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

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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

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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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30 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. moved them piles back where they belong four times already an’ if I ketch him movin’ ’em again, I’ll blow his head off’n his shoulders.” From the house sounded the dinner bell. Joseph Moore and his hired men trooped in to wash up. “Faith, that rat next door stole my land afore breakfas’, I guess, and we’ve been all morning moving the stones back to where they ought to be, delayin’ pick¬ in’ the apples. That critter’s makin’ himself a general pest. Jim said he got ravin’ because they said down to the store that his girl and Tommy was gettin’ pretty intimate. I’d ask Tommy about it, only I know no son of ours would have anythin’ to do with that hussy.” “I think you might settle about that land peaceably, Tim. It’s mighty lonesome here with never a soul to drop in to borrow a cup of sugar nor go visitin’.” Night found “Big Tim” hauling stones, thinking out loud as is a habit of men who are alone much. “He’ll take this as a final warnin’ that I mean business and he’ll leave my lan’ alone. I reckon he knows I’m a dangerous enemy by this time an’ not to be trifled with. That breeze smells like wood smoke. The big fire up north that Jack was tellin’ us about must be ragin’ still. If young Moore doesn’t leave Bet alone, I’ll blow his carcass full o’ holes. The big hulkin’ thief! Just a chip off’n the old block. Shouldn’t wonder if he could tell where the Widow Saunder’s pig went las’ week. I heard them say down to the store th’ other nigh’ tha’ she was meetin’ him on the sly, but I reckon they’ll shet their traps about associatin’ her name with that tramp’s agin. Gitup, Jenny, we gotta hustle up.” The next morning Joe was interrupted in his fields by an imperative sum¬ mons. “The big fire’s blowin’ down this way.” Joe and his son immediately left their work with all available hired men and went to fight. Big Tim also answered the call. They fought for hours with bucket, ax and shovel and with a west wind succeeded in stopping its progress south. The wind was driving it toward Brennon but the town was surrounded by a large grassy plain where the fire could be stopped, so Gray and Moore and their help were kept back to prevent the spread southward and because the others were annoyed by their everlasting distrust. The wind changed a little to the northwest and ran a spur between them and Brennon. Night brought a calm in which they fought with ax and shovel for conquest before the morning breeze. It came a straight north wind, sweeping red and black destruction on their homes. Forgotten was their feud. They fought the fire until they were blistered and raw. Their eyes were scarlet and almost blind from smoke, the tears washing furrows in their black faces. They retreated to the creek. It was their last hope. It was very narrow and muddy, but they might by cutting the trees on both sides and soaking them with mud stall it. For two days constant watch had to be kept over a mile of the creek for stray sparks. At the end of that time the fire had burned everything within reach. Anxiety relaxed and trouble began. For the first time in years they spoke directly to each other and not to their wives. “That land’s mine and I’m going-” Big Tim stopped. Over on one of the chopped trees Bet was sitting and Tommy beside her with one arm around her. “That beggarly upstart—” he began. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he stopped. “Let’s give the land to them,” said Joe. Tim looked at him a moment and said: