Ipswich High School - Tiger Yearbook (Ipswich, MA)

Page 10 text:

TO SPUING 0 Spring, sweet harbinger of the danc- ing leaves, 0 thou who bringest flowers blooming fair, Who scatterest sunshine, hear, oh hear, my prayer That I may also be one who receives A share of your great wealth which, safe from thieves. Is stored in your embrace. Let flowers grow Beside my doors; oh let soft breezes blow My cares away; in spring-time no one grieves. Oh send me sunshine from your boun- teous hoard To cheer my heart as from your heart ’tis poured. Oh grant these gifts to each one who believes That spring-time’s joy-time, who desires peace. 0 Spring, I would that thou might never cease To weave yourself into the life each weaves. MARY BEALS, ’25 LA LOUP-GAROU I was seated in one of San Francisco’s rare Turkish restaurants seeking vainly for material for my novel when I was suddenly awake, ed from my idle dreams by angry vocifeiaticns from the swarthy ma ager and a man who, it appeared, did not have enough money to pay his bill. The foreign manager gesticulated and spoke m fiery broken English which the other could scarcely understand and did rot care to u derstand, for he stood listening, flipping aimlessly in the air t ' re small coin which he claimed was his ’ast and only. But suddenly his care- less demeanor fell. His face blanched, ' is jaw dropped, his eyes protruded, his whole appearance was one of abject hor- ror, as he gazed at the manager who now stopped his argument in astonish- ment at the charge in the man. My curiosity was aroused, and I de- c ' dcd to pay the man’s bill and brirg him to my table. I approached the two and af ' er paying the am.ount. asked the man, who now appeared himself once more, to my table. He agreed quickly enough and after having settled down, I asked him what had caused the sudden change in his demeanor. “That is a long story, but if you care to listen I will tell you.” I agreed readily, and he told me the following story. “Five years ago I was a fairly suc- cessful business man in Alaska. I was making a good income but despite my financial success, I always hungered for the glory of being a public hero. To make a long story short there was in our camp a man, named Red MacFair- den, hated and feared by all. He was a veritable giant of a man in a land where law was scarce and where the rule of the rdghty thrived; as a result he had things about as he liked them. No man dared to fight him without weapons and only one had ever tried it with them, and he had been killed. “But I had witnessed this battle and although he had been fast with his gun, I knew that I could beat him. I thought of this frequently, when at last the thought struck me that here was my chance to realize my ambition. By draw- i g him into a quarrel and disposing of him, the position for which I had yearn- ed from my boyhood would be mine, for although 1 feared nothing from him my- se f he was heartily hated and feared by the rest of the community. “Very carefully I laid my plans. I knew i was taking no chances, and I miade sure to have plenty of witnesses when I should perform my mock heroic deed. At last my chance came. It was a Saturday night and there was a big crowd i : the saloon. Red MacFairden bad started his usual bullying and I in- terceded. In less then a minute the work was done and MacFairden was car- ried out a dead man. As soon as the horror of the scene had worn off, men b?g?n to gather around me. They shook my hand and drank to my honor; some mentioned ire as sheriff. That was the happiest mom.ent of my life, and my ambitic was accomplished. ‘ That night a heavy storm set in. It lasted for three days, and every day my po ' ularity grew At the end of the storm, a group of men carried the body of MacFairden to his camp which lay about three miles from camp. When they returned, they had a tragic tale to tell. MacFairden’s wife and two children had bee ' ’ found in the cabin frozen to death. “With this news the ghastliness of my act ion struck me for the first time. I had been the instrument in bringing about the death of these three inrocen 8

Page 9 text:

Literary THE DIFFICULTY OVERCOME “Oh dear,” said Marie to her younger brother Robert, “the time is almost up and our pullets have not begun to lay yet. Oh! I know we shan ' t get the money,” and she added sobbingly, “Oh dear, poor mother, oh dear, oh dear.” This poor girl had done her best to raise thirty chickens up to the age of five and one half months, and now she wanted them to lay. Her uncle, a bachelor farmer, jealous of his brother’s city-bred family, in his will had left the family plenty of money but he had stated that they should not come into tile possession of his money until they should have lived on a farm, raised chicker.s, and at the end of the fifth month produced an egg from one of the said chickens. Marie’s father, a spoiled cross, and peevish old man had the gout and so Marie’s mother, because they could not afford a nurse, had to spend her time in taking care of him. Thus the raising of the chickens fell upon Marie, aged fourteen, and Robert, aged eight. “Aw shucks, sis, cheer up — we’ll find a way to make them lay. Just let me think a minute,” was the determined re- sponse of Robert. They had previously been stuffing the poor j ' oung hens w th ‘Tay o!r bust feed,” clam shells, et cetera to no avail. It seemed that since anything which they might give the hens to eat did not bring about the desired results, a definite course of action must be fol- lowed. During the next week Robert was very busy. He told only Marie his pla; s She was doubtful as to whether they would succeed or not, but was des- perately determined to try almost any method as long as they received the money. On August the thirty-first, the day before the trustees were to come. Bob and Marie rehearsed their parts. Marie went into the hen-house and caught a hen and put her on a nest which Robert had’ fixed with clamps which caught the hen’s legs as though they were in a trap. The clamps were invisible be- cause of the hay in the nest, but they were certainly there because the hen was kept on the nest whether she want- ed to stay there or not. In the mean- time Bob from the outside of the hen- house, had reached through a small window on the side back to the nest, put h’s hand through a small aperture in the nest, made especially for the occasion, and placed an egg under the hen, at the same time loosening the clamps. He had just time to draw his hand away before the hen, discovering that she was free, flew from the nest. Then from the open window with his sling shot he hit the hen with a small pebble and she im- mediately began to cackle — not because she had laid an egg, but from fright. “But who is to know the difference, any- way?” argued Robert. That night Robert slept peacefully, sure of his success on the morrow, but Marie had a struggle with her con- science. She wanted the money but knew that it was not right to take it deceitfully. “But why,” she reasoned, “shouldn’t I have success? My motive was a generous one. I do not want the money for myself, but for mother, and I feel that I have worked hard for it.” The next day the two trustees came. Bob and Marie, the one calm, the other nervous and excited, led their guests in- to the hen-house. One hen seemed to be walking around near the nest; so Marie grabbed her and put her into the empty nest used the day before. It had never occurred to their young minds that a hen goes on the nest of her own ac- cord, but the two trustees knew and smiled a little when this hen was caught and put on the nest and stayed there. During the fifteen minutes which were given the poor little hen to “do her stuff, the two men walked around the Ihen-house, noticing the several nests which had at least two eggs in each — Sind it was only ten o’clock in the morning. Now at the end of the fifteen minutes. Robert excused himself in order that he might perform his little stunt at the outside of the hen-house. In a few. secords the hen flew from the nest, but what seemed strange to Robert, stand- ing outside, was that she started to cackle before he hit her with his sling shot Marie and the trustees, however, were looking at the nest when they be- held two eggs where fifteen minutes before there had been none at all. It was evident to Marie and to Bob, too, who had just come in, that the hen herseif had laid the additional egg. In their joy they gave away their plot, but the trustees could do nothing about it because the hen really had laid an egg. Thus it was that Marie and Bob fulfilled the terms of the legacy. NATALIE BROWN, ’25.

