North Quincy High School - Manet Yearbook (North Quincy, MA)

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8 MANE T her brother, who lived at some distance, telling her of the death of his only son, who had been drowned the previous day. He was learning to swim and had been seized with cramps. Grandmother still sat with folded hands and swaying body, and I could hear her repeat softly, Ooh, och, yes, yes, it was the fore- runner as I very well knew. The voices and the cries of Sandy could mean but one thing to a 3IacNeil, news of sorrow and sudden death. And Sandy, sensing Grandmother's grief, came over and gently licked her hands. Mabel MacDonald, 10. WAN LEE'S BOWL The length of Mervin Street contained within its boundaries and tributaries the city 's China- town. Quite like the Chinatowns of most cities the streets were lined with laundries, little oddity shops and restaurants from whose doors, odors of mysterious origin stole tantalizingly when fog hung its curtain over the city. In- deed the whole street was pervaded with a ghostly tracing of scent associated with the Oriental, vaguely reminiscent of the crowded, narrow thoroughfares of Shanghai and Pekin. In the cold light of dawn when the empty street showed bare and dirty, when the signs clattered and a whisp of paper danced rattling down the gutter with the wind, Mervin Street closely resembled the other streets of the down- town slum district. But in the evening the old street came out of its doors and donned a dif- ferent aspect. Shadowy figures in long gar- ments flitted to and fro among the circles of light patterned by the street lamps. the soft monotonous patter of Oriental voices formed a blur of sound and the pungent tang of incense floated imperceptibly on the air. Then Mervin Street became intangible, bafflingly distant, a closed door. . The warmth of morning gilded its lacquered signs and peeked between its closed shutters and Chinatown became once more friendly. Delightful little yellow babies with mops of shiny black hair played about its door steps and soft eyed little women bargained with Charlie Tan-Fu at his food shop on the corner. Between Sam Yen's laundry and Lin Tsu's bulb store across from the importing house of the Honourable Kwong Tu-Hsiang was a little shop of only one window over which swiuig a black sign lettered in red and gold-XVan Lee --surmounted by some Chinese characters which literally translated meant. Pin-veyor of baublcs. trinkets and articles of pleasing love- lint-ssf' The one window was lined with gold cloth which shone dimly in the shadows of the recess. The only object in the window was a bowl. A bowl seeming ordinary at first glance. lovely at the second, and incomparably beautiful on still further inspection. It was of green flecked with white and so delicately thin that the warm rays of the sun shone through it with a clear green light. Its shape was of an exceedingly graceful symmetry, supported by six carven onyx claws. As the light fell through the side a most exquisite pattern was revealed, so lightly and finely traced as to be almost imperceptible. The lip of the bowl represented a line of water breaking over the edge so that the bowl 'of green light appeared to be brimming with a clear translucent liquid. For many years the bowl had remained in lVan Lees window undisturbed except for an occasional cleaning. For many years VVan Lee had kept his bowl despite the temptation of fabulous sums which had been offered con- stantly for it. One day a man had entered the little shop with its dark shadows lit by flickering tapers. which threw back countless gleams from metals on the shelves. glowed in the heart of the large ruby which reposed on the lap of a small deity, and shone on the polished brow of a huge ivory joss. He stood and listened speculatively to the distant tiny chimes of miniature temple bells set swinging by his entrance, shifted from one foot to the other and gazed about him with a slightly uneasy expression. Presently be became aware of a small man seated behind the counter. An odd personagc. very bent and old, wearing a skull cap and a dark flowered robe. His face was old and wizened and a slender whisker depended from the lower lip. His eyes were kindly and very ancient, old rather with age than age yet under- standing and human in their aspect. The bony hands were delicate and worn yet sensitive. they trembled slightly as he laid aside a roll of parchment and rose to greet his customer. You wish-, gentleman? with a slight ges- ture that indicated the miscellany of the shop. The man absently flapped his gloves against the counter then looked up at the Chinese. YVell-er-to tell you tl1e truth Mr Lee, I'm a collector, a connoisseur of Oriental antiqua- tion. I believe the bowl in your window tl1c product of a certain house whose work is ex- tremely rare. I would like to price it if possi- ble. You see. Mr. Lee. I have been very frank with you as I realize from your display of goods that you must have an expert understanding of such matters. Ah, my dear sir. the bowl is yours already. Yours for the seeing and therefore inconceiv- ably more precious. since in your imagination the bowl will be complete, superb as the won- derful mind conceives its image in all its orig- inal perfection and surrounds it with the glamor of remembered beauty. If I should sell you my bowl it would of necessity become a possession cheapened by .contact and as the years progressed, seen by you alone it would lose a fraction of its lustre and become merely

