Morris High School - Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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tllurh Abu Ahnut Nnihing nr a Olnmehg GU nf Errnrn Dramatis Personae M. Brio Riter two Morrisites in the throes of an attack Woodby Author of writitis TIME As you like it. SCENE What you will. QW. A. enters and finds M. B. B. digging fiercely . into the depths of an ture-inspiring 11olnine.j W. A.-Hullo, what's up? Oramming for a change? M. B. If.-Hullo, Oh, just performing a gymnastic feat. W. A.-Eh? M. B. R.-Hullo. Oh, simply reading. Looking bark- ward. ' I W. A.-This way, gentlemen, step up for the first prize- but say, cut this out. I've got a swell ideag let's write some- thing for the Annual. M. B. R.-All right, motion adopted. Say, but won't it be great! W. A.-Oh, the renown that will be ours! Oh, the glory to our names! We stand on the threshold of eternal fame, ready to be welcomed by our equals in genius! How the simpering beginners, our Freshmen brethern, will look up to us,-how all Morrisites will delight in the reading of the fruits of our talents! M. B. R.-They will be'Morris sights, indeed. CSearching for divers writing materials. In the I excitement natnrol to the inspired, they collideg and M. B. R. with the aid of the splashing ink, .stumps on intricate avrchitectrnal plan-on the angeli- - cally nptnrned visage of his co-aspirant. However, the Tempest soon snbsides and peace reignsj. M. B. R.-Well, let 's begin. W. A.-Whaddayemean-begin? First we must have some idea of the plot. M. B. R.-Gee, I never thought of that. But I don't need any plot. I could write a fine essay on Socialism, W. A.-Haw-Haw, There 's another of your gymnastic feats. This time it's Spanish ...... throwing the bull. V M. B. R.-I've got it! An article on bulls. Bulls as opposed to the crowning virtue. Papal bulls, policemen in terms of the underworld, bullies .... 35

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A GIFT FROM GOD felt sigh of relief, the small adventurer left behind him the ground where he had spent practically all his life. Thus little Lawrie started to look for a new life, instinctively bending his steps toward the country, trudging steadfastly on, hope rising high in his little heart. One hour, two, three passed, the houses grew farther apart, fewer people were to be seen, and still the child kept on and on. At last, nearly blinded by mud, sleep and tears, he sat down to look around, not knowing where to go, and crying miserably, hopelessly, wishing he were in his hard bed at the Orphanage. But he started up again as his eyes fell upon a gate standing invitingly open. Looking only for a place to sleep, the child painfully dragged himself up and, once inside the grounds, found shelter in the sweet-smelling barn close by. No sooner had he nestled into the soft hay than his eyelids drooped, and sleep, the great soother of sorrow, came, and made him forget, in childish dreams. Next morning when Jonas Higbie went into the barn he came upon a strange sight. Huddled up in the soft hay a child was lying tear-stained and muddy, sleeping soundly. VVords failed the spectator and all he could murmur was, Hlling bust it, how in the world -But soon, regaining some- what his self-possession, he called loudly, Mary! Mary! His wife, a sweetfaced delicate little woman, with large wistful eyes, came running at the summons. VVhy, J onas, what is the matter -but following his glance she too saw the little sleeper. Mary, cried the farmer, HI-low do you think he could have got in here? Whose boy is he? following question with questionj But the little woman, with tears in her eyes, was gazing at the child with a Wonder- ful expression, murmuring incoherently, How like little Jim- dear, dear little boy-looks just as old as my own little one wasf, Awakened by the wondering scrutiny, Lawrence gazed sonic- what wildly around him with his big blue eyes. Then realizing his strange surroundings he smiled, and in a voice that be- witched the motherly little woman said, Hello, I came to find a mama ltause I haven it any. Is heaven very far from here? At this farmer Jonas, whose eyes were also wet now, said in a husky voice, '4Mary, it's a gift from God. A little child has come to us instead of dear little J iininief' And, indeed, that night when Lawrie said his prayers close to Mary and John, thanking God for his new mama and papa, Mary with a choking in her throat felt it was indeed a gift from God. 4 VERA TELL I 3

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