Girls High School - Journal Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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tion of their lesser intellects. Just then some soldiers appeared and, directedtby Gretchen, they carried Clyde to- his quarters. A few minutes later he opened his eyes, and saw her anxiously bending over him. He blushed painfully. It is kind of you,', he said. I indistinctly heard you tell them not to hurt me. Why? She did not answer, but handed him a glass of something which-he drank mechanically. Tell me, he persisted. You would have no need to ask me now, if you had not gone off so rudely that day, she replied, and her eyes gleamed, more amused than angry. Forgive me, he pleaded. You are different from the others. Now her eyes lighted with unmistakable amusement. She leaned forward as if to confide something to him, then seemed to change her mind, and she backed away towards the door. I am the same as all my people, she said, and then left him. y The first signs of spring came to the village, but a secret spring had already blossomed in Clyde's heart. I am American and she is German, he said over and over again, and I love her? Then the word came that the Americans were to leave the village i11 forty-eight hours. At first Clyde thrilled at the thought of leaving the hated country, and then he thought of Gretchen. ' ' Home! America! The patriot in him cried, but his heart cried even louder, Love! Gretchen! He prayed for a wise decision. That evening they met. We leave to-morrowf' he said, unsteadily. Don't tell me you are sorry to leave Germany! she cried in mock surprise. You are right, he slowly admitted. Pm a traitor. Then he, twice her size, looked at her, hopelessly, helplessly, and murmured, If only you weren't Gretchen ! Her eyes danced, tenderly, rather than amusedly: You foolish boy! she cried, I am as American as yourself! To get the correct local color for the novel I am writing, I live among these people as Gretchen Schwartz. I am sorry I, distressed you. I, too, leave for Paris to-morrow, and so after to-day I shall e in Mrs. Clyde Hill, he supplemented, as a thousand emotions of joy and relief brought tears to his eyes. ' The next day, as the troop train sped across the German frontier into a more happy world, the officers, car was a scene of hilarity. To the future Mrs. Clyde Hillf' a lieutenant toasted. Long may she reign! l To the hero of my story, the girl answered, and Clyde wondered how it all would have ended if Gretchen had been--Gretchen. M BETH LYON, June '20. G5ivIS-' leigh Scbnnl ilnutnal Page Twenty-eight J U Y If 1 Q 1 q 1 '49 5 1.

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l K lr CX' is ll. lil- ed Si' wl SL 5. ET Atl l: 'n JC ul 'a S om eh ow Dzjjrerenz' . Q' . - , - . - I - ' V HE guns had ceased firing, but battles of hatred still raged i11 many an unsatisfied.American heart. Captain if Clyde Hill, one of the first to enlist when the clarion QQ call came, had not set foot on French soil until one kt Q - day before the armistice was signed, and when he h' 'H learned that the world's greatest war was to end with- gi r 0 K I' out his even experiencing the thrill of fighting for his ' 0 Q1 . flag, he wept like a child. He was a bitter man, indeed, l 9 A H when sent to command the troops in occupation of a gn-. .h - Q m GSl'll12111.V1ll2lgC, for.the' very air beyond the Rhine ' ' ' ' seemed impure to him, and the sunniest of German skies seemed filled with leaden clouds. One day, as he walked along the street, comparing in his mind's eye the neat pavement before him with the torn ways of some desecrated Belgian -village, l1e'was attracted by the small figure of a woman carrying, with difficulty, a basket of provisions. He smiled grimly. How many women of France had been forced to carry sacks of Hun provisions, five times as heavy! Suddenly the figure halted and swayed a little, as if about to faint. Captain Hill hurried to her side, more curious tha-n sympathetic. The woman was very young, very beautiful, very pale, and as he stood, undecided as to action, she smiled faintly. H Pm all rightf' she said in English. I haven't'had time to eat much lately. Her voice was tired, but not complaining. Upon hearing English spoken, Clyde was all sympathy. He offered his arm to the girl for support, and lifted her weighty basket with ease. She thanked him quietly, and they walked on, without speaking. You are Captain Hill, I believe, she finally said. I am Gretchen Schwartz? Clyde stiffened. Gretchen Schwartzj' he repeated slowly, pronouncing the words with marked distaste. When you spoke in English I thought you weren't German. I am sorry. He placed her basket on the pavement, saluted haughtily, and walked away. G The weeks passed, and Clyde saw Gretchen often. He thought his attitude towards her had been perfectly proper, yet he felt strangely ashamed. Once as they passed on the street, their eyes met, and he was relieved to see that she looked at him reproachfully, rather than coldly. ' As time slipped by, he thought of her more and more. He wondered how' a simple villager spoke English with such ease, a-nd why her manner seemed foreign from the others about her. She was somehow different. One evening, after a slight disturbance between soldiers and villagers, a Woman, frenzied because Clyde had placed her husband under arrest, hurled a stone at him. It struck his temple, and he fell tothe ground. A score of irate villagers grasped missiles of every sort, but the clear voice of a girl forbade further action. If you all want to be shot, she said rapidly in German, you can kill him. If you want to live, I advise you fnot to harm him. The villagers drew back. With the slightest effort any one of them could have thrown her aside, but her cool voice and flashing eyes compelled the atten- d5i1:I5 leigh Sthnnl Blnurnal J U N E, 1 9 1 9 Page Twenty-seven

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A Little Bit of Aa'w'ce The wedding bells are tolling, Two or more souls are gone, All the guests are Weeping, And all begin to mourn. Here 'comes the bride a-shivering, Hesitating down the stairs, And every one looks with eager eyes, To seewhat the Martyr Wears. Her dress is long, and plain, and White, A shroud it surely resembles, And underneath that deathlike robe, The poor bride shakes and trembles. Oh! Doesn't she look happy! The murmur goes along. But, oh! that poor bride felt so sad, And the murmur was all Wrong. To her execution Went the young girl, With nervous steps and strides, And then she met her fatal doom, no The doom of all young brides. Weddings are like funerals, Nobody gives you a smile, So, girls, 'stay single for a time, And LIVE for a little While. T 4' IRENE SUMMERFIELD, June '20, c1Ei1:I5 leigh Scbnnl Qlnurnal J U N E, 1 9 1 9 Page Twenty-nine