Oroville Union High School - Nugget Yearbook (Oroville, CA)

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pioneer, who left in the fertile regions, names that are rhyme upon the tongue and music to the ear; whose haunts are to he seen with the charm of better days upon them, hut still haunted by the memory of a v anished people. The sweet notes of a guitar fell enchantingly upon our ears, and turning a bend in the road, we came upon a very old log cabin covered with ivy that clung lovingly to the old logs. Over the top of the cabin proudly waved “Old Glory.” as evidence that even in the deepest solitude patriotism had not been forgotten. Reside the hut was a grave which was rich with verdure and hung with ivy wreaths. Our curiosity was aroused by this odd looking building. so we decided to investigate. We approached the door and knocked; immediately a string was drawn which raised a wooden latch. An old pioneer came to the door, saluted us. and invited us to come in. A bright lire on the hearth flickered cheerily. In the center of the room stood a rude table bright with bouquets of slender ferns and scarlet flowers. A homemade couch sat in one corner. Several high-backed, home-made chairs stood around the room. On the wall hung a picture—a beautiful lady, young and cheerful in appearance, but dressed like people of olden times with skirts that sat out stiffly. Under the picture stood a bouquet of roses. We became engaged in conversation and the pioneer told many stories to us. The most interesting of these was the story of his life, which I shall repeat: “My life is a story unhappy ami unfortunate. My mother-country is Ireland, the Buffer state of Europe. When I heard of the discovery of gold in California. I decided to change my career and go in search of gold. 2 I crossed the Plains in a prairie schooner pulled by oxen. After enduring many hardships I arrived at Sacramento and proceeded eastward to the Sierra Nevada Mountains. “At their base I found that the dream of my life had come true. The creeks ran and sputtered as if to call my attention to their beautiful waters, which glistened with the sun's rays. The trees seemed vibratory with the songs of the birds. The green grass formed a velvet carpet beneath my feet. Never had I seen a place with such stillness and repose. It was a Paradise. “Exhausted from my long journey. I retired for the night beneath the shade of a massive pine—my only shelter, the canopy of Heaven and the foliage of the tree My sleep was a restless one. being interrupted by the cries of wild animals. “Hav after day dragged monotonously on. At last however, there came a change, for my eager search was at length rewarded. (lazing at the bottom of a creek. 1 discovered yellow particles which I concluded were gold. In order to reach the creek. I cut the heavy mass of vines and brush with my pocket knife. This creek proved to be extremely rich, and 1 soon accumulated a vast amount of wealth. “About two years later I fell in love and was married — 1 built my future home where a fine old studio now stands, and as I look over a quiet country, old memories arise in me---------- I remember our courtship days. ()h, she was young and beautiful. “I remember our wedding day and what a glorious

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WHY THE BUTTERCUP IS YELLOW The tall Hollyhock looked down condescendingly upon the pale little buttercup. “Yes. indeed.” she said. “When Dame Nature comes, we certainly have a festive time. Kvcry flower gives of its honey to make her a cool refreshing drink; and then we bask in her blessings.” The pale little buttercup looked up admiringly at her beautiful friend and asked. “Do you suppose she will help me to grow strong and beautiful like you?” “Oh.” replied the Hollyhock, nodding her graceful head sagely. “1 doubt if she will notice you.—there are so many beautiful creatures to take her attention. you know.” The poor Buttercup humbly bowed her head and sighed. “Of what good is my life? Oh. if I could only be great and beautiful! If I could only do some little good in the world!” A humming-bird, tired and faint with hunger, fluttered up to the Hollyhock, but the Hollyhock only drew up its petals and said. “I am sorry, but I am saving my honey for Dame Nature when she comes.” The bird looked at her sadly and weakly and said, “Yes. that is what all the blossoms say. and I am left to starve.” “Now is my chance to do something good.” thought Buttercup, and raising its head it joyously cried. “You shall have all of my honey, poor bird.” After the bird was refreshed it fluttered into the air and suddenly it changed into a beautiful woman, tall and strong with sunlight sparkling in her eyes and hair. The Hollyhock gasped and whispered. “Dame Nature ! While the poor Buttercup only bowed its head and trembled. Dame Nature smiled. “You have not only proven yourself kind at heart. said she. But you are (most blessed of all) meek in spirit, and for this good deeci you have done, you shall from now on be tl.c color of the richest metal on earth.” —MARIK DAVIS. ’17. REMINISCENCE it took form and shape in a certain studio standing among the green things of September when a wood-fire is a happy thing to look at and it near, and when ideas of a long drive over a quiet country are perhaps urged on by glimpses of a level meadow and a garden full of stillness and color. One day we had been sit- ting in this studio talking in an idle fashion of the early pioneer days when gold was discovered in California. It was an easy change from talking of the country to planning a drive across it. As we rode along we found that everything brought to us suggestions of the pioneer: the brave, enduring

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day that was. Alas, now she is dead and here I am an old man. half in the grave and talking of love. Alas, in those days I was a youth—now a man old and gray. “I remember the last time we were together, before she fell into her last long sleep. That day is quite clear before my mind. We sat out on the large wooden steps of the church and a great oak spread its branches over our heads. “I remember her funeral day; she was buried here, as had been her wish. “Time flies—things change. The old wooden steps on which we sat have been torn down to he replaced by more modern ones. Thirty-five years ago this was a sheep pasture. Now yonder country is a paradise of oranges and olives. Manufacturing has sprung up. railways have been built on a spot which yesterday was a strip of land. Many are the pioneers like me who have adorned these olive-silvered shores with stories, yet I. who have helped to make way for a civilization. must spend my last days in sorrow.” What a curious journey was our lot Again we drove across meadow land. The lights of the studio shone in the distance like those of pioneer days. All might have seemed a dream but that our horse turned its head to the studio in the garden. Its windows' were all lighted and its hospitable doors thrown widely open. WANDA WILSON. ’18. ' TRULY AMERICAN “Sheeny—just plain sheeny, that’s all she is,” scoffed the boys in the schoolyard, regarding the small stranger eontemptously. Elizabeth Kovinski faced them with the fervor of her Jewish blood and all the defiance her nine years could muster. “Ain’t, she asserted proudly. “I go-a to be-a Ameri-can : “Go-a to be-a; Ha. Ha. laughed the boys gleefully. It was not often they had such a fresh new victim to torment. “Why. you can’t even talk English.” Elizabeth’s eyes blazed. In her own dear school on Maple Avenue, she had been the best English scholar. How she loved that school—it was beautiful. How she wished her father had never left the village of Kingston to come to this lonely, cruel place. In Maple Avenue School, too, you weren’t Italians or “dagoes,” Jews or ‘sheenies”—you were just pure American. You loved the flag and you worked and studied hard to become American-like. There were no cruel soldiers there to ransack your home or to stab you with their knives. Rut there, in this small town where there were so few foreigners, the persecutions were really beginning all o er again. “But—but-a—I can to-a speak-a English.” The words came bursting out. fairly tumbling over themselves. “And-a—and—I can-a to read and writ-a and —and to count-a,” she concluded proudly. She just wished she could show those taunting boys, and girls in the background how quickly she could add 22