Momence High School - Monesse Yearbook (Momence, IL)

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M. E. CHURCH. VIEW OF OLD DAM. CENTRAL SCHOOL. ST. PATRICK’S PARSONAGE CHURCH. MOMENCE WATER WORKS PLANT.

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PARISH CHAPEL. LAYING WATER MAINS. EPISCOPAL RECTORY, NORTH BRIDGE.

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JUNIOR YEAR BOOK. £n ’ 61 . First Prize Story— by Sadie Crosby. “Little mother, I have something to tell you which you will think is bad news.” “Max,—what?” The tall, handsome young man put his arm around his mother before he answered gently: “Your two sons are to wear the blue.” “Do you mean that you and Davie are drafted?” The last word was said hesitatingly, as one picks up a bomb. “Yes, that is just it.” Does Davie know?” “Yes.” Then he read the question in her eyes. “He didn’t say a word, mother, but his face got as pale as death. It’s going to be hard for him. I don’t mind for myself. I want to go and help, but I wish you could keep Davie with you.” “Oh! I don’t see how I can let him go, Max. It’s dif¬ ferent with you. You are so brave,—almost too brave. But Davie was never meant for anything like that. He will have a great deal more to struggle against than you will. He will have,—that—and all the rest, too. Oh! my poor boy!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. Davie’s weakness was always spoken of as “that’’ by his mother and brother. His father had been a coward, and Davie was the unfortunate victim of it. When a child, he was terrified by Fourth of July fireworks, and now, a young man, he was just as terrified by those larger fire-works which work so much havoc with human life. His mother had early recognized his cowardice, and, trying to counter¬ balance it, she had taught him to reverence the flag, and had made a true patriot of him. Now, his head bowed low upon his chest, he was coming dejectedly up the walk, in pitiable contrast to his usual happy, erect carriage. Max caught sight of him thru the window. “He’s coming, mother,’’ he warned. “You mustn’t let him see you like that.” Mrs. Ross ran hastily from the room, and Max turned to meet his brother. Davie kept his face averted, and crossing the room to a window, stood looking gloomily out. With two great strides, Max was by his side, and, clapping his hand on his shoulder, said: “Don’t take it so hard old boy. It won’t be half so bad as you think. Why, man, there isn’t a truer patriot in this wide land than you, and when you get there, and know you are fighting for your country, you will be as brave as the best. And besides,” he added softly, “You must bear up for mother’s sake, Davie.” Davie turned and gripped his hand. “You are a good fellow, Max, and I will remember what you said about mother. But it is different with you, and you don’t un¬ derstand. You will do something for your country and make mother proud of you, while I will do nothing but disgrace myself and make her ashamed of me. Oh you needn’t say anything! You know how it always has been with me, a—a miserable coward, afraid of a fire-cracker! How under the sun do you think I am going to stand up there, with flying bullets and dead and dying men all around me, and deliberately shoot down my fellow men? It will kill me, and I hope it will, the very first day. That will save me from disgracing you all. I don’t see why I needed to be so cursed.” “Davie Ross! Do you know what you are saying? I am ashamed of you! More than I will be if you run in every battle. Is that the way a patxfiot talks? Is that the