Page 11 text:

people, and not only this, but I had murdered the man, deliberately for my own personal gain. That night I slept but little for the hideousness of my crime became clearer and clearer in my head. Murder, murder, murder, stared at me in dripping red letters every time I closed my eyes. At last, however, I succeeded in dropping into a fitful doze. I had barely closed my eyes when I sat bolt upright in bed with a nameless fear tearing at my heart. I looked about to see what had caused my fear, and as I gazed in front of me, my heart was clutched by a terrible fear, for before my eyes was the form of a wolf with the head of a man, that of Red MacFairland. “Slowly the mouth opened; it spoke: “ ‘You have murdered my wife and in- nocent babes; for their murder, not for my own, I shall haunt you till your dying day. Always, always as la loup- garou I shall be before your eyes to prick your guilty conscience.’ As it spoke, the blood dripped from its mouth as it had done the night I had shot Red MacFairden. Then slowly the form re- ceded, and at last with a weird wailing laugh it was gone. “I arose from my bed. I was covered with a cold, beady perspiration, and my skin was cold and clammy. What I had seen had been no dream but a reality.” He stopped and sat gazing moodily at his plate with an air of utter hopeless- nsss. “What then?’ I urged. “It has been even as he promised me; no matter where I go, no matter what I do, la loup-garou is always there to taunt me.” “But what did that have to do with the particular fear you manifested when speaking to the manager.?” “As he spoke his countenance sudden- ly changed, and I beheld la loup-garou once more before me; it spoke and said: ‘Behold, I am with you still.’ ” E. WITHAM, ’25. THE ORIENTAL JAR When Mr. Russel came home from the office, he greeted his wife with, “Well, little wife, Cap’n Isaac is dead.” “Ne is?” questioned the woman doubtingly. “Yes. I learned at the office that he died suddenly yesterday. His will has already been read and — and he left us nothing but an Oriental jar with a brok- en string of beads. “Your father didn’t leave you his house! Why, I thought surely-” “That is, he didn’t directly. The con- dition was that if we found the rest of the beads in a month we should have the house. If not, his nephew Henry and his family receive it.” “Of course we can find the beads. But isn’t it just like that eccentric old sea- captain, with his passion for collecting old books and curious beads, to leave us such a legacy? We’ll begin hunting to- morrow.” By the time breakfast was over the next morning every member of this legatee family was enthusiastic over the search that was being planned. David, the eldest boy, took charge of the affair. “Now,” said he, “we must have a sys- tematic plan of attack. Mumsie, you take the kitchen, because you know about that. Dad loves books; so 1 guess his place is the library. Bab can take the dining room, and I will hunt in the parlor. And mind, leave everything in order; be methodical. Now, let’s go.” “You and your methods make me sick,” said Bab. “I’m with you, though, on the going.” In no time at all the four were start- ing to search their respective rooms, with the injunction from David, “Re- port this noon.” Each one set about his task in his own manner. David, tall, dark, with method written all over him, took every article off the parlor table, opening the books and probing into the back-binding, turn- ing the bric-brac upside down, sounding the rather thick table for hollow places, and taking out the drawers. And his report was, “I found nothing.” Bab, or Barbara, although her features were like her brother’s, was otherwise very unlike him. Saucy, careless, light- hearted, she hummed a little song as she dumped everything from the side-board onto the dining-room table and then, glancing at it, put each article back in place. Her report too was, “Nothing.” Mrs. Russell did — well, what a woman generally does when she cleans a kit- chen. She busied herself with the pantry shelves, and probably wouldn’t think of the beads unless they dropped out of one of the many pans and kettles. Therefore it was not surprising that she said, “Nothing.” In the library Mr. Russell first no- ticed the mate of his Oriental jar — a carved miniature of the huge water jars the Eastern maidens carry, a jar smell- ing faintly of rosew ' ood and spice. He looked into it, half-expecting to find the 9