Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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laugh which was forced, and did not come from the heart. He laughed because he was so very angry. He was almost driven mad by the letter which told him of the danger that so many young men’s lives were in. He laughed because he tri- umphed. A few ' months later he went through his mill to see his slaves at work. Yes, his slaves. They earned every cent they re- ceived. The conditions under which they were working v r ere indescribable. They were shut in like rats. The sun had tried its best to throw a stream of light through the dirty windows, but it was im- possible. Mr. Stone walked through his mill, now and then he let forth a cry at one of the employees for looking at him or perhaps for not working as hard as usual because of his lack of physical strength. ‘ ‘Fire ! Fire !” cried a man. “It can not be possible !” exclaimed Mr. Stone. The men ran to and fro as if mad. Be- fore many minutes smoke appeared in every direction. ‘ 1 Save me!” cried the money-maker. No one heard him. He was left help- less. For once in his long life money left his mind. The flames were rapidly eating up the Leather Mill. The sparks iseemed to cry out “Revenge! Revenge!’’ Mr. Stone’s large fur coat soon became the victim of {he flames, and before many minutes the great money-man was in the hands of re- venge. As his life was gradually leaving him his only wish was, that he had in- stalled the proper conveniences in the mill, but it was now too late. “Wake up, sir, wake up, you are dreaming,” cried James. “What!” exclaimed Stone, “can it be possible ! ’ ’ “Yes, you v r ere dreaming,” said James, who trembled for fear that lie would re- ceive a good scolding because his master had had a bad dream. “Oh, James,” said Stone, “call this firm up immediately and tell them to put fire-escapes in my mill and also other im- provements.” James did as he was told, thinking his master had gone mad. No, it ivas true. Mr. Stone had received his lesson through a dream. He was re- born and started life over again with a new conscience and with new 7 ideals. CORA H. BENEDIX, ’19. MARGERY MOORE. Margery Moore is a poor, bent wrinkled old woman, without a relative in the world. Day by day she sits alone by her hearth and patiently knits and dreams of her happy and sad by-gone days. She dreams about herself when she was young. Nobody would ever think that this wrinkled old woman was ever young. Her mother and father petted their youngest child, her brother and sister kindly smiled on her, and young Will Grey, the neigh- bor’s son, was her ardent admirer. She dreams of all the different parties, entertainments, church suppers, and husk- ing bees she attended with him. She was very pretty, proud, and gay in those days. She remembers the first time she met Will. It Avas at a husking bee of one of her chums. ITowr bashful Will was when he asked her if he could walk home with her ! Will Grey was a fisherman. He left his childhood home and joined a colony of fishermen on Cape Ann. From here he was to go to sea. It was a bright spring day when Will sailed for the distant bay. Margery went to the wharf with him. After the boat started she went home and sat by the window in her little room and watched the white sail out of sight. 21

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But in the sad, honest eyes is betrayed the suffering of years. Sihe came to Boston in the seventy-fifth year of her life to plead for one thing only, and that is the welfare of the Rus- sian people. There are four million little children in Russia who are motherless and fatherless, without care, opportunity or even food. So she came to America to get aid in the great cause of humanity. Here is a Russian noblewoman whose love for her land was so great that she was sent into exile because she insisted upon teaching peasants to understand their circumstances and abolish tyranny. So when still a handsome young woman she was sent to Siberia. When she came out of exile, thirty years later, the brown hair was snowy white, the beautiful face was wrinkled, haggard, old — Her son, for whom in her long period of exile, she had yearned and prayed, had been adopted by another woman who posed as his mother. When he learned the truth, instead of being proud of his brave little mother, he disowned her. So he sent her, who had come to him as the only living relative on earth, away — childless; but not friendless. Every American adores her, loves her. What greater sacrifices has any woman made than this woman has made for the land she loves? None! LUCY BAILEY, ’19. THE GREAT AWAKENING. Mr. Richard Stone sat back in his large arm chair and began puffing ' on his pipe, while the logs on the fire-place in front of him cracked and sent forth a large light which illuminated the entire