Farmington High School - Laurel Yearbook (Farmington, ME)

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16 THE LAUREL It has killed Sibyl, ruined you, and is killing me. Please spare me the pain of telling you the secret. But before, before, here she choked with emotion, before I pass away, won't you forgive me? Oh! I can 't die in torture. Oh! Felix? Now she raised herself upon her elbow in pleading. Whatever it was, forgiveness is yours. Sibyl would have willed it so. This had welled up from the depths of my heart in true sincerity. Thank God, she whispered, falling back upon the pillow. Felix, before you leave, go to the old apple tree. Oh! Now I can die. I turned away sorrowfully. Listen, yes, the rain was gone, dawn was flashing out, shattering the darkness. Ah! hear the shrill song of the lark. Turning back to the still figure on the bed, I peered closely. There, overshadow- ing the deep lines of care and sorrow, lay a peaceful smile. There lay ia body. With the dawn a soul had passed. By the light of the fast brightening dawn I went to the old apple tree. Groping in a deep hollow in the trunk, my hand touched something. Grasping it, I found a letter. Eagerly, in the coming sunrise, I read. DEAR FELIX: If God ever guides you back, I pray that you may, by chance, find this. Felix, oh please forgive, but I must give the truth in my dying message. My mother, not I, drove you from joy and love into exile. My mother through impulse and pride, blind to the truth at that time sent you away. Oh, the sorrow and anguish it has caused me. You, too, are in sorrow. But, I pray God that if you ever gain the chance to enlighten my mother's sorrow by forgive- ness Oh Felix, grant my prayer. Long will I have been gone when you find this, Felix, I have not long to wait. My love for you has been undying. Goodbye forever, SIBYL. As light is to the darkness, then so is truth to deceit. And Oh, the glorious thought that forgiveness is the beauty of the soul's existence. Look! There the sun loomed up, cheer- ing the world. How the dew sparkled! The rambler buds stretched out and up- ward. How happily the birds sang! Now listen, lCl'1CI'C,S my pines singing. Singing? Yes, singing my tune with a serious concerto in a turbulent breeze. What is the song of my pine trees? It is humming to me now. New life, Felix, new life. NOTE: Better appreciation of the story can be gained by substituting the Latin translation of Felix: meaning happy. Owen Gilman, '27. LL THE REAL REASON WHY CLEOPATRA DE- SERTED ANTONY FOR THE ASP E see Cleopatra reclining on a Kroeler Davenport, her slender ankles crossed and you just know she wears 'em. However the heart of the great queen is troubled today for Dorothy Dix has not replied to her last love-lorn inquiry and even the fifteen foot shelf has failed to give a Qtisfactory answer. Will Antony return? , At last! A key in the Yale lock and Antony enters. I-Ie stands amazed. You haven't changed a bit! he cries. No answers Cleopatra and clasping her arms about his neck she whispers, Post Brann Flakes. After duty has again called Antony, Cleo waits eagerly for a letter. When it arrives she grasps it in her Cutexed hands with joy but almost immediately she drops it to the floor in disgust-unopened- The unforgivable sin, she murmurs, he didn't use Eaton's Highland Linen.

