Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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16 The Anynial of end open right against the mountain-side. The only weapon he could find that he thought would answer the purpose, was an article of kitchen furniture commonly known as a potato- masher. With this under his pillow, Master Johnny thought himself pretty safe. All went well until late in the night, when he was awakened by the approach of stealthy footsteps. Peer- ing out into the moonlight, Johnn} saw a dark object gliding slowly down the mountain directly toward his own room, and seeming to stop, now and then, to sniff t he air as though an agreeable scent met its nostrils. Fully convinced that the monster intended to make a supper of him, the poor boy lay with chattering teeth, gripping the potato-masher in one hand, while ith the other he held the blanket fast around him, to protect himself against the attack. Nearer and nearer the bear approached till, Johnny afterward declared, he could feel its hot breath upon his cheek, but instead of springing at his throat as he had expected it would do, it onl}- glanced at him for a moment, then moved leisurely along, and Johnny soon heard it drinking from the spring beyond the house. Now, Johnny is not usually a selfish bo} ' , but he afterwards owned that he never in his life prayed so earnestly for anything as he did that night that the bear would go hy the next house and eat up poor Tommy Lewis and would leave him for the next time, when he devoutly hoped to be somewhere else. When Johnny awoke next morning, his first question was: Did he eat him up ? Then in answer to our amazed inquire- as to what he meant, his story was told. We all ran out to see if the monster left any tracks by which he might be followed, but to our great disappointment we could find nothing but some hog tracks. Then the truth dawned upon us. All day long poor Johnny has heard nothing but countless allusions to the farmer boy who could not tell a bear from a hog. To do him justice, however, I think he is very glad, in spite of the teas- ing, that it was only a hog, and that Tommy Lewis is still alive and well. Aug. 2 ist. -To-day we have to bid goodbye to Fern Glen and its charming haunts till next summer, when we hope to return. We expected to stay several daj-s longer, but this morning an accident happened which will compel us to leave

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Thf Mary Bald ' cin Snnhiar) ' . I ; suddenly felt that I was no longer alone, and looking up I dis- covered that I was the recipient of the most withering glances cast from the dark eyes of Miss Browne as she stood beside Mr. Smith on the bank. Under this fire of silent scorn I felt all my boa.sted courage vatiishaway, and stepping ashore I humbly begged to be allowed to resign my usurped property. But my advances were met by a cold refusal from the irate Miss Browne who haughtily replied that she and James (I did not know it had come to that — but probably it was only to show her supe- riority to me who had no James) would take a walk on the mountain. They nuist have found a very charming .spot, for they have been going back ever since, much to the delight of all who love the boat. I was so crestfallen at the rebuff I had received that I could enjo} ' the boat no longer, so went back to the cottage, where I found breakfast just ready. As we all sat with bowed heads while Mother asked the blessing, we were .suddenly startled from our devotions by a loud scream, and look- ing up, saw Mother standing in the middle of the floor dripping with water from head to foot, while the table presented the ap- pearance of having passed through a deluge. At first we thought the place must be bewitched, but from the commotion without we soon learned that our roof had been on fire, and, but for the timely assi.stance of our neighbors, the house would have burned down over our heads. Just at first poor Mother could not appreciate the neighbors ' kindness to the fulle-st ex- tent, for having been seated right before the open window, the back of her neck had received the full benefit of a bucket of water intended for the roof. I notice that Mother has since changed her seat, and that my little brother keeps one eye on the ceiling (or rather the roof, as we don ' t boa.st ceilings) and the other on the window wdiile grace is being said. The boys are fully persuaded that these mountains are in- fested with wild animals of various kinds, especially with bears. Last night a dozen young urchins .sat around a camp-fire ' till midnight, listening to the blood-curdling stories of some old hunters who were relating their adventures and hair-breadth escapes for the benefit of the company. Before going to bed, my little brother determined that he would no longer risk life and limb by sleeping unarmed in a shed-room which has one

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The Mary Baldivin Seminary. 17 this evening. As we were sitting down to dinner some one pushed the table, and over it went into the middle of the floor, with a loud crash of breaking dishes and rattling silver. When the debris was gathered up, we found that the only thing that had escaped complete destruction was the molasses pitcher. As, unfortunately, people cannot live without eating, and cannot well eat without dishes, we will be obliged to go home. Mother says there is always something to be thankful for, and this time it is that we will not have the trouble of packing the dishes (except the molasses pitcher which I intend to pre- serve as a relic) and that we may leave behind our handsome din ing table, which I earnestly hope will be turned into kindling wood by the mountaineers before our return. A DREAM OF WISE MEN. The night was so dull and close that stud -ing was a thing impossible. A volume of Shaw lay open on my lap, but, in spite of earnest endeavors, I had spent one hour in learning a single page. Rebellious thoughts surged through me against these men whose lives and writings must be crammed into a weary student ' s brain. The heading of the next paragraph, Goldsmith ' s Comedies, stared at me in bold, black letters and was the last straw to break the back of my good humor. Oh Oliver, Oliver, I murmured in a sudden outburst of wrath, ' ' why didn ' t you die before you wrote anything! What! what! 3 ' ou blasphemer? screamed a falsetto voice in my ear, causing me to start violently, and there in the full glow of the lamp stood the most peculiar of little men, such a wizen, dried up creature, with a face seamed like a frozen apple and a figure bent with the weight of years. His eyes, though, glowed in a dangerous fashion, and the shaking finger which he pointed at me destroyed my composure. At loss for a reply, I sat gazing in open-mouthed astonishment, till the apparation, still spluttering from the first attack now went on with unabated violence: — Do you realize the enormity of your crime, you