Newport High School - Blunita Yearbook (Newport, PA)

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8 THE BLUE AND WHITE the command of the fort until he would return from transacting some business in Congress. RUTH CROUSE, ’24. Cornin’ Home. “Grand-daddy” Pearson sat close by the fire that gave out such a meagi bit of warmth and fingered his fiddle lovingly. The light of the open fire cast a ruddy glow on his rcgged features. The light was reflected in the old man’s eyes and deepened the wistful look on his countenance. He sighed and rose. Affectionately tucking the instrument under hi. chin he drew the bow across the strings. Softly the strains of “Home, Sweet Home” floated from the violin. Sweet and resonant rose the melody. Tears dimmed the old man’s eyes as he lingered over the last notes of the refrain: - “There’s no place like home.” Tenderly, he laid the violin on a shelf with the bow, then resumed his seat nearby. With elbows resting on his knees, and face hidden in his hands he sat. A pathetic silence pervaded the room. “Grand-daddy Pearson, as folks called h'm, lived alone. He had no known relatives and only his violin for company. This he loved. His abode was a little one-story shack in the center of a five acre field of miserable ground. From a cow and a few chickens he eked living sufficient for his wants. “Grand-daddy” Peaison’s fiddle was more of a necessity than the old man. Any person in the community planning an entertainment always called “Grand daddy” Pearson’s fiddle into use. It was the old fellow’s only pleasure, and he gloried in it. But tonight, he was sad. As far back as many folks could remember the little township school had always had a Washington’s Birthday celebration. Each time “Daddy Pearson’s fiddle had furnished the music for the statel m'nuet that the elder pupils of the school had danced. This year he had been rejected. A young fellow that played the fiddle had moved into the neighborhood. He was good-looking and popular. Hence the girls of the minuet voted for him to play the music for the dance. Tomorrow was the twenty-second of February. There he sat disheartened, discouraged. The slight had dulled his feelings to the extent that he oared not whether he lived or died. Thump! Bang! The door burst open, and in rushed a figure bundled in wraps. It was a boy. “Grand-daddy Pearson! Grand-daddy Pearson! Bring your fiddle and come on!” The old man raised his head. “Go ’way! Go ’way! I will go nowhere.” “But Grand-daddy Pearson, you must,” pers sted the boy, “you must!” Bursting into tears, he shouted incoherently, “Danny Winters brok-‘ through the ice on the river. They saved him, but he got pneumonia and is dying. Dying! Please come. He’s calling for you.” The old man stirred himself. A chill of terror shook his form, tie rose, took down the violin and strode out of the house. He wore neither coat nor hat. Br-r-r! The February cold chilled him to the bone. He

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Alter three 'weeks of hard riding through snow-covered forests anu drifted valleys, they finally arrived at Marietta, their desired destination. It was at the close or day and the brave frontiersmen were partaking of their evening meal. Connor was cordially greeted by his uncle, anu after a strengthening repast of bear’s meat and a friendly talk w'ith his host, he retired for the night. The next morning the eager adventurer arose at the first crow of the cock, and asked his uncle to go hunting with him. The uncle said that he would go with pleasure, but that there was some very important work to be done that morning and his presence was greatly needed He asserted that it was not safe for one so unacquainted with the habits of the wilderness to go alone, for the beasts of prey were very dangerous at that t me of the year, and there was a hunting party of hostile Indians at an uneasy distance from the settlement. However, when he saw his nephew's disappo'ntment, he said that he did not see any real danger in hunting near the fort, so Connor set out alone into the vai-t forest. What a wonderful feeling it was to be at last in the wild, but generous wilderness, where nature reigned and every friendly rock seemed to echo the words, liberty and freedom, far and wide! The deeper he penetrated the depths of the forest the better he felt, so on and on he walked until he unexpectedly came upon the track of a bear, ini-printed in the soft snow. Eagerly, he followed the close tracks and soon he saw the quadruped, itself, bearing its huge, fur-covered body along the bank of a frozen stream. The bear, seemingly unaware of his presence, moved slowly onward and finally entered a thicket, where it lay down sheltered from the wind. Connor walked rapidly, but cautiously, toward the liar of his game, and just as he was about to aim his true rifle, a strong, tawny hand snatched it from his grasp. The bear skin shook and a tall, fierce looking Indian rose to his feet. At that serious moment Conno pulled his reliable battle-axt from his belt an.l hurled it with all his strength at the head of his captor, who had scarcely time to relax his cramped limbs. Before Connor could regain his axe, he was seized by his other captor and thrown to the ground, but as he fell he grasped his assailant's belt and pulled him down. They both fought with wonderful endurance for many minutes, bui neither could overpower the othei until the young American arew netu his conquered captor and vega ned his battle-axe. which he thtn pressed against the breast of his enemy with marvelous strength. In searching the clothing of his victims, he found a letter, bearing a strange seal, hidden in a leather pouch. Curious to know its contents, he immediately started for the fort. As soon as he arrived there, he sought his uncle, who, having translated the letter, explained that it contained orders from the chief of the Sioux to his hunting party, commanding them to attack the fortress the following day. After this discovery, Connor was called The Savior of the Fort by the frontiersmen, and w’as highly honored by his uncle, who gave him

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stumbled on, heedless of everything, with his violin clutched to his bosom. A faint light in the distance beckoned him onward. At last he reached the farmhouse. He threw open the door. There in tlie kitchen stood a cot. From beneath white coverlets shone the pale face of the dying boy. Pearson strode to the cot. “Danny ’ he said tremulously to the inert form, don’t you know me? It’s I, Grand-daddy Pearson, for whom you used to carry in wood when I had the rheumatism.” Danny lay still. Pearson looked around. A doctor standing nearby shook his head. “He’s going to another land. He has asked for you to play. It may make things easier.’’ Pearson glanced at Mrs. Winters, standing in a corner, weeping and nodding consent. He placed his violin in position and drew his bow across the strings. Across the room floated his favorite—“Home, Sweet Home.” His' feeling of love, sorrow, despair, all went into the melody. The piece ended. Without a pause, he started, “Nearer My God to Thee.” A murmer caused him to look down. A flush had spread over the boy’s countenance. . I see Him. A mantle of white overspread his face. He heaved a sigh and Danny was gone with a smile upon his face. Pearson faltered a moment, then played on. Sweeter and sweeter grew the melody. The grief-stricken, parents were comforted by his exquisite music. Over and over again he played every piece he knew. At last he showed signs of weariness. Then slowly and solemnly he swung into the song, “Loid, I’m Com:ng Home.” As he neared the end of it his eyes closed. His bow touched the strings as a hand migh caress. At last he finished. He lowered his violin and placed it on the foot of Danny's cot. He knelt there and clasped his hands. Rowing his head on the breast of the lifeless form, he muttered. “Aye! Comin Home!’’ A silence pervaded the room. The physician walked over and touched Pearson. He started. He itiised the old man’s head and stared long at it. “Dead! Dead!” The next day the district school paid solemn tribute to the memory of Danny and Pearson. And it was in their memory that February twenty-second w'as henceforth observed. JOHN ADAMS, ’25. Lincoln Remodels a Character. “Abe, would you like to run my flat down to New Oreleans?” asked Mr. Cobden. Abraham Lincoln, better known to his neighbors .’s Honest Abe, on account of his uprightness of character and con scientiousness, reph’ed that he would be glad for the employment Thereupon, plans for the business expedition were formed. That evening Mr. Cobden would load his Hat with miscellaneous merchandise and the following morning Lincoln was to begin his journey to New Oreleans When the boat reached that great city, its burden would consst ot