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

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flag in her hand fluttered, unheeded to the floor. She knew it was not a “fire drill.” Through the cloak-hall a tiny cloud of smoke was floating. The fire must he in there, or in the room below. ‘‘Quick, children.” she cried. “All stand. First row. march. Second; see how few minutes you’ll take to get out. Double quick time, now!” The children nearest the door had already disappeared. and in the hall below could be heard shrill childish voices and the rush of many feet. The teacher was still counting, urging them on. Left, right, left, right. Quick, quick. If you see smoke, don’t be afraid, children.” her voice called after them into the hall. Keep right on. Be brave.” Elizabeth Kovinski followed blindly with the rest, bewildered, amazed. She did not know yet what all the fuss was about, but she did know there was danger in the air and a sense of some coming disaster. Out into the open yard they marched. Fire! fire! the bigger ones shouted, and the panic grew. Down the street sounded the wild clang of fire wagons and the rush of galloping horses. 'Pile frantic teachers and still more frantic older pupils swept the little ones out of the line of danger, as the great red wagons and foaming horses dashed up outside. Wilded eyed, distracted parents came rushing from every direction, but the teachers reassured them. Every child was out they told them decidedly. Already a tongue of flame had appeared at one of the upper windows and a dense cloud of black smoke came rolling out from the lower ones. Elizabeth knew now what was the matter. Then she remembered. She saw again the flutter of the silken stars and stripes to the floor, the sudden rush from the room 74 and the teacher following closely. The flag; it must still be up there—on the floor—dishonored—neglected and forgotten. Through the crowd, Elizabeth darted without a moment’s hesitation—a little unnoticed figure in all the excitement. There was a door on the side farthest from that perilous flame. It was open and no smoke. The child darted through it and up the stairs. At the top. however, a smothering blast of smoke struck her. Rut Elizabeth was undaunted. “A trust.” the teacher had called the flag—“something to be taken care of- -with your life if need be.” The others had forgotten, so because she was a little American too. she must take the charge. The school on Maple Avenue had taught you other things besides reading, writing, and arithmetic, so Elizabeth knew that the safest place in a fire was near the floor. She dropped on her hands and knees— faster! faster! There-therc was the door. Was it the one? She stopped, bewildered. Yes. it must be the one. at any rate she would try. At the far end of the room was that dreaded red flame. Oh. how the smoke smothered—blinded—hurt her but The Trust?” W here was it? Could she ever find it? The smoke grew thicker and blacker but Elizabeth crept painfully on. Then suddenly the excited, watching crowd outside got another shock. At the upstairs window there appeared for a moment a small wild eyed, dark face, and a little blackened arm flung forth—to safety—a silken American Hag. A horrified cry went up as the face disappeared, but it was only for an instant. A big fireman appeared from behind, a ladder was run up and the

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and multiply. They might change their opinion then. She had a fine head for figures: the teacher at Maple Avenue School had told her and there was not a single boy or girl in the school who could beat her. She wondered breathlessly if she could beat them here. But she shrank at the boisterous, mocking laughter that greeted her outburst. It would be of no use to try. she thought; they would never believe any good of her: certainly, the curse of the race was upon her. “Well, anyway.” called out one small boy. “you may be able to read and write and ‘figger’ and you may belong to our school but you’re not going to take part in our Fourth of July celebration tomorrow, so you can get out till it’s over. It’s only for real Americans. and you’re no American you’re just a foreigner, and nothin’—nothin' but a heathen.” he concluded hatefully. Elizabeth’s eyes blazed again. “Ain’t—ain’t to be-a a heathen,” she cried. “I go-a to be-a a Hebrew Christian ; thats what.” Well, that means Jew. doesn’t it? and you can’t be a Jew and a Christian both, so you must be a heathen, and we don’t want any old heathens or for eigners either, in our patriotic procession, so there. Elizabeth still faced her mocking accusers undauntedly. “But the-a Christ-a himself.” she explained proudly, “was a Jew.” There was a horrified “Oh. followed by a strange sudden silence. That thought had never entered their heads before. It was true, what this child had said— the very Christ whom they worshipped was of the “despised race” and that the Jews were indeed his “chosen people.” They gasped, and, as they thought about the strange 23 thing, the school bell roused them with its clamor. Inside they had time only for lessons, but little Elizabeth. sitting in a lonely seat apart, had time to pull herself together again. Perhaps—and at the thought Elizabeth’s heart beat faster—perhaps she might even today have a chance to show them. America is a beautiful country after all—whether you are a Jew or a Christian, a Russian, or a pure American.” she reflected. Elizabeth’s mind wandered off into far fields, think-ing of great things, planning great things, but it jump-eel back to earth again when the teacher began a patriotic talk, because tomorrow’s Independence Day.” Elizabeth liked patriotic talks they’d had lots of them in Maple Avenue School, where they trieel to make you into good Americans. She loved the country and the flag that hael given them shelter. The teacher was carefully unfolding the silken folds of one ne w. The stars and stripes glimmered and shone in the sunlight. It was te be carried tomorrow at the head of the procession—their own dear flag. The teacher was telling them of its wonderful history and of the freedom and liberty it represented; of the heroes that had died for it and of the men and women it called to them to be. Hushed and awed, the children listened, especially when they were told of how it had been given to them by the (irand Army of the Republic, to revere, to cherish, and to keep ever before their eyes the idea'. for which it stood. Suddenly there rang out a strange clanging of .. gong. The children started to their feet. Eire drill!” they cried. But the teacher’s face was white, and the silken

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little unconscious heroine of the flag was carried down into the wondering crowd. “Who is she?” they questioned curiously. “Where did she come from?” “Was she left behind, or did she really go back after the flag? Elizabeth’s teacher pushed her away to the child’s side. She remembered the enraptured face as she told the story and she thought she understood. The black eyes opened wildly. “The flag-a, I got to-a get it, I-a.” The teacher lifted her gently and tenderly. Elizabeth's hands and arms were scorched but tomorrow she would be almost as well as ever again. “You saved the flag, dear. she said. Don’t you remember? You were brave and true to ‘the trust' when the rest of us forgot. “I be-a American now?” she asked pleadingly. “A really true American. the teacher assured her. “Oh. I-a be so happy for-a that. and she closed her eyes happily. They had the Fourth of July celebration next day in spite of the burned schoolhouse which wasn’t so badly damaged, after all. At the head of the procession was the flag carried by little Elizabeth—a loyal and true American. —CAROL HOWE, ’17 THE GHOST AT THE INN “There arc always chances for detective work right in your own neighborhood,” I read slowly out of the book entitled. Detectives and Their Methods.” Yes. I thought, yes, I guess there are chances, but the question is where are they? Then I happened to think of the White Dog’s Ghost at the Inn. That was just the thing for investigation. The White Dog’s Ghost was a thing which had been seen by a great many people in the neighborhood. It had been appearing at the inn ever since the early fifties, when a great white dog had gone mad and killed his mistress, a young girl. Eater he had been shot in the same spot for the deed. Something dreadful always happened to the person, 25 or to the family, of any one who saw the white ghost. Aunt Sarah, who saw it walking about the ruins of the inn. just before their house burned, declared later that it had a body of a lion, hut was white like snow. ()thers who had seen it declared that it had a woman’s face with long white curly locks of hair floating about it. One old man declared it to have a peg leg by which it left queer marks in the earth about the inn. This White Dog was almost always seen about dusk on Fridays or on the thirteenth day of the month. To-day was Friday and the thirteenth. The dog was sure to walk. Why not investigate? I could take the pistol. Of course there was only one shell and that was fast in the barrel. The hammer, too. was off.