far away. They say it is beautiful there — no pain, no hunger. And, Uncle Charles is very kind. I know he’ll try to make you happy. It is not his fault he can take only one of us. But it’s going to be so lonely here without you.” Paul Lecour was very manly for his nine years, but he could not hold back the tears which forced themselves to his eyes. Oh, Jeanine!” he said, brokenly. Come now, you must not act like this,” remonstrated a kindly voice, Frenchmen do not cry!” Yes, Uncle Charles”, answered Paul, “Frenchmen do not cry.” And he hastily wiped away two large tears that were trickling down his cheek. You know, m’boy, things like this come in every man’s life — sacrifices to make others happy. You want Jeanine to be happy, don’t you? Of course. But there is no future for her if she stays here. You are a boy and will soon be able to take care of yourself. But your sister needs comfort and protection. Now do you understand, Paul?” Uncle Charles put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. You’d better say good¬ bye now. We must depart soon. He walked quickly down the steps to the stage-coach. Goodbye, my brother,” whispered Jeanine as she placed her soft lips against her brother’s cheek. Goodbye, Jeanine. Remember what papa used to say, ' Over the dark hill the sun is shining!’ I will see you again, soon.” a is

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THE HUTTLESTONI AN 25 The Universal Story (an arrangement of song titles) ONGj long ago, in the good old summer time, I was all alone, down by the old mill stream, near the road to Mandalay, sitting on the old covered bridge under the shade of the old apple tree, fishing with a glow worm for bait. But not even this choice temptation stopped Master Trout from saying No, no, a thousand times — no!” Looking up, I perceived a cloud of dust (in fact some dust got in my eyes) that finally appeared in the form of a bicycle built for two, with Barnacle Bill, the retired village blacksmith, pedaling furiously away. Following him as contented as could be, on the back of the old grey mare, were three little pigs, sleeping (baby, were they sleeping!) for the AAA doesn’t live here any more! I knew the destination of the ancient hammer wielder well, for his courtship of sweet Adeline, whose massa was in the cold, cold ground was well publicized (oh, for that old sweet mystery of life!) With my eyes wide open, and my mind going round and round, I fol¬ lowed him up the long, long trail awinding, and unnoticed we reached, simultaneously, the house by the side of the road, and I’m sure I heard those three little pigs mutter, “Thanks for the buggy ride, Nelly Gray.” Now comes the sad part of this story, for just as the jubilant blacksmith was about to mount the stairs, over there, near the gate, a shout was heard, Here comes the bride!” What do you think had hap¬ pened? Yes, that naughty Adeline had gone and married the principal of the little, red schoolhouse, and was to live in his home sweet home forever more, while Barnacle Bill, now dis¬ gusted, joined that old gang of mine. So, fare thee well, fare thee well, Annabelle. Harold Woodcock, ’37

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THE HUTTLESTONI AN 27 A crisp wintry breeze toyed playfully with the thick black hair of Mrs. Jeanine Dalton, as she walked with graceful strides towards her home. She was a tall, well-built woman about fifty years of age, with delicate but well defined features. Her limpid grey eyes had a meditative look. The atmos¬ phere is strange today”, she thought. I feel as if something were going to happen. But no, nothing ever happens here. I am content though. I have a fine son, a good home, and kind friends. Life has not been so hard with me.” She let her gaze wander dreamily along the high stone wall that sur¬ rounded her house. James, his eyes shining with excitement, was waiting on the veranda for her. “Mother!” he cried. I’m so darn glad you’ve come. Honestly, I don’t know what we fellows would do without our mothers.” He gave her an affectionate hug. Kindly stop the Galahad attitude, and tell me what has prompted this sudden flow of compliments,” said his mother in mock severity. Well, to begin at the beginning. There is a new chap down at the office, a Frenchman everyone calls Le Pere.” He’s a sort of critic on writing. Just staying here tem¬ porarily; wanted to get away from the big city. Anyway, he saw that short story I’d been working on and thought it was pretty good. Says I have great possibilities. He told me to stick to writing as if it were a Siamese twin. Oh, Mom, I’m so happy!” I always knew you’d make something of yourself”, said Mrs. Dalton, a lump of pride coming to her throat. That’s not all. I invited him to dine with us tonight. Sort of lonely here for him, not knowing anybody. It’s all right, isn’t it?” James glanced at his mother’s face. Of course”, she answered. I’m always glad to meet a friend of yours. I’ll see that we have something special for our guest tonight.” The dinner was a success in every way, for Le Pere proved to be a most delightful person. It was, perhaps, due to his