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MANET 7 Q SHORT STORY CONTEST Many and varied were the contributions to the Short Story Contest. A committee of teachers consisting of Mr. Hofferty, chairmang Miss Bradley, Miss Gomley, Miss Currier, and Miss Marriner acted as judges. The first prize of three dollars was won by Mabel MacDonald of the tenth grade, the second prize of two dollars was given to Eliza- beth Balcom, of the tenth grade, the third prize of one dollar was won by Elinor Reilly of the tenth grade. First honorable mention was attained by Marjorie Bennington of the ninth grade, second honorable mention by Hazel Borne of the tenth grade and third honorable mention by Priscilla lVallace of the ninth grade. First honorable mention in poetry was given to Bernice Lyford of the ninth grade for her poem on t'Sunset , second honorable mention to Elizabeth Balcom of the tenth grade for her poem on Yision g third honorable mention to Hazel Borne of the tenth grade for her poem on Cloud Fanciesf' THE FORERUNNER -A TRUE STORY It was night. A glorious harvest moon rode majestically across a starlit sky, shedding her silvery light on field and grove, wooded hill and quiet valley. Across the fields a beautiful river wound its graceful way to the sea. Like a silver ribbon it lay reflecting on its placid sur- face the illumination of the heavens. ' Grandmother and I sat beside the window. Mother and Brother Bruce had gone to the post-office and general store which held forth in the next village to ours, a distance of about two miles. We were alone, except for our be- loved little Scotch Terrior, Sandy, who lay con- tentedly snoring at our feet. Nearby stood a chenile covered table, on which sat a large pedestalled oil lamp, its fat bowl gay with scar- let flannel, which floated slowly around in the oil. But tonight the lamp was not burning. Grandmother loved to sit in the moonlight and look out across the river beyond which lay her father's farm, where on a slight eminence, be- side a clump of evergreen trees, stood her father's house, the house in which she was born, reared, and married. Grandmother was a wonderful story teller, but only under certain conditions. There' must be quiet, we must pay attention, and we must believe what she told us. And tonight when she asked me to blow out the lamp, and come sit beside her, I knew I was to hear some- thing that happened in the long, long ago. First, she told me of an incident in the life of the late Queen Victoria, who was Grand- mother's ideal of all that was fine and noble in womanhood. Then came a story of the elves which were supposed to inhabit the lakes and streams, valleys and hills, of old Scotland. At a most interesting point in the story, we suddenly heard voices, the familiar voices of mother and Brother Bruce, coming from the direction of the path, which led from the main road, but was hidden from our view, by the great barn. I sprang up and ran to the door, but as I opened it the voices'seemed to fade away-and no one appeared around the corner of the barn. At the same moment, Sandy, who had followed me, raised his head and emitted a long, doleful cry. Grandmother rose hastily and closed the door. She patted the trembling Sandy head and spoke a quiet word to him, and then returned to her chair by the window. I was puzzled by what had happened, but Grandmother only answered my surprised ex- clamations by asking me to be seated again beside her, and to be very quiet. After perhaps three or four minutes, the voices of mother and Bruce again came clearly to our listening ears. Again I ran and opened the door, but as before the voices died out and no one appeared. And once more, Sandy gave tongue in a long mournful wail. This time I was really alarmed, and nervously questioned Grandmother as to her opinion of the strange occurrence. It is a forerunner, child, she said. A forerunner, what is that Grandmother? I asked. It is the sign that is sent to the Mac- Neilsf, she replied, in a low and reverent voice. fGrandmother was a lVIacNeil.j We call it the forerunner. It appears in many a guise, some one of which comes to us before great trouble, death, or disaster. VVe shall hear some news tonight. I have been warned to be prepared, and Sandy has seen what we have only heard, for dogs you know have the gift of second sight. And so Grandmother sat, with tightly clasped hands and gently swaying body, while I with pounding heart crouched beside her, holding fast to her skirts. Then for the third time we heard the voices, but this time they had a reality and nearness, and in a moment the forms of mother and Bruce appeared on the path which led from the barn to the house. VVhen they had entered the house, and the lamp had been lighted, I knew at once from the gravity of their faces and by their subdued voices, that something unusual had occurred. And then they told us. Mother had received a letter that night from

