Momence High School - Monesse Yearbook (Momence, IL)

Page 24 text:

24 JUNIOR YEAR BOOK. ANITA. BY LAURA KELSEY. At the door of the Opera House in one of our most influential cities stood a slender little Italian fruit girl of some ten years of age, waiting for her generous customers to stream forth from the interior. She had learned from experience that people were disposed to buy of her upon coming from long wearisome rehearsals, but she was also attracted to the spot by the fact that she could from her station, eagerly listening, often catch strains of intricate Operas, to carry home and faithfully reproduce on her violin, the one all-absorbing thought of her life being that of her violin and she was from mere babyhood, a prodigy in the art. At last the great doors swung open and the little Anita was kept busy supplying her pa¬ tron’s wants from her stand, until the last few stragglers had departed. As she was gather¬ ing up her wares, a young man, the leader of the orchestra came slowly down the steps and the child’s sad little face brightened somewhat as he greeted her. Bowed down and crushed by his own overwhelming sorrow in lately losing his only sister, Helene, Robert Allsworth, had been strongly attracted to the little dark eyed fruit girl, by the look of unutterable pain and sorrow which rested so strangely upon her face, and had become quite friendly with her. Today, it seemed to him that the great eyes were fuller than usual of their untold story of suffering and instantly divining the cause he said gently, “Take these and get something to help the mother” and reaching into his pocket he pulled his hand out full of loose coins which he emptied quickly into the basket on her arm. Amply rewarded by the look of unconscious relief which spread over her olive tinted face, he hurried away to his desolate quarters. Anita meanwhile hastened swiftly thru the streets to the darker, mean¬ er, portion of the city, entering at last a wretched little hovel situated at the extreme end of the alley. Stepping to the side of a bed where on lay a young and beautiful tho wasted wo¬ man, she was soon busy conversing in the soft sibilants of her native tongue. The sick woman’s face was a somewhat childish tho very earnest one. Her luxuriant hair was loosely parted over a broad brow and extended far below her waist line. The mouth was sweet and tender and drooped at the corners like a grieved nun’s. The most striking part of her features was her great brown eyes, Anita’s own which gave to her whole face an ineffable look of sadness. At her request the beloved violin was taken from the shelf held sacred to it and both took route tor fairy land itself upon the bridge—like golden vibrating notes of Schumad’s “Trau- merei” the dream song, of dream songs. After a first shiver as from an icy clutch at her heart, the dying woman leaned back on her pillows and went back into a past which she had fancied forgotten. Dreaming, dreaming of the dear old days in Sunny Italy, of him whose name she bore, who used to bring his violin and play to her when the twilight came and they sat together in the sun’s last warm glow. He was in his grave now, and this tune flowing on and on, spoke of those old memories and with a moving sweetness awoke all the laments of her lonely soul. At last the music stopped and fearing to awaken her mother from the reverie into which she had fallen, Anita stole softly out, intending to procure for her those articles which the doctor had with a forlorn hope advised Always a timid and sensitive child it was a trial for her to at any time pass after dark thru crowded street and now her heart filled with evil forebodings tor the condition ot her mother whom she adored with all her childish strength, she became bewildered and upon attempting to cross a crowded thoroughfare, was suddenly struck down by a reckless cab driver’s sudden swerve of his horse and was carried unconcious to the hospital.

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JUNIOR YEAR ROOK. 23 H. R. LITTLE. The fact that the great sun has of late acquired a fickle temper and fre¬ quently refuses to shine, disturbs not the pupils of the Momence High School for the Little sun was always present, with his cheery humor to dispel the gloom. When the black clouds of dissention arise and the thunder rolls ominously, instead of hiding behind the clouds, he so persistently pours diplomatic light upon them, that they soon disappear and all is serene and pleasant again. He does not try to attract attention or magnify himself by shining thru the colored glass of affectation, and whatever his penetrating rays fall upon, appears in the original and true light. Not only on the High School, but on all of the Momence Schools, does he lavishly shed his warm beams, and causes the young sprouts to shoot tipward. The great motto of his life is promptness in all things: willing, and never behind time, he is always to be relied on in cases of emergency. Faithful and honest hearted he is, and, as the Little sun of the Momence Schools has disappeared beyond the horizon of High School life, cold and deep is the gloom that has settled thereon. The following is a very brief account of his life. H. P. Little was born at Cerro, G-ordo, Ill., on March 6th, 1858. His father was at that time a member of the Illinois conference, and a rule of that organization required all regular pastors to move as often as once in two years. The family lived successively at Cerro Gordo, Decatur, Taylorville, Virden, Delavan, Beardstown, Urbana, Lincoln, Bloomington, Quincy , and then moved back to Lincoln. At the age of fourteen Mr. Little entered the Illinois Wesleyan University at Bloomington and attended that institution for three years. He then kept books for a firm of wood dealers, at Quincy, for one year, after which he took charge of his grandfather’s farm at Perry, Iowa, and ran it for four years. He then en¬ tered the University of Illinois with the class of ’83, graduating in the school of Chemistry, College of Natural History, with the degree of B. S. After finishing the course at the University he taught school for two years in the country, then four years at Sadorus, Ill., and one year at Rantoul. Ill. Here he met his “finish,” for, after teaching two years at Momence. he suddenly brought one of his High School pupils of that city, Miss Mabel Morris, to share his joys and sorrows. To them have been born five children four of whom are living. Shortly before coming to Momence. Mr. Little took the four days “grind,” as the state examinations are called, and succeeded in landing a state certificate, good for life. He now proposes to drop the business of teaching and adopt that of man¬ ufacturing, so as to lay up a large amount of property, for his old age. He de¬ clares that teaching is the most delightful business in which he has ever engaged—but “There’s no money in it,” and money is something which a mar¬ ried man must have. Selah.

