Holbrook High School - Echo Yearbook (Holbrook, MA)

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12 THE ECHO SUCCESS jl IARY Reynaud, a strong, healthy girl of 1UI. twenty with chestnut brown hair and a sturdy body, went about doing her chores, humming or singing. Mary had a strong in- clination to sing, not only at occasional town gatherings but at concerts and at the opera house in New York. But living on a large farm with poor parents never would make her dreams come true. “Mary, for Heaven’s sake, stop that trilling. If you are going to sing, sing right,” said her mother. Mrs. Reynaud was a hard- to-persuade French woman who came to Iowa from Canada, and she did not like music any too well. Mary was subdued for the time being, but still went on thinking of how she would look before a large audience in an opera house. All the time she was sweeping the same spot of the kitchen floor about forty times. The large farm on which the three mem- bers of the Reynaud family lived had three barns, a large rustic farm house, several chicken coops, and a piggery. The furniture was quite antique, rough, and used. Braided rugs covered the whole house, from the din- ing room to the last four bedrooms. The kitchen contained an old iron sink, three straight homemade chairs, and worn, but clean handmade curtains. Mrs. Reynaud was a very industrious and neat person, despite her her none too culti- vated ear for music. At suppertime, just as mother was set- ting the table, and Mary mending socks, Father Reynaud walked in. He was a Frenchman of about sixty-three years, still active, and striving to get along with such a large farm on his hands. He sat down slowly, then began to speak. “Mother,” he said, “I’ve got a few pigs that I would like to sell, but who in this vicinity would want to buy them?” “Perhaps Mr. Harper would buy them. He hasn’t many pigs on his farm,” replied Mary. “Well, I knew if Mr. Harper wanted any more pigs, he would have bought them by this time. He’s wealthy enough,” replied the father. “But there is no harm in trying,” pro- tested Mrs. Reynaud, who finally persuaded Mr. Reynaud that he might be able to in- veigle Mr. Harper to buy his few pigs. The next morning, bright and early, Mary set out in the old horse and wagon to make the sale. Over the rocky road she went. Squeaking pigs and screeching wheels re- sounded loudly in the still spring air. Ar- riving at her destination, Mary was greeted by Mrs. Harper, a good-natured woman, who conducted her to the parlor, and then called to her husband. Mr. Harper entered. He was a bright, jolly, wealthy farmer, about sixty years old. “Well, what can I do for you, young lady?” laughed Mr. Harper. Mary presented her business, and after a few minutes’ contemplation on the part of Harper, he decided that he would like to have a few pigs on that rather “dude” ranch of his. Mr. Harper had taken a liking to Mary. He never had a girl of his own, or for that matter, he never had any children. The wholesomeness of Mary’s smile prompted him to ask her a few personal questions as to her interests and likes. After making the sale, Mary felt just like talking, so she told him all about her desires to become a singer. Mr. Harper listened intently to every word and detail. He thought how nice it would be if he could help her in some way, and why couldn’t he? He had money and was a good friend of the family. But then, there were her proud parents standing in the way. Mary went to sleep that night happy over the encouragement given her by Mr. Harper. For the first time in her life she felt a spark of hope. Three weeks passed. Contentment reigned in the Reynaud family. But contentment did not reign within the soul of Mr. Harper. He had everything, a farm, money, servants, good crops, a good wife, and not a care in the world. Why shouldn’t he make someone else happy? These were the very thoughts of Harper. All during the next afternoon, Harper sat in the old rustic sitting room, trying to make Mary’s parents see that she had her own life to live, and should be given a chance. Mary, victorious, packed her bag and went to New York. In her apartment she prac- tised for five hours each day. She was taking- lessons of one of the best teachers in the city. And under the apt supervision of this teacher, she won several prizes at contests which were held by the pupils. Besides this, she sang at informal gatherings which they held. But now was her big chance. Would she win that position to sing over the radio? Six tried for it. Mary, nervous and anxious, awaited her turn to sing. And did she sing? It was pretty hard judging, but Mary got the prize. In the meantime, the Reynaud family seemed lost without their only daughter. There was no singing or ridiculous trilling. Everything was quiet. Even the cows and pigs seemed to miss her. Mr. Harper visited frequently, seeming more pleasant than ever, if possible. He knew he had done some- thing worth while. He knew that his money wasn’t wasted, from Mary’s frequent letters and from her frequent broadcasts. It sounded impossible. It couldn’t be true. Still she was hearing it with her own ears, that she was wanted to sing in the opera “Carmen” which was to go to Boston in three months. She sat and heard as if in a daze. Her teacher was telling this to her. Mary hurried about wildly, trying to find a piece of paper on which to write the good news to her mother and father and to Mr. Harper. Harper’s letter read quite like this; My dear Mr. Harper, I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness in lending me money. Enclosed

