Girls High School - Yearbook (Reading, PA)

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HY 7 '..Hl es sn. ie said quietly, but there was no animation in his voice, and his thoughts were far away, dwelling on the dreaded duty which to-morrow he must perform. In the old man's mind there were no such thoughts. For him the morrow would be a day of happiness, of joy-the day on which he would rind of what stuti' this small young nephew beside him was made, and in his heart he be- lieved implicitly that the boy would stand the test. He shall love flowers as I have loved them,t' he murmured, so that when I ani no longer here to see them tlonrish in the village, he may take my place. lt is well for him to begin young. The tirst large drops were falling now, a warning of the torrents that were to follow, and the man and boy, hand in hand, silently entered the house. All that evening the boy was ill at ease. Fear gnawed at his heart, a fear which increased with every tick of the solemn faced clock on the mantel, slowly marking otl' the minutes through which his uncle so peacefully slept. It was a dread of the people before whom to-morrow he must speak-those rough, uncouth villagers whose red, coarse features frightened him, and whose manner, so different from that of the people he had lived among heretofore, he could not understand. With every tormentiug tick of the old clock his fear grew upon him. To stand before the il all, to have them laugh at his way of speaking and mock at what he said-Hlie would not do it. His uncle did not know what he demanded when he bade him do it. He would tell him that it could not be done, that he was afraid. Bipt then the boy drew in his breath sharply. Admit that he was a coward? No, that was even worse, and he dismissed the thought of confessing as one not worthy to be considered a moment. Nevertheless he was but a boy, not without boyish traits, in spite of his old way of thinking, and he did what many another boy would have done under the circuinstances.-That is, he ran away. Not so very far away, however- althougli his intentions were good-for the storm was raging now in all its fury, and the wind blew down the mountain with such force as nearly to lift him oti' his feet. The cool drops of rain, dashing against his face, were strange-- ly refreshing and invigorating. He realized how warm and close it had been in the great house he had left, and then at the thought of his uncle he struggled on down the path with redoubled vigor. But the odds were against him, and a stormy path, along which he had to feel his way in the darkness, the wind, and rain, were too much for a small boy to conquer, and although he fought bravely, for he was not naturally a coward, he slipped on a loose stone at the very bottom of the mountain, lunged forward in the darkness, and rolled, a wet moaning bundle, to the very door of one of the village cottages. Had the boy been able to see, he would have noticed that it was a very humble little cottage, so frail and forlorn looking that it might have been no task at all for the wind to carry it away. lt must have been a determined little cottage, however, for it stood its ground, and although the wind, angry now, 11

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The' :White Rose Mary E. Potts DEEP in the valley, closely guarded by higli IS' gg mountains, lay the little village ot B-, the prettiest and quaintest in the country for miles around.. At least, so declared the tourists who, on their way to the fashionable watering towne farther north, deserted the beaten track traced by wealth and luxury, and stopped tor a cort- kqg ff'-5? f'x X tortahle night at its untreqtzentcd doors. They loved its tiny white cottages with thc green .roots and shutters carrying out to perfection the cool color scheme of the neat front lawns Jji2iTii -' with their immaculate white fences, they loved - A -'tw the sparkle of the clear waters of the wayward stream, which, fed by a cold, blue mountain glacier, swished and foamed not a hundred yards tronr the very gardens in which grew the greatest attraction of all-the multitude ot roses. Not a cottage, but was surrounded by them, not a garden but fairly burst with its burden of velvet petals. From the trailest bud to the most pertect full-blown rose, they ranged--in color from the pink of it delicate coral to the glory of a royal crimson. The tourists marveled at the beauty of it all and listened attentively to the tale told of the eccentric old mayor, who oticred yearly a prize for the rose most perfect in every detail. They heard vague rumors of the old manis young nephew, a lad of some ten or twelve summers, who had lately come to live in the great gray house on the mountain side, and who was this year to choose the winning rose and pre- sent the prize. The old men ot the village shook their heads dubiously when they repeated the tale. lt did not seem right that so much responsibility should be placed on such young shoulders, and they wondered that the mayor should have it thus. But it was not for them to murmur, and if the mayor considered the boy equal to the task, well and good. ln the garden ot the grim silent house on the hill, on the evening before that day ot days for the simple peasants of B-, the mayor and his nephew were talking. The sky was dark and ominous, with heavy clouds gathering closely around the rugged peaks of the mountains, covering their jagged tops lege-53' ,rears aE',r . is ,AJ -ff'-' gi' ., . , .,' -2.15, H., , , 4. .:l -wt.. v ,-,, , . , if ri' 1 's ---'1.l4'. -'-111. .6- fx- s L .'.7' 5' 'r . -'- in .. '- ,LP , . .. - .':u.a?r 'N,f- ..'.-'1'-- ,-if A .-1-'1.'x ' ', 3 ' --' '4 - iw, ,.. , ', fre 1 .. . ,. ,-, 'f '--gff... ,-f '-'f -' if 'f. : , ttgw.. gg:-,,,j.,a, 15-,.', ,,z,4,-31,125 gl, 4. ,-A .5 f --- '1T.-- .. .1 ,da - -'fu'-.fgff-f,-3 1 mia... . J , ,.'..44 ly. -1' :-:-- 1 1'.- D 7-..-..- ' r ' ' : ' AJ'-L -v '-' 'G r N.. :!ii ' . 5,-fn gif , -' f .faq-' -- ,-.fr -4 125.5 Qgj:fi:f'.vi:a':-, ' T ,- - f ,y'v'5 . '4 ,Iff-'T' 7...f - 115.-11-rff! .l79'I-' . f ..9'i: fi- Qwfff. ,, 72.-vigil'-Q1-L-5 az -5 1 -- V5-.'f fjtiifl F-5 ' 'f X '7'x ?i'- ar-1:-,'-'-Aff-:':2!'4f, ii ' - fi f--1. l'1'1: - - . N-SQL -1 Ht SEP.. ':3'f.L-L--- ses- gi .. . fe-rs-11 swiss? : ':':4'? 'f:.f-, s .1 4: iatklriif ,f ,. 'fQQ?:'f1s--. ..X bif- ' '1-' '- A . Q- Simi'-J.r: ffl- 4 -fa -1-H-ts:-wr. 371. TF A' ' 'f'.I'2L3:s:.rL'241v1jifi',': - tl ' 1' -'few-- Z 5.-- --' F' N 'vga '-.La V--1 ru. T as with an invisible mantle. The man spoke tirst: We will be having a storm soon, my boy, he said, and his voice, deep and low, yet with a certain harshness, was like the thunder which even then rumbled threateningly overhead. The boy nodded. l-le was a frail little chap with great brown eyes in -vhose sott depths there now lingered an expression of timidity that was almost fear. . 10 .