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JUNIOR YEAR BOOK. 25 Here the child lay for days and days motionless and silent—At last with returning sensibil¬ ity, she cried unceasingly for her mother until thinking she had been merely stunned and was now recovered, the hospital authorities allowed her to go and with a sort of hazy cloud over her mind which she herself could not understand Anita went as in a dream to the old home and once more entered the familiar little room. Her quick eye sought the corner where she had been wont to receive a tender greeting but to-day she saw it was empty. Intuitively she knew all. Forsaken by her child, friendless and alone, the long struggle had ended and her mother had been taken away. With a low moan she flung herself upon the pallet. For hours she lay there. Not a sound escaped her. Occasionally a tremor swept over the slender form and was gone. At times the fingers clasped convulsively about the pillow where last the dear head had rested. Twilight came on and but a faint streak of golden light shot in thru the open doorway, gilding with splendor the squallor which the deepening dusk so mercifully concealed. At last she slowly rose, took her violin and began to play There was an old, old look on the face of the child and she gazed with wide unseeing eyes into the murky shadows of the room, playing on and on. With no one to hear, only the beloved instrument to comfort, she poured out her story; the happy, happy days of so long ago, vague, mystic, memories of her babyhood. Then sorrow, desolation and want; sickness and privation. All the longing of her little soul for that which is bright and beautiful. All the darkness and dreariness which had been granted her and still the wonderful music flowed on and on and on. Meanwhile Robert Allsworth, alarmed by the continued absence of his little friend, in¬ quired of the kindly old Irish woman on the corner as to Anita’s home and resolved to seek her out. Picking his way among the heaps of refuse which always abound in such quarters he had sought all day with no result when, just as he was about to give up the search in despair, the clear notes of a violin fell on his ear and he was held spellbound by the beauty,strength and tenderness which constituted the few opening measures of Anita’s song. Listening, as she poured out her tragic story, he knew at once that he had found her and with some nameless fear tugging at his heart, he entered the little hovel before which he was standing and spoke to her. He seemed to possess some strange subtle influence over the child Without a word she followed him to his own home and in all the days of fever and delirium which im¬ mediately followed, only he could govern her wild ravings and fanatic impulses. Upon her recovery her mind was a blank. She lived only for Robert. Her great brown eyes followed him as long as he was in her sight and only for him would she ever again play. Then, all she could produce was that wailing symphony which she had first played there alone in the old home. One night, as the famous leader was about to take his place and arrange the music for that evening’s performance, he felt a tug at his sleeve and upon looking down, saw to his con¬ sternation that Anita had followed him to the Opera House, before which she had so long ago stood and cried her wares. She held her violin clasped tightly to her breast and in her large appealing eyes, upturned to his face, he read the beseeching request to be allowed to remain by his side. No one could have the heart to refuse a child in her condition and upon his gladly granting her wish she crouched at his feet like a faithful dog and drank in the music of that evening’s Opera. Toward’s the evening’s close, a sudden resolve shone in the great leader’s face and with a quick movement stooped and lifted the child to her feet saying softly “Anita, play for me!’ ' She sighed deeply, fixed her yearning eyes upon her protector’s face and began. After the first few notes a hush, awful in its silence, swept over the audience. Whatever it was. it spoke with a moving sweetness and the great hall was filled with music of such awful tenderness and strength that it seemed absurd to connect it with so small a performer. Sweet as it was