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THE ECHO 11 I did meet Al, and he just dragged me over to his rooms,” he explained. “And I suppose you went to sleep and when you woke up it was after three ! Alice in Wonderland!” “Ah, dad, you don’t understand. I have something on my mind to think about.” “Can’t you stay home and think about it?” his father asked, grinning at Mrs. Hayden. Fred caught the grin and answered : “You two don’t think it’s serious, but it is.” “Well, son, try to do the thinking before three o’clock, will you?” “The way you talk, dad, you’d think three o’clock was late. You should hear the fellows laugh when I tell them that!” “Oh, they do! Well, let them. But you’re going to get in here before three!” “Oh, if only ,” Fred stopped quickly. “What?” asked his father. “Oh, nothing.” “Say, dad.” “Yes?” “Did you er were you ever in San Diego?” “San Diego! What would I, a man living in Boston, want to be in San Diego for?” his father replied, very much puzzled. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought perhaps you might have gone there on business.” “Well, I haven’t.” “It must be a nice place. Don’t you think?” Fred asked. “How do I know?” “Well, er — just the name, er — makes you think it must be nice.” “Does it?” After breakfast, Fred’s mother took him aside and asked him if he was going out that night. “You know, Fred, it’s Christmas Eve,” she said. “Well, mother. I have to go out for about an hour, but,” he added, seeing the disap- pointed look come into her face, “I’ll be back in time to help you trim the tree.” “You will?” “Absolutely,” he replied and meant it. Fred went off to school, but his mind wasn’t there. He was in San Diego. When the professor asked him for the result of an experiment, Fred gave the population of that city. That evening he rushed home to find that his mother had company. A girl was stand- ing in the living room, her back toward him. She was alone and looking at a photograph of Fred. His parents had taken it while they were vacationing in the South. It showed Fred off to advantage on horseback, making a superb leap over the barriers. “Well, do you think I made it?” he asked, breaking the silence. The girl turned. Fred stared. “You!” “Yes,” she answered his question, “I know you made it by the way you’re gripping the reins.” “You!” he repeated. “Is there anything wrong?” the girl asked politely. “I know I am in riding togs, but I was riding past, and your mother asked me in to dinner,” she explained. “Oh — er — no — there is nothing wrong. I’m sorry,” he stammered. At that moment Fred’s parents entered the room. Both seemed to be in a good mood. Mrs. Hayden came forward to introduce them. During dinner Fred didn’t utter a word. They had coffee in the drawing room. Fred didn’t say a word. “My son is very much interested in your city of San Diego, Miss Boyd,” Mr. Hayden stated. “He is?” her eyes widened. “Well, I shall be delighted to give him information about the city,” she said, looking at Fred with interest. At this, Fred found his power of speech. “You mean it? You’ll really tell me some- thing about your — er — your city?” “Certainly.” “My son is also interested in lectures. Aren’t you, Fred?” asked Mr. Hayden. “Er — yes — er — yes, very much.” “You said you had to go out tonight, Fred,” reminded his mother. “Have you for- gotten?” “Er — no — er mother, I thought, though, that as long as Miss Boyd is here, I might as well take advantage of her kindness and, er — well — after all, it is Christmas Eve. ’ “Yes, it is, but wasn’t the lecture im- portant?” asked his father. “No, not so very.” “Well, George,” said Mrs. Hayden after a while, “let’s leave Miss Boyd and Fred so that she can instruct him as to how to man- age business in San Diego.” “Don’t bother disturbing yourselves,” Miss Boyd replied. “I can teach him with you present.” “Oh, Miss Boyd,” replied Fred, “I am afraid that I can t quite grasp the facts with more than two present!” “Oh, in that case ” “Come on, George, ” “Good night, children.” “Good night.” The clock struck three. Both Mr. and Mrs. Hayden sat up in their armchairs, yawn- ing. Both looked at the clock and then at each other. The father was the first to speak. “Three! and he is home!” “Yes, and we have Miss Boyd to thank for that.” “She’s a nice girl.” “I think that the thing that made Fred stay home tonight more than anything else, was our influence,” said Mrs. Hayden. “Our influence?” asked Mr. Hayden. “I rather think it was the San Diego influence.” Ruth P. Smith, ’32. Sully: “Ought we to take this road to Bridgewater?” Mac: “It isn’t necessary. They’ve got one there now.”

