Milton Academy - Yearbook (Milton, MA)

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trunk where she knew her grandfather kept old costumes and souvenirs, she heard a moaning sound from the corner. What was that? A ghost? A wounded burglar, or-or .... ? Mary Jane could not imagine. She looked in the corner again, but it was so dark to her unaccustomed eyes she couldn't discern a thing. She was scared, but hearing her grand- father's cheerful laughter ring out downstairs, she got control of her- self. Deciding that she must be brave, and that it was probably only the wind under the eaves which had often caused the same sound in her own attic, she went unsteadily over to the trunk on the far side of the room. Upon opening it, she found lovely, old-fashioned costumes. Absorbed in them, she soon forgot the moans. Two hours later, the luncheon gong brought Mary Jane back from her dreams of pretty young ladies in flowing dresses and white wigs dancing the minuet. Immediately she picked up the dresses, hastily dumped them back into the trunk, slammed the lid, and started down the stairs. Before she got half-way down, the moans sounded in her ears again. She stopped short. Another moan, this time louder, accompanied by a creaking sound of boards. A hasty glance over her shoulder showed Mary Jane a strange apparition glaring at her from the dark corner. With one resounding shriek, she tore down the stairs, screaming as she went, A burglar! A burglar! Help! Help! Where? anxiously demanded Grandfather Brown as he ran out to her, Where? Up attic, come quickly! she cried. He rushed up the stairs, and as he ran by a table in the second- floor hall, he snatched up a flashlight lying there. When they reached the attic, Mary Jane pointed to the corner where she had seen the figure. Her grandfather iiashed the light. There stood the dreadful ap- parition-a clothes dummy dressed in an old suit! E. Baker '42 WORKERS Men of a nation standing Beside her through debt and sorrow, With strength and power Grading a roadbed all day that the nerve-centers of .a nation may live! They are the nation's life-blood! Without the strength and well-being of the worker, A nation dies! J. Bentinck-Smith, '42 page thirty the fnagus

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fever and died. Soon Mandy came down with fever too. Night after night Hector sat watching over her, knowing that her end was near and that he could do nothing about it. He dared not even leave her to get food but sent the remaining two children to creep up to the cabins of the plantation at night and steal some from the other darkies When they failed to return, he suspected they had been caught by the overseer. Perhaps they had been whipped to death. Ik lk if lk Ill Ill Mandy had met her finish bravely. Her last words were those of encouragement to him. He had made her all sorts of promises of starting a plantation of his own and getting the children back. But he knew he could never live without her. As he lay on the rocky floor of the cave, he was half conscious of rough merciless hands tying him up. He might as well give him- self up now. His whole soul was gone. Once in a while when he awoke from his trance, he would find himself in a cage full of other dirty negroes and vermin, or trudging wearily through the fields, but al- ways wishing for the relief of death. One day the overseer turned him out. The plantation was lost and there was no longer any need for keeping him. In his delirium he remembered the little cave. He must get there. The whole world seemed to spin and turn black before him, but on he struggled, some- times crawling or pulling himself along the ground. He was breath- ing hard as he staggered through the gate and down to the Water's pebbly edge. Then he felt the cool shadow of the cave creep slowly over him. There was Mandy, still wearing in death her happy smile at the thought of Hector's last promises. Now he could die in peace. He was with her. Frances Byers '40 GRANDFATI-lER'S ATTIC The old attic stairs groaned despondently under Mary Jane as she tried cautiously to creep up without a sound. Steady rain beat rhythmically on the two little semi-circular windows of grandfather's attic. The fact that it was raining was really one reason why ten-year-old Mary Jane was there. Her mother had sent her over to grandfather's house because she was underfoot and continually asking what she could do. She had happily trotted over to the big house and had been greatly disappointed to find that her grandfather had guests. Feeling she was wanted no- where and no one cared a bit about what she did, she climbed the stairs to the attic. As she tip-toed on the creaking, warped boards to the horsehair tid e rn ag U S page twenty nine

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BIOGRAPHY OF HBETSEY ROSS Betsey Ross is a common old black and white cat with a scarred face and a lanky, black tail made thin by' tirelessly rapping on the floor for the amusement of generations upon generations of kittens. In her young days a family appeared every s'x months, to the pleasure of the children but to the dismay of the elders. But as old age creeps on Betsey, fshe is nearly fifteenj, she limits herself to one kitten a year. That one is enough to keep her busy, for she prefers to spend most of her time beneath the stove ruminating on events long past. Perhaps she thinks of the times she caught huge rats in the hen-house and of the dusty road as she dragged them to the feet of her master. Some- times a louder purr than usual is heard as she sleepily thinks of the time when she was fthe belle 'of the neighboring country-side with six handsome admirers courting her at once. What fights there were about her then! On windy nights she growls and twitches in her sleep, dreaming of being shot in the chest by mistake, having been taken for a stray cat, or when her face was torn in a fierce battle with a huge rat. Those are the times when, if her kitten wakes her rudely, she is apt 'to snarl and lay her ears back before she is thoroughly con- scious. In her day she could hold her own with any animal, and I have never seen her ability decrease. She can make a police dog, or any other kind of dog for that matter, turn tail and run with one rip of her needle-pointed claws, for old age has never slowed her lightning slash. She is treated with respect by every animal that has met her, and reigns supreme in both the kitchen and barnyard, a true lady of the old school. Anne Sturgis '40 the fnagus page thirty one