Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

Page 6 text:

47th Annual Commencement of the Manning High School Class of 1921 Thursday, June 30, 1921 PROGRAM Oh Victorious People, Chorus Invocation, Rev. Frederick Kenyon In All Labor There is Profit, The Forest Dance, The Cultivated Man, A Dream of Arcady, Americanization . Oh, Hail Us, Ye Free, ( Non est Vivere sed Valere Vita, In Training for America. Presentation of Diplomas, The Star Spangled Banner, (Salutatory) Irene Atkinson (Targatt) Chorus (Address) Gardiner Brown President of the Class, (De Koven) Mary Martel (Oration) Nathan Sushelsky ‘Ernani” Verdi) Chorus (Valedictory) Hilda Scales (Address) Rev. Carroll Perry Herbert W. Mason Chairman of School Committee Chorus

Page 5 text:

Vol. II. IPSWICH, MASS., JUNE 30, 1921, No. 4 BOARD OF EDITORS Faculty Advisor, Miss L. L. Cole, Business Manager, S. Tyler, ’22 Athletic Manager, W. Dunn, ’23 Social Editor Miss Reilly, ’22 Alumni Editor, Miss Bamford.’23 Exchange Editor, Miss Mackinney,’22 Literary Editors, Miss Jewett, ’22, Miss Narkun, ’22, Miss Shaw, ’23 Art Editor, A. Spyut, ’23 Class Reporters, Miss Marr,’22, Miss Kimball, ’23, Miss Peabody, ’24 Assistant Business Managers R. Whittier. ’22 J. Burke, ’23 P. Atkinson, ’23 The Editors of The Tiger wish to thank Julius Bean and William Burke for their able assistance during the absence of Business Managers Tyler and Whittier.

Page 7 text:

THE LOOKOUT IN THE ALPS The sun was setting over the Alps, changing the snow clad peaks to rose and gold, making them majestic and inspiring. The golden rays caressingly touched the humble roofs of a little Swiss village, snug- gled close under the mountains as if for protection. The water in the small lake near by sparkled and flashed with multi- tudes of diamonds. On the worn doorstep of a quaint little shop stood a tall, lean, stoop-shouldered man. From that doorstep he had seen many sunsets come and go. Every sunset for fifteen long years he had stood framed in that rude little doorway, looking down the road and across the lake for a sight of his only son, a handsome lad who had been sixteen when he left home fifteen years ago to make his way in the world. His boy! Blessed word. Surely he must come soon. The old worn mother had long been dead, and the little shop was lonely. Francois had always been a good boy, and faithful to his parens, but he had not been heard from since he left home years ago. He had loved the mountain pastures where he often led the goats. He had loved the flowers, the lake, the scenery, as his fathers did before him. Yet he had not been heard from for fifteen years. As the peaks turned slowly grey and cold, and the magic of the sunset disap- peared, for a single instant the stem, lined face of the watcher on the lookout post was lighted with a smile. Dear Francois ! Sure- ly he had not forgotten his old home. He would come soon. How had the world treated his boy ? Had it been kind to him ? Did he ever think of home? Endless ques- tions ! And they could not be answered ! Down the steep, rocky path, past the door of the little shop, a herd of goats came, driven by the young shepherd boys. Francois had driven the goats down that path, singing as these boys were singing now. Tears slowly filled the old man’s eyes as he thought of his absent boy. Fran- cois ’ mother had died with the boy’s name on her lips. The sun had long gone down, but still the solitary watcher remained in the door- way. Suddenly up the steep path came a frisky dog and a little boy of about ten years. When the child came to the house, he stooped and said, “Are you grand- pere ? ’ ’ The old man smiled and answered, “I do not know.” The little boy said, “My name is Rene D’Antos and my father sent me ahead with Pierre, my dog, to find my grand- father who used to live on this road. I have gone far ahead of my father and ma chere maman, and no one can tell me where my grandfather lives. Mes parents will not arrive for some time. Can’t you tell me where to find grandpere?” The old man looked long at the lad. He had seen this face before. To be sure, these eyes were blue and the others were black, but the resemblance was plain, and the name, D ’Anton, was his own. Could it be, could it be that Francois had returned with his wife and child, after all these years ? ‘ ‘ What is your father ’s name ? ” he asked eagerly. “Father’s -name is Francois D ’Anton, and mother’s name was Babette Yelpear. I think father said grandpere ’s name was Jacques D ’Anton. ” “Well, men enfant,” said the old man, joyful tears showing in his eyes, “You are a welcome visitor. Child, I am your grand- pere. ’ ’ 1 1 1 am glad because I like you, ’ ’ answered Rene, climbing in the lap of his newly found grandfather, as he sat on the steps. Soon a tall man and a pretty lady came up the steep path and Pierre ran to meet them. “Father!” cried the man. “Francois! At last!” exclaimed the lookout. “My father, Babette, you cannot know how happy I am to be home once more. ’ ’ Francois had done well in the world, and had a good business in Paris. He intended soon to return there and take his father with him. He had intended to come home every year, but something always happened to prevent it. When he told his father he must come back with him, his father refused, saying, “I was born and brought up among the Alps and I love them. Here have I lived and here I wish to die.” Slowly the moon rose over the lake, a great full orb of yellow, as it had risen