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THE ECHO 13 you will find a check. I have earned it and I am a success. Mary Reynaud. Helen Kelley. A LITTLE HEROINE F OR some months before the battle at Con- cord, the people in this section were m a state of great excitement. Groups of grave- faced men talked secretly on street corners, and there was a rumor around that the British, who then occupied Boston, were on their way to destroy the ammunition that was stored at Concord. Great precaution was taken against the enemy by storing valuable war arms in nearly every house. This precaution was necessary for there were Tories ever ready to give the enemy any information that was needed. Many secret messages were carried from house to house and it was just such a mess- age that was carried beneath the eggs in the basket on Nancy Tarbell’s arm. Her uncle kept an important communication with Squire Torrey at the other end of the town, and as Nancy was a brave little girl, she was entrusted with it. She had only gone a short way when she met two strangers who asked for the resi- dence of Farmer Williams. Her heart gave a big thump at this, for the farmer was a well known Tory. But she tried not to show any surprise and gave them the desired in- formation. Nancy knew by their accent in her short conversation with them that they were British soldiers. She hurried and when she reached the squire’s home, told him what she had encountered on the way. How to find out the strangers’ errand was an important question. But Mrs. Torrey soon solved it by saying she would send Nancy over to Mrs. Williams with some eggs, and once there, she could keep her eyes and ears open and learn everything possible. When Nancy reached the house, she found preparations for a feast going on. She de- livered the eggs and was thanked for them, but when she offered to help them as they were busy, she was gently but firmly pushed out of the kitchen. As Nancy was a determined girl, she could not be put off so easily; so as she passed the front of the house, she looked in and saw a table set for four persons. Instantly an idea popped into her head, and she climbed through the open window and hid under the table. As the table cloth reached to the floor, she was completely hidden and alone, except for the cat, who snuggled down on her dress to sleep. Nancy had been there a short time when Williams and his wife entered with their guest. By their voices the girl recognized the guests to be the men she had met on the road. For a little while they talked and ate, but when Mrs. Williams left the room, they be- gan to talk business. Nancy learned that the men were British officers who had come to find out where the supplies were kept and how they were pro- tected. The farmer gave them all the in- formation in his power but told them that his life was in danger because of his loyalty. The officers urged him to go with them, promising to protect him as they were armed, and no one knew of their presence except a stupid little girl. At this Nancy almost laughed out, and as she leaned forward to catch every word, one of the officers raised his foot to emphasize a remark and came down heavily on Nancy s nand causing her much pain. Another time she was nearly discovered as the men were ready to leave when she gave a little sneeze. “There’s someone under the table,” cried one of the officers. But then the cat walked proudly out from under the table, and the company laughed at what they thought their mistake. The men soon left the house, and Nancy creeping from her hiding place as soon as it was safe to do so, ran as fast as her legs could carry her. But before she could reach Squire Torrey ’s house, the spies and the Tory were well on their way as Williams had horses ready for their flight. But the warning of the British was given, and Nancy received great praise for her hour under the table. Frances Sorocco, ’34. A DIFFICULT TASK An optimist is any class editor of the Sumner High School of Holbrook, who has set out to get stories for his school paper, the “Echo”. Stories, essays, poems, jokes, and editorials are being sought. If none are turned in, the student is in danger of having his story selected from an English assign- ment. Stories about thefts, murders, and liquor are not the type wanted; colorful and interesting stories are what students de- mand. These stories may have a little slang but too much slang is disgusting to both the pupil and teachers. Poems can be of as much interest as stories. Many humorous poems can be found in the poets’ corner. Or, if you are the sentimental type, you too can be satisfied. Lyrics about different students cause many a hearty laugh. Editorials and essays are considered by some pupils as dry and stupid. Read them. They are not. Humor springs out from all corners of the editorials or essays. They also give you something to think about. If you disagree with them, write your argument and see it published in the next issue of the school paper. Pupils enjoy these debates immensely, and you will find yourself popular. Jokes are things everybody enjoys. But, what is more dis- gusting than “stale” jokes? If something funny happens in class, write it up. Cuts for the paper are a great improvement. Anyone whose talent lies along this line should make a few cuts and pass them in. Why not try a story? If it succeeds, why not venture further with an editorial? F. Ahern, ’32.