Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

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28 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. The men prepared to sleep, and the women to keep them awake, as the ser¬ mon began. The theme of the sermon was: “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” All heads inclined slightly toward the committee pew. A silent, yet im¬ pressive interest strained the preacher to eloquence. For he had a motive in his selection of the text. He would show these women, who, under cloak of beatific righteousness, daily destroy the reputations of their neighbors. He realized that these blind, egotistical women were so far immersed in their own wickedness as to believe themselves impeccable. He struck at the very root of the evil. The sermon lasted fifteen minutes. Into these few minutes were -heaped all the eloquence, indignation, enthusiasm and contempt which the preached could entertain. Never had an audience been so moved. Mrs. Hoy, who had forgotten her ear trumpet (as was her custom on Sundays), was in a half-standing posture, en¬ deavoring to catch every word. And Samanthy—Samanthy listened with an air of complete misunderstanding. Her very appearance pleaded boredom. When all the other members of the parish were shedding unashamed tears, including the committee, Samanthy gazed coldly and disapprovingly upon them, and changed her intentions—not a mite. When she returned home, she sat down and meditated on the sermon. The doorbell rang, Samanthy started from her reverie, then quickly opened the door. “Miss Allen?” her visitor queried pleasantly. “Come, why, come in,” said Samanthy, puzzled and not overcourteous. Then- “Yes ?”—inquiringly. “Miss Allen, do you recall knowing Jarvis Trenton?” Samanthy paled, her chin trembled and she nodded almost imperceptibly as she replied: “I knew him once.” “Well,” said Xenia slowly, for it was she, “recently I have taken a course in a French hospital. It was there I met Dr. Trenton. We became friends, the best of friends; in fact, we were confidants”-(Samanthy’s hands gripped her chair)—“He asked me to tell you, Miss Allen, that he was still waiting for your answer; also that he had watched each mail for twenty years and had never given up hope, and really, he is quite handsome!” “He always was,” Samanthy said softly, her eyes far away. “And if you are not tired of listening, I have a confession to make,” said the girl, her eyes twinkling. “I told that queer woman, Petunia—(she happened to be a dear friend of Samanthy s) quite a story about my being a beauty expert. She simply devoured it!” Miss Campbell laughed, as if Petunia was the greatest joke ever; perhaps she was. Samanthy had lost her speech for a moment, and sat staring at her visitor. “I really must go, but, please don’t neglect Jarvis any longer, because he doesn t deserve it. With this Miss Xenia quickly left the room, and in a moment she was gone. Samanthy’s stiff pride broke down, and tears welled to her eyes, and she sobbed as if her proud old heart would break. Several hours later Samanthy emerged from her sitting-room a changed woman. Her harsh mouth was actually gentle, her nose seemed shorter and her lightly streaked hair, usually pulled back tightly, had escaped and was playing with sunshine.

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 27 THE LAST OF THE VIGILANTES. “There is so much bad in the best of us, And so much good in the worst of us, That it really behooves the most of us To speak very well of the rest of us.” The ladies met in Samanthy Allen’s sitting room, an upholstered affair with many knick-knacks and sea-shells, for their weekly meeting. This gathering was organized for the sole purpose of keeping peace and decorum in the community; in truth, it was sort of a vigilant committee, which inwardly was feared by the town in general. No one knew who was to be attacked next. If you had a “past” or a “secret,” it would be ferreted out by this gracious committee and you were ostracized from human society. These gentle ladies met weekly. This was an important meeting. Indeed, as they politely sat down, and po¬ litely every one avoi ded the horsehair sofa, there was an air of suppressed excite¬ ment, for to-day, to-day they had something to talk about and how they liked to talk! Samanthy, tall and spare, with a long nose and talkative chin, cleared her throat. Every one sat up expectantly. “We are gathered here to-day, as is our custom, to safeguard the morals of the community, and particularly to discuss the arrival of a parasite into our midst, one-” With this she stopped, at the request of one Mrs. Hoy, who was deaf and asked her to repeat. “WE ARE GATHERED”—she repeated loudly. Mrs. Hoy sat back in her chair, thanked her and calmly rocked to and fro. She knew this ritual by heart—why extend the suspense? Samanthy smiled frigidly, and once more- “-to discuss one ‘Madame Xenia,’ who has voiced intent to open a beauty parlor.” Impressive silence—breath-taking. “We will take measures at once,” said Samanthy crisply, “As we have suffi¬ cient material to act upon in form of records, etc.” She proceeded to narrate several minor incidents which invariably occur in the normal life of every woman in the universe. She continued: “She has been a manicurist”—a knowing wink passed over the top of the report. “Later a hairdresser” Silence. “Married.” A pause. “Separated.” Gasps, many of them. “Correct age, twenty-three.” With finality. “And this, my dear helpmates, concludes my report and brings us to that period when we shall interfere in the course of this intended ruination of the un¬ impeachable moral standing of the town.” Samanthy stopped and received the looked-for approval. The next meeting of the dear ladies would certainly be the deathblow to Madame Xenia. Thus they departed for their own hearths. Sunday the vigilant committee, true to form, occupied the foremost rows in the church.

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 29 Suddenly she sat up. A step—who? At this time? A low, deep voice called hopefully, “Samanthy.” A soft, tremulous voice exclaimed, “Oh, Jarvis.” Catherine C. Mackay, ’24. ON PERVERSITY. Of all oddities there is perhaps none more inexplicable than the perversity of human nature. The incentives which instigate its existence are often as vague as the condition itself. It is prevalent among young and old. There is the childish perversity of youth which to a certain extent is justifiable, but the di¬ rect perversity of those of mature years is little less than a deliberate ignorance. This is admirably exemplified in the case where two persons will pass each other on the street apparently totally unaware of the other’s presence, while in reality they are cognizant of the other’s proximity. There is the perversity of two children who have harbored opposing views, who have clashed, and yet both peep shyly from obscurity, each waiting for the other to approach with a forgiving heart and smile. There is the perversity of lovers. An unintentional slight, a hasty word, or perhaps the whispering of gossip, and friction and unpleasant relations ensue. There is the perversity of the coquettish woman who trifles with numerous mem¬ bers of the opposite sex for the satiation of her vanity or for momentary amuse¬ ment, and then her airy rejection for some new attraction. Perhaps it is that indefinable craving for novelty. There is the perversity of old age,—fretful longings, supposed injuries, or the attribution of calamity to hard luck. But be it the perversity of the old, the young, or of any kind or manner, we all have been guilty of peryerse thoughts and acts. The thing is as old as Time itself. There is a certain inexplicable and unreasonable intricacy about it. I challenge anyone to prove that he has never been perverse. There are no exceptions. The disease is universal, and as far as I can tell, Science has not yet produced a remedy or a cure. Thurston Stowers, ’24. LAND ENEMIES. “That there skunk on the next farm went and shifted them stone piles over on to my land again.” Thus Mr. Timothy Gray described his neighbor and his re¬ cent activities. “Why don’t you get the law on him?” inquired his wife, “They’d put him where he belongs—stealing an honest man’s land like that!” “Now, M’randy, I tol’ you afore that when Tim Gray gets so old an’ feeble he can’t walk and defend his own lan’ against rascals an’ knaves like him yonder, he’ll call in a lawyer and not afore. I’ll show him tomorrer whose lan’ it is, You’d think he’d know by this time that I’ll fight to my last drop of blood. I’ve