library, where a merry laugh or kind word was never uttered. Mr. Stone’s face was covered with wrinkles and seemed to cry out for the want of a smile. His small, dark eyes looked forth as if their very glance would send up in flames every object which they beheld. This man was mean, narrow- minded, a helpless miser. His very countenance showed us this. The ser- vants in his home feared him. His bell when heard by them made them tremble and wish they were dead, instead of hav- ing to face a beast like their master. Mr. Stone would not have lived in this won- derful mansion and employed many serv- ants if his position had not required it. The only thing lie worshipped or regarded as if human, Avas his money. The more his large Leather Mill produced for him each day, the more he desired. If he pos- sessed all the money in the world, he would grumble because there wasn’t more. He ivias more furious this evening than he had been for a long time. The very furniture in the room seemed to crouch aAvay from him, the pictures on the Avails seemed to be froAvning at him. He was wild, and nothing could calm his temper. “I Avill not put fire-escapes in my mill!” he exclaimed. “My slaves, Oh James where are you?” “Yes, sir, here I am, sir,” said the frightened seiwant. “Do you hear me, I will not install fire- escapes in my mill. Oh, God, AAhat an ex- pense ! To think people A r ould have the nerve of writing me this letter. Here, on this very paper I hold in my hands, I am told to put fire-escapes in my mill ! It makes no difference if the Avorkers’ lives are in danger. That is their look out, not mine. Do you hear James?” “Yes, sir,” ansAvered James, aa t 1io had nothing to do in regard to the letter, but received the punishment for it. “Leave me, James,” cried Mr. Stone, “before I knock your very head off.” “Yes , sir,” replied James. Mr. Stone let forth an ugly laugh, a 20

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Months wore on until June. Margery was as happy as the birds, as she sat and sewed by the window in her little room, watching for the little white sail to come in sight. The sea and wind had been fierce and cruel. The white sail never came back again. Margery, when she finishes this dream, always wakes up with a heavy sigh. Her tea kettle is boiling, and she gets up and busies herself about her supper. Poor. Margery still sits by her lonely hearth, alone, without a relative in the world. ANNANARKUN, ’21. Danvers, Massachusetts, June 6, 1919. My dear Nephew, At last I reckon my remaining days numbered, and at the advice of Doctor Marblehead, I am going to make out my will. My boy, although you v T ere quite a young scamp last summer when you were here on your vacation, and called me “Old ball top” in spite of my old age, I — By the w ay, I am using some new hair tonic and my hair is growing in quite fast. As I v ' as saying, how w r ell I remember how you teased all my animals. Many times you tied the pigs’ legs together with string and left them in agony in the pen. How often you put tin cans on the cow- s’ tails and left them helpless in the pasture ! Like a picture painted before my eyes I can dee you over yonder in the fields looking for snakes and other pests with which to torment me. Regardless of the past and your ill treatment towards me and all mine, I By the w ay, do you remember the old white cow that you painted green when you were here? Well, she got first prize at the Fair last month. Well, young man, in spite of all the foolish names which you applied to me, and the w r reck you made of my life, I got married last w r eek to Lizzy Patch, the old school ma’am, which makes her, therefore, sole heiress to my fortunes. With as much love as ever, I remain Uncle Josh. CORA H. BENEDIX, ’19. 18 Green Street, Ipswich, Mass., June 6, 1919. Dear Miss Blank, I am so glad to hear that you have got a Ford ! I have tw T o very good reasons for being glad. First, because you can ride, and second, because I, as a pedestrian, can make fun of said Ford. From what I hear about the matter, a Ford is an unmixed pleasure. It never rattles, squeaks, jounces, bounces, pitches, tosses or bursts its tires. The state road is now in wonderful condition for Fords. It is being repaired in three hundred and thirty-four places between here and Bos- ton. An automobile always gets stuck in the mud, but a Ford, never. A Ford is also beautiful as well as use- ful. Its shiny black sides glow with a brilliant radiance. Tt’s brass work sends out the gleam of gold. As Keats says, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Yours most sincerely, H. N. DOUGHTY, Jr. Ipswdch, Mass., March 30, 1916. Dearest Althea, I have just heard of your great loss. Let me extend my greatest sympathy to you and the rest of your family, I always did like that cat, and he was such a good mouser. 22 Your loving friend, LUCY BAILEY, ’19.