Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

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the scene of his last rendezvous in the Giant Forest. His boyish face had lost its gay frankness and in its place came a look of deep revengeful hatred. He passed a woodcutters’ camp where everyone was contented with his work of sawing down the huge oaks and elms for which the forest was famous. Arthur stopped and stared , moodily at them for a while and then walked on, planning suicide, while as ir- resistible force pulled him towards Duval. Ail at once he felt a hand strike his ankle. He looked down and discovered the stark body of Duval, which lay im- movable with the glassy eyes turned up- ward to the sky. “Hell!” cried Arth ur in impassione:! rage, and drawing his sword, he cut the hand off. The moment he had done it, he was sorry, and to atone for this outrage on a dead man, he clumsily dragged the body towards a spring near by, and dropped it into this, as a substitute for a grave. The clotted blood rose darkly to the surface and as Arthur watched it, he gave an awful demoniacal laugh, for he remembered that the woodcutters drank from this spring and would probably be poisoned thereby. Even while the horrible laugh echoed through the wood, his mood changed and he fled from the spot as he had run three days before, and with the same unreasoning panic and terror. That night he was fitfully walking up and down his room with the fir from the huge g rate making changing shadows on him and on the wall, when he was startled to find that someone was walking with him. It was his cousin Duval. “You!” cried Arthur, amazed. “Yes, my fair cousin, it is I,” replied Duval, putting his arm on the other’s, and Arthur noticed that, the hand was gone. Duval led him near the fire, where they sat down, one throwing a long sinister shadow half across the room, the other with the light streaming through him. “We can talk well here,” explained Du- val, and so they talked for hours, the dead man and the living, of things that had once been of mutual interest to them, of things that had made them fast friends before Jeanette had come into their lives. At eleven the fire died, at midnight it was extinguished entirely, and in the cold pale dawn there was nothing left but grey ashes. Then the phantom Duval arose with a start and spoke above the low tone in which they had been conversing before. “I forgot to tell you, cousin Arthur, that I do not consider our duel as finished. With this gauntlet I challenge you, for through this gauntlet I have a debt to pay!” Duval disappeared. Arthur suddenly awoke to this life and realizing that he ,had been chatting h whole long night, yarned and stretched a looked wearily out on the unwelcome day. All at once his eye lighted on Duval ’s gauntlet. It was the dissected hand. Smm strange inward force compelled Arthur to lift this cold dead hand and cry “I accept your challenge.” That night and for several following nights Duval came to talk with Arthur and sit by his fire until the wan dawn warned him away. Finally one night they agreed on a certain day for the duel, and the next morning early Arthur went to keep his appointment by the side of the spring near the woodcutters’ camp. The men were already at work and the strokes of their axes came dull and deadened in the morning mist. The two fought a weird, noiseless duel in the dense white- ness, for Duval’s sword made no sound even when it clashed with Arthur ’s in the darkness. For two hours they fought and the fog lifted not a whit. In all the preceeding nights Arthur had taken his phantom visitor for granted and looked upon him as one of many night- mares in the daytime. This duel he had commenced through no will of his own, and had fought it so far in a half-dazed man- ner. But suddenly he realized with whom he was fighting. He realized that, though he had killed this man once, he would never conquer him again, and the realiza- tion made his hand tremble and a cold perspiration come over him ; he made a wild thrust at Duval and pierced him in the exact spot where he had pierced him before. But this time Duval gave no sign, and Arthur, once more overcome by the horror and dread of the unknown, turned and fled. Duval ran after him, driving him with his sword and laughing with a laughter that sounded like an echo of Ar- thur’s own. Arthur plunged through the forest in blind horror till suddenly he saw

