Girls High School - Yearbook (Reading, PA)

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I I I CLASS OF 1921 FEBRUARY Class Flmvel'-Violet Class CKJICJTS-Xfvlilllxt and silver A Class Officers President ..................... Emily L. Miller Viccr-Prcsiclcnt .... .... I Estella M. Ficller Secretary ....... .... I luth Ii. Mc'lie11tly 'lI1'CZlSLl1'CI' ...... .... I .uuise Cohen OUR GOAL As we leave thc upon portals ull our long-loved Alllld-INl3tC1' Let us strive to reach tho goal which eafh one of us has setg Let us, ever looking fcn'wz11'cl to the clawning of the future, Hold our course with firm assurzmre that our purpose is well Set. EMILY L. MILLER IO

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I ,I - , f I.. yi, ., ff' 'M ,YQ if N Pvt 1-v . 6 V5 C fwm..aw A me mms: YZ W. .5-.....---' 'Q' XI I I- .- A LANGUAGES Ig , W W' f MISS CLARK MISS OSPINA MISS HEFIGESHEIMER MISS HOUSEMAN Miss 5pQT1'g 9

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THE FLOWER OF THE CARAVAN ny RUTH BRANT They fold their tents like the Arabs And as silently steal away. The caravan was leaving. It was bidding farewell to the wild and beautiful land that had been its home. It had nestled close to that same land, and, when the day had turned to night, had lulled itself to sleep in its hungry, loving arms with only the heavens standing guard, the heav- ens of that deep, impenetrable midnight blue with their heralds of the night shining softly down and their pale and shimmering heart, the moon. And now the caravan was leaving, never again to return. One, there was, sitting alone and apart from the rest, whose attitude was one of hopeless surrender, for like a tired, drooping flower for which the struggle for life has proven too great, her head was bowed in grief, and the heart of her in weariness longed to cease. Rich were her dusky tresses with the copper they had stealthily lured from the sun's dazz- ling rays, and eyes she had, like dark and troubled waters, with a dumb, appealing misery in their depths. Many there were who pondered long upon those mournful eyes only to be baffled in their attempts to fathom their mysteries. How could they know that the misery was the misery of a life denied, for to her was given the soul of a genius. She was leaving, now, the land of her desire, for a far and distant city and her heart clamored loudly against such an action, but the voice of the caravan bade her away. The voice of the caravan, the only voice she had ever known and the only voice that was hers to obey. But the parting was a hard and cruel one, for she was gazing at the most beauti- ful picture ever painted, the parting gift of the wild land, a picture that filled her heart with strange emotions and tortured her soul with its very beauty. The weary day lay dying into a twilight faint and dim and the sun made a last glorious attempt to stay the course of things. It blazed forth in all its fiery anger and painted the heavens with blood, and out- lined black against this blazing background were the tall and gently swaying forms of the leafless trees. It soothed yet agonized. It over- whelmed her with joy, yet maddened her with the hopelessness of it all, for she could find no words to express the beauty ol' the scene. One slim brown hand pressed the heart within her as if to stop its wild beat- ing and two tear-dimmed eyes closed in pain. Slowly her head bowed down until, on the bosom of mother earth, she wept bitter tears for the life that was denied. She knew of the beauties of the world, of the laughter of the waters, the gentle whisperings of' the trees, the drowsy hummings of the crickets, and the happy music of the birds, but her un- trained mind could not interpret them to the world. She was denied the greatest privilege of mortal. The caravan was ready, and with them she must go-with them, those crude, unimaginative people, possessed of a wander-lust stronger than they were. Yet she was one of them to the extent that she was crude and uneducated, too. Oh, fate had certainly had the upper hand in the game of her life and it had gained that hand on a dark, unhappy night long ago. This gypsy band had stolen her, a mere babe-in-arins, from her home in a far away land. They had taken her with them from city to city and had loved her in their own rough way, for they called her their flower of the caravan. Slowly from sight the wild lands were passing and she gazed long and steadl'astly upon the beauty she was destined never to see again. Il