Glass High School - Crest Yearbook (Lynchburg, VA)

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154 THE CRITIO Beats on Qliartb JUDITH GREGORY The hard lines of the clean little hut were for a time rounded out by the rosy glow of the ire on the hearth. A little old peasant woman sat alone by the fire fondling a pair of tiny sabots. In flrelight there is a certain quality that recalls memories. The little old woman, with a habit common to the aged, murmured to herself from time to time. Ah, mon petit Jeannot, I love thee much, I love thee more than my son, thy father. Aye, I love thee more than life 5 gladly would I have laid down my own life hadst thou but lived. If I could weep-if I could but weep-I feel it would be easier to live, now that thou art gone-the last and dearest of my dear ones. It is Christmas Eve. and there is no little Jeannot to put hay in the sabots for the mulets du' Bon homme Noels, he will not come to this house tonight. Thou absent, Noel will bring me only sorrow. Thy father, mon brave Jean, ah, he was like a young tree, so tall, so straight, so strong! But she was a flower, thy little mother, how she drooped, la pauvre petite, when the cruel war carried him off! How she trembled when one even spoke of war! Sobs strangled the words. The tiny sabots were hugged close to the poor, thin chest. At last she swayed slowly back and forth and began to croon as if to a baby. When the cruel news came we thought that Ze bon Dieu had taken her to thy father in Paradise. But even a crushed Hower may live for a while. She lived long enough to lay thy tiny hand in mine.

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THE CRITIU 153 Qllbristmas Spirit ISABEL HANCOCK Gray winter skies and the cold winds we hear Show us it's time- for another New Year. The old year is passing, it waits at the door 5 Just as it leaves us a treat's held in store. Gladly we look for the end of the year, Christmas then comes, to us brings good cheer. This is the happiest time that I know, And Christmas Spirit is what makes it so. 1 Children are out of school, they're free to playg Snow's on the ground and they pull out the sleigh, Hitch up the horse, and with jingling bells gog Oh! Gee! how thrilling to fly through the snow. Children hang stockings on Christmas-Eve night, Close by the firesides where Yule-logs burn bright. They are so happy for Santa will come. They make the atmosphere cheerful at home. Still there are stockings old Santa can't fill, Houses where Yule-logs won't take off the chill. Those empty stockings mean empty hearts, toog Is there not something for them you can do? Let not an anxious child's eager hopes fall, For sacriiicing brings joy to us all. Fill a small stocking and some heart with cheer, That' s the very best way to start the New Year.

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THE' ORITIC' 155 Just four short years you were with me, yet thy little Bngers twined in my very heart strings and then-thou too! She started, Who's there Z she called. It is I! Let me in, my good Woman. I would talk with thee! Ah, this is better than the icy blasts of the night- What a joy a good ire is. I was frozen with the cold. Nay, nay, bother not to make a hot drink for me. But I would, M. le Cure, and there is no trouble. See I will have it done for thee in a minute. What would you talk with me about Z s It is of that hate which is eating away the chance of see- ing le bon Dieu. that I would speak to thee of. Thou hast suf- fered one sorrow after another. Take heed! Take heed! My good woman, thou hast seen the devastation wrought by ces Briches, the 'blond beasts'. That was hate. Listen, soften thy heart, root out that hate. Hate is not good-our Lord said, 'Love thy neighbor' ! . The iirelight tlickered, rose, and fell, a mellowing, soften- ing light, breeding confidences. Ah, M. le Cure, it was a great injury that she did to me. I can never, never forgive her that she stole the love of Thei- bant. Had it not been for her, I and not she would bear the name of Thfibant. But she must needs marry him, and, not satisfied with leaving me desolate, she must buy the farm that I have loved and longed to own since a little girl. She must live on it under my very nose, by her very presence to gloat over me. ' Noi, No! It is not so that to my husband's memory I owe her forgiveness. To him I owe nothing. When he mar- ried me he knew I loved another better and he did not com- plain. I was a good wife to him. I Washed his clothes, kept his house clean and cooked his food, and every day I helped him in the fields. With my aid he made a good living and