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made its attack doubly violent, the little cottage kept hrm hold on Mother Earth. Inside a light burned dimly, casting its feeble rays into all corners of the room, in the middle of which a woman sat knitting. She was old and haggard, and the shadow of the peasant's cap on her face tended only to add to its sallow, drawn expression. She was known in the village as Old Nancy, and the more fortunate dames were always willing to say a good word for her. Alone in the world, friendless, poverty-stricken, living quietly in the little cottage she called her home, Old Nancy was indeed deserving of the sympathy of her neighbors. Often, when the little store of food had run low, and there seemed noth- ing between her and starvation, Old Nancy would comfort and console herself by tending, with all the more tender care, the little rosebush which grew by the cottage. It was such a poor little bush that the villagers were prone to laugh at it and to wonder how Old Nancy could build her hopes on the foundation of its tiny buds. But Nancy herself cared not a wink for the gossips, she loved and cherished her rosebush with a fervor increased a hundred fold whenever the object of her affection was malignantly spoken of. It bore each year a single rose, and with the flower, budded, bloomed, and faded, each year, poor Nancy's hopes. If the gold the mayor so freely offered were hers, there would be no more trouble and sorrow in the humble cottage. The last of her days could be spent in comfort, and the wolf of hunger forever driven from the door. Yet thrice the rosebush had failed her. Thrice when she thought the gold was almost hers, was its beauty marred and the treasure tlown. She sat to-night thinking it all over. Out in the darkness bloomed the most perfect rose, of purest white, that the bush had ever borne, and her heart was hlled with hopes that to-morrow on that great day it might stand forth as best. For an instant the fury of the wind abated, and Nancy realized with a start that a sound very like a moan had reached her ears from without. In an instant she had lifted in her strong old arms the wet sobbing Hgure of a boy whose head was cut and bleeding and who mumbled incoherently. She saw at a glance that the wound was not a deep one, yet she realized that the boy must be kept as quiet as possible. When he cried time and time again for a rose, 'fjust one rose, her heart sank with the heaviness of despair. lt was her duty, she saw it plainly. The boy should not have his slightest wish thwarted in the condition in which he lay, and yet--the rose meant so much to her and it was all she had. Several hours later, strong arms carried the boy up the mountain in the first faint light of approaching dawn. He rested quietly, all danger was over and in one warm hand he held the white rose. Old Nancy left him at the gate of his uncle's home, the boy was safe, but her rose was gone. The great day dawned gloriously clear, with the sun shining brightly, as if doing his best to atone for the havoc of the night's storm. The boy stood, looking down on the happy peasants from a low balcony of the great house, 12 ,L I