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when D ’Anton was a boy, and as it would rise long after he was dead. Its rays lighted up the beautiful group, Rene sleep- ing in the arms of his grandfather, Pierre with his head between his paws, Babette and Francois looking over the lake. But Madam Moon seemed to look longest at the watcher and the deserted lookout in the Alps. Dorothy Shaw — 1923. WHICH ? Old Captain Smith is not a very captivating sight ; His trousers bag at both his knees, his coat is never right. His shoes are not acquainted with a black- ing brush or shine, And he lives in the little house across the way from mine. Old Captain Smith would never take a prize at a beauty show, But for a help in time of need Re’s .the surest thing I know. When father had pneumonia and v +her had the flu, That blessed man came ’round each day to see what he could do. He isn’t one to go around and tell what he has done, Of all the wood that he has sawed and errands he has run, But he’s ever ready, day or night, a help- ing hand to lend; He’s the greatest kind of neighbor and I know he is my friend. Now right next door to Captain Smith lives Deacon Moses Brown, And on my friend Old Captain Smith he is inclined to frown. The Deacon’s tall and very straight, and a very pious fellow ; In church he’ll pray quite long and loud in a voice quite soft and mellow. His shoes are blacked, his hair is brushed till it glistens in the sun, And the Deacon is quite prone to boast of the great deeds he has done. He’ll borrow one’s whole chest of tools (for that he has a knack), And then he won’t remember to ever bring them back. But if you happen to be sick and in need of a little help, Just ask the Beaccn foi Joan and you’ll quickly hear hi m ye Now this is what I wish to ask each reader of this ver se, Which neighbor is my comfort and which neighbor is my curse? Richard Ralph— 1921. TWO DUELS In a lonely glen of the Giant Forest, two combatants fought furiously for the love of a fair lady. One of them must have lived about twenty eventful years. He fought with a fiery ardour, while the other was older, and seamed more cool and wary. The duellists fought alone under the sparkling sun and moving shadows, and excent the clash of their swords in some clever parry, not a sound was heard from either, yet there was no unfair play. But the strain was telling on the older man; when a quick thrust of his was easily turned aside by his opponent, he went completely to pieces and lunged wildly, leaving him- self quite unguarded. The boy was quick to make use of his opportunity and soon he had give n a mortal thrust which laid his rival smirching the clean glass with his spurting blood. Young Arthur looked at his dying cousin Duval in horror. He had not meant to kill and this was the first time that he had ever fought such a bloody duel. Duval tried to speak, but he could not, and Arthur stared at him fascinated as he watched tlm life ebb slowly from the man. Then sud- denly he turned and ran, gripped by a nameless horror of death. He did not wish to return with the blood of his cousin staining his hands, to J eanette, who was the cause of the duel, yet he could not keep away from her. Three days later Jeanette told him she would have nothing to do with him and she wept bitterly when she heard for the first time of Duval’s death. Arthur turned from her with bitter hat- red surging in his heart. He had com- mitted a crime for nothing and Jeanette whom he adored, despised him. He com- menced to walk in blind anger towards

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SMELTING looming above him a huge dark shape, and he heard the woodcutters’ cry of “Way there” coming out of the fog, lie would have turned but he could not, and the giant pine tree came crashing upon him. The last sound he heard was a taunting devilish cackle from Duval. When the men came to cut the wood, they saw that Arthur ’s head had been severed from his body, and Arthur’s body had been so flattened that it had burst and his lungs had been torn from him. Also they saw a swordsman with a wound in his heart, and one hand gone, standing by and laughing shrilly. Julia Doughty — 1922. THE JOYS OF HOUSEKEEPING Oh, the joys of housekeeping ! They are few and far between, The endless dusting and sweeping Are far from a perfect dream. Sweep ! Sweep ! Use the broom As much as you will — Pa dirties up the room, He doesn’t care a pill. Straighten the rugs and fix ’em all — The kitten frisking by, Punning, jumping, chasing his ball, Moves ’em from where they lie. Wash up the kitchen floor, Make it all look neat — Brother steps inside the door With his muddy feet. Wash and wipe the dishes, Put them all away. Still your mother’s wishes Keep you from your play. Take up the holey stockings, Darn, and warn, and darn ; But never escape the mockings Of the tangled yarn. Thus on and on tasks go, And deep into the night, Swiftly, swiftly, swiftly Do they keep their flight. Dorothy Shaw — 1923. To the thin man I say, “If you want to grow stout — After fifteenth of March — you must just tumble out Of your bed in the morning betwixt one and three, And go up to Mill River, along side o’ me. A flashlight or lantern and a pair o’ hip boots, A fish-net, close knitted, and a bag that just suits Is all that you’ll need. When you get there, Oh, Boy! Wade out in the water and just feel the joy Of smelting.” To the stout man I say, “If you want to grown thin, Come along smelting and just wade right in Close by the sluice-way and hold down your net, Then wait a few minutes and see what you get. I’ll bet you a quarter you’ll laugh and you’ll shout, When the wee silver beauties from your net you dump out. You won’t mind the cold tho’ your fingers should freeze, While you stand in the water way over your knees, When smelting. ’ ’ And so you will find them, the thin and the stout, Up in Mill River with banter and shout, Catching the smelt as they rush for the sea — Both old men and young, wide awake as can be, Forgetting their troubles, each heart full of cheer, And each one agreeing the best time of the year Is from fifteenth of March to April, same day, When they lay aside worries and take up the ulay Of smelting. Richard Ralph — 1921.