Lyman Hall High school - Singer Chronicle Yearbook (Wallingford, CT)

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8 THE CHRONICLE The Tale of Becky’s Garden (A Legend of Lake Winnipesaukee) The moon rose high above the mountains across the lake. Dark shadowy islands rose above the silvery folds of water. A warning beacon on a tiny island just outside the harbor blinked endlessly. Up on the porch the gang of young campers settled themselves comfortably. Peter Piper’s famous cookie jar stood in the place of honor. It was said around the lake that only once had anyone ever known Peter’s cookie jar to be empty. That was when he bought nineteen pounds of cookies on Saturday morning, expecting them to last until the Tuesday supply boat, and had so many visitors that they were all gone on Monday morning. Peter always had swarms of company who came to sit and eat and listen. When anyone was introduced to Peter, he was also introduced to the cookie jar; and after the introduction he was expected to help himself. The gang sat and munched and waited expectantly. They didn’t have to wait long. Peter put his feet on the porch rail and stared out at the beacon light. “Do you know why they call the beacon rock Becky’s Garden?” He looked around but everyone looked blankly at him. “Well, it was like this. Over on the mainland lived John Thomas, whose wife always called him a stern John Thomas, and his wife, whom he always called a most undignified Becky. They simply couldn’t get along. Becky nagged and scolded until the neighbors all laughed at such a hen-pecked substitute for a husband. Then one day the worm turned, as worms will. John Thomas decided that the last straw was coming and that he was going to dodge it. One June day he got the demuring Becky into the motor boat. She fussed and fumed for two solid hours of skimming past the most beautiful scenery in a section noted for its beauty. As they were heading back, John Thomas skillfully slid the boat up to the rock where the beacon is now. The whole island is only about four feet wide and eight or ten feet long. John Thomas put on his sternest look and said, “Get out.” Becky simply looked at him, dumbfounded. John Thomas hadn’t ordered her around since they had been married. “Get out,” he said again. “Hurry up. I can’t hold this boat all day.” Becky was so surprised she stepped out on the rock. John Thomas shoved the boat away, tossed her a packet of sandwiches, and delivered his ultimatum. “You’ll just have to stay there until you promise not to nag nor scold. Also, you’ll have to accept the fact that I am boss.” With that as a parting thrust he sped off. At first she wept; then she stormed. All the neighbors on the nearby

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THE CHRONICLE On a Dreary Winter Day It is winter, and I am sad: My feathered comrades have forsaken me; Garlands of snow festoon the land Where vari-colored blossoms ought to be. A cold whiteness envelops the earth; Naked trees writhe and twist in the gale; The wind whines, howls in ceaseless mirth While lashing the trees with invisible flail. I shudder and drawing my coat More snugly long for the warm summer sun. I long to see the white clouds float In an azure sky. I want to run In the breeze and feel its soft caress On my brow.—My imagination hears the call Of birds. I see the green meadow, and yes, In the sky the sun like a golden ball Hangs.—The gale derides such tho’ts, and the gray Sky hangs low, foreboding.—Begone, I pray! Olive King,

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THE CHRONICLE 9 islands highly enjoyed the situation. Since they had had experience with Becky’s tongue lashings, they merely waved as they sped by. Becky slept on the hard ground under the shelter of a few scrubby little bushes. The next morning the boat swooped by — circled around — and stopped within hailing distance. “Did you have a good night?” John Thomas asked cheerfully. “John Thomas, are you out of your mind?” she exploded. “You come right over here and take me off and then you put a clean shirt on !” So — he tossed her some more sandwiches and left her to storm. This went on for three weeks. Becky in desperation turned to weeding the few plants on the island. Soon people going by would call annoyingly, “How is your garden today, Becky?” At home everything seemed to be going awry, but John Thomas wouldn’t give Becky the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t doing too well without her. At last she promised to behave. John Thomas, thereafter Tom. took her home, and it is said that they lived happily ever after, but no one ever forgets to inquire for her garden. And so the story goes until this day. Jf.ax Morrison, ’38 The King of Winter Sports Let the snow come, for wherever there is snow, skiing is hailed as the king of winter sports. Before we join the crowd on Neighbor Jones’s hill, let’s stop awhile to learn what this fever is all about. Shortly after one of our recent snow falls I was skiing along the tip-top ridge of the highest hill in town. As I stopped to look off through the clear cold morning air to the distant hills beyond, a snow-covered freight train wound its way along the track to the south. Still farther away could he seen a rushing, prosperous city with ships upon its sparkling harbor. As the sun rose higher, I felt as though I were a little superior to the ordinary walks of life, which went on day in and day out. 1 wondered just why I should at that moment have on my feet a pair of skis. The answer; 1 was afflicted with a fever. About four thousand years ago in Scandinavia, skiing originated as a simple but new form of transportation. In recent years ski fever has spread to thousands of people, who have made it a hobby and favorite pastime. Skiing is a red-blooded sport for all who love the thrills of swooping at breath-taking speed down hills, through narrow trails, and over brooks to the fields below. If you are looking for competition, you will find plenty of