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MANET 9 --a bowl. No, I cannot sell to you my bowl I can only give it to you thus. 'With a puzzled frown the rich man contein- plated the top of his gold headed cane, glanced specnlatively at an ebony statuette and finally his eyes travelled back to the calm face of Wan Lee. Ah, yes, indeed, I see your point. Very lovely and all that but- He paused as VVan Lee's face became imper- turable. The ancient Chinese replied, t'No, and again no. For twenty-seven years this bowl has been in the possession of every passerby for him to delight in. Shall I take it from them and place it behind the closed doors of your home? The man with a slightly uncomfortable feel- ing straightened his hat and left with a few mumbled words of farewell. Behind him in the little shop VVan Lee shook his head slowly and sighed. Suddenly his face lighted-up as he perceived another entering. Leaving his seat behind the counter he pro- ceeded to greet his visitor. Wan Lee you have sent for me? 'fYes, my dear friend. At last I may grant the wish you have held these many years. I am very old and of late I have heard the great Tsen-Ling call. I' wish to return to China that I may lay my so humble body at the feet of my honorable ancestors. Now, Huy Vlfong I have sent for you that I may give my bowl to you. Ah, NVan Lee, you are most generous, I and all the others know how you have kept your bowl to express your beautiful philosophy. It will be placed where all visitors shall most easily view its sublime perfection and thus prolong the joy you have so long imparted. But, O IVan Lee I am very sad when I think of Mervin Street without your little shop? Then with a happy smile VVan Lee with the curator of Chinese Antiquity in the Municipal Museum passed into another room. A few days later the rich man passing through Mervin Street signalled his chauffeur to stop before the little shop with the one win- dow. Eagerly he crossed the street questing another sight of the beautiful bowl. In the win- dow an ivory Buddha reposed serenely, the bowl was gone. As he retraced his steps and climbed into the car he muttered, Queer, these Orientals-. Elizabeth Balcom, I0-2. IN PICARDY In this peaceful aftermath it occurs to me that I might have saved myself much trouble by not accepting Elizabeth's invitation, if I may call it that. Indeed, I have always des- pised my elder sister. I recall a great joy and sense of relief when she married some fool French painther, who was moreover a drunkard and gambler, and was disowned by my irate father. But then, as the message seemed ui- gent and life here at home seemed dull, I con- descended to accept. Dear father objected, of course, and stormed about, muttering and curs- ing while I packed, but I, being his only son and heir, must needs have my own say in such matters. But so much for that, I do not wish to appear conceited. The required arrangements having been made, I started from Liverpool and reached Paris just in time for dinner. From there I went directly to the chateau. I had not visited there on any previous occasion and was not at all familiar with the surroundings, but with the aid of my coeher I was able to find it. My first impression was that the place very well suited my sister in that it was grim yet stolid and not at all fantastic or romantic in appearance as I had hoped. Elizabeth had purchased it from one of the innumerable families of lesser no- bility who had been forced, under conditions of dire necessity, to sell their homes., Eliza-- beth, I am quite ashamed to admit, stole the money from her fool husband to buy the in- fernal place. But then, Elizabeth was never of the virtuous type, she lived only to makea living, not a life, and used no discretion in doing so. Pierre, her husband, sometimes did excellent work and sold it to friends or rathei acquaintances at gambling houses. I was greeted at the door by an old wizened butler who admitted me unceremoniously and sum- moned me to follow him. Doing so I found my- self led to what I thought must be the living room. And there I saw my stupid sister sitting on the divan, snifiiing, and reading her nightly chapter of Bible at intervals. She looked up at my entrance and, mon Dieu, it was a tear- stained face that was turned to me so beseech- ingly, a quality which I did not recognize in such a woman. She clasped my hand in her clainniy ones and thanked me profusely for coming. Frederick, don't be angry, she said in a broken voice, but you were the only one I could appeal to-because it must not be known outside, it must not become a scandal? VVhat, woman. surely you have caused enough disturbance by sending for me without any apparent good reason. Perhaps I did speak a trifle contemptuously, for she burst out into hysterical sobs and wrung her clumsy hands pathetically. I sickened at the sight but inquired more gently. XVhat is it, Elizabeth? I asked. HIS it Pierre? ' She nodded and stopped weeping and looked rather abashed. Yes, she replied, t'it's Pierre, he and that brat. Sit down and I'll tell you. And then after a pause she continued, He came home