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THE LAUREL 15 ing away in retreat and footsteps fading in aloofness and then - silence. Now, twenty years later, I stood in the gathering dusk, again in this lane. How bitter it seemed, those twenty years of banishment, and now I was back at last, breaking that tortuous exile. With bared head I paced the length of that lane. How like me that naturc's avenue was! How it called in my waking and sleeping dreams through those past twenty years. It seemed the Hnal enlight- enment of unbearable sorrow. But yet, how bitter it was, my realization of the past, the regret for the joy that was des- tined not to be mine. What a pang for the future. Listen! There the pines were singing. Singing? No, I was mistaken, they were moaning in suppression. What were they saying to-night? Ah! the rhapsody was gone. How soleful those pines were. Now, like a full-throated voluntary, they were moaning out the song of my mood and thought. Once it was joy, now- listen? The pines, yes, they had the ex- pression of the change too. Softly now, as I haltingly stepped through the old gateway, I heard the song of my pines. Once Felix, once Felix, now still more subdued and expressive, the song came down to me on the wafting breeze. Once Felix. Dark and still, low browed and silent, there before me, stood the old house. Slowly I pushed the door open. The ap- pearance of the rooms showed long aban- donment. Dusty floors, stifled air and hol- low silence made it plain concerning Sibyl and her mother. How alike Sibyl and her mother had been! One the counterpart of the other in appearance and comradeship. Wearily I climbed the stairs. I walked the length of the hall. All the doors were swinging loosely in cold draughts of air. No, there was one which was closed tightly. The next room was last. Here I decided to sleep if possible. The dusk was becoming deeper. Night had come with all its seclusion and silence. Sleep seemed welcome. I-Iow symbolic the night seemed of my life. Now even my dreams were refusing me any hint or share of happiness. Later in the night, I awoke with a start. Ah! A steady rain weltered about the house. How monotonous that steady drip, drip, drip of the storm! No wonder I awoke! What was that? A series of slow, steady sobs and moans seemed to filter through the wall from the next room. The room with the closed door! The storm did not wake me. Soon I gropingly lighted a half used candle. Slowly I moved out into the hall toward the next door. I tapped softly. There, tl1e moaning ceased. How could I wait longer? Quietly the door swung in before my push. There, in this room, by the flickering light, I saw signs of cluttered use. In a moment my eyes were arrested by the sight of a Figure lying still. Slowly I approached the bedside. Was this Sibyl? Heaven forbid. Oh, what a picture that countenance revealed. It showed the own- er's soul to be seared by torture and all joy to be rent by a troubled conscience. That poor soul was now opening its eyes. It was - Sibyl's motlzer! Felix? she questioned tremulously. Yes, it is I. Oh! she groaned in a piteous whis- per. All remained silent for a time, excepting the revelry of the night wind and rain. Soon with a supreme effort, Sibyl's mother seemed to prepare to impart a cer- tain something to me, which I thought was the primary reason for the torture of her soul. Felix, she spoke in a tense whisper, I have wronged you and Sibyl terribly. I waited intently.

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THE LAUREL 17 LADY MACBETH IN A NATURAL POSE S the scene opens we see Macbeth pacing the sunken garden and smok- ing a Lord Chesterfield furiously. Shall I or shall I not? he mutters between clenched teeth Calas! Macbeth never used Pepsodent and is therefore one of the four out of Fivelj. You shall! replied his wife with vigor of youth fshe ate Sun Maid raisinsl. Now Macduff - The skin I'd love to touch, growled Macbeth, stamping his arch preserver shoe. As I was saying, continued Lady Mac- beth, Macdud guarantees that within three months you will be master of Heinz 57 Varieties, just fifteen minutes a day-H O very well, sighed Macbeth and grasping a Victrola record resigned him- self to his first Charleston lesson. Lucilc Mfliziconib, 26. Xl WHY EDITORS G0 CRAZY HE golden rays of the glorious after- noon sun filtered through the thick green foliage of the graceful maple trees that lined the street. Here and there a blotch of color was added by numerous Bower beds that embellished the prosper- ous-looking, ivy-covered houses. Occa- sionally the lazy twitter of some sleepy bird mingled with tliqhplaintive melodies of a dusky organ grinder far down the street. From behind one of the houses the steady whir of a lawn-mower gave evidence of the industry of the residents of this particular section. Further on, a man was bent over a colorful bed of flowers. Suddenly into this setting stepped john- ny, immaculately clad in white flannels, blue coat, and straw hat. He was tall, dark-haired, gray-eyed, and walked with a leisurely step, swinging his cane at his side. His hat was at a rakish angle, and his tie was of the loudest. He looked for all the world like a young man in search of adventure, although of course to come to such a conclusion as this without knowing more about him would be a drastic mistake. His destination was evidently the corner drug store, surrounded by various other commercial establishments of less impor- tant character. He paused at the door of the drug store and then entered, nearly stepping on a sleepy canine, and bumping into a magazine stand. Our adventure is about to begin. But what? Shades of William Wrigley, we must part, he is buying a package of gum ! .ll THEY ALL COME T0 IT AROLD certainly could not avoid it this time. Usually when Harold was asked to any kind of social get-to- gether he could evade it somehow, but this case was different. If there was anything Harold hated, it was the art of making conversation. He reasoned that the origi- nal idea of conversing was to give com- mands and similar things. This developed into discussing subjects both for pleasure and development. So far so good. In- evitably conversation ceased to be what it originally was intended, and there devel- oped the senseless habit of making conver- sation. This Harold despised. It can be seen that one with the above ideas could hardly become a social lion. Harold wasn't. But Harold had to be polite to his l110fl1Cl'yS dear old friend since she was so interested in his visit to Chi- cago. Therefore Harold walked up the steps of his mother's friend's palatial mansion to an evening of boredom for all those who came in contact with him. Here Harold had decided once and for all to let it be known that he was a dumb-bell and possessed no line , and incidentally to show his contempt for the so called social good time. As it happened this affair was not a dancing party, but just a gathering of the hostess' friends to meet Harold. This was just the sort of thing for Harold to enjoy. 11