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

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that 1 would entertain, or rather, he entertained by Mrs. Churchel. When 1 came hack into the sitting room I started a conversation by asking Mrs. Churchel how the chickens and ducks were, not knowing I had struck on her favorite topic. “W ell. now. tna chickens is too lazy to live. Somehow it’s too hot for ’em an’ dey die on da nest rather’n lay en aig. Hut ma ducks! Lawsy me. chile, dey is da envy ob da town! Only one thing am a lackin.’ I'm hav’n sech a time! Yo see my ducks all come out of dcre shells fine, but I ain’t got a drake among ’em. and I was all over Daily a try’n to get one. but it done look like I ain’t ment to have none,” exclaimed Mrs. Churchel. “May I ask what kind of ducks you raise,” I remarked. “Oh! Pckings. Pekings.” she replied. “You know dem big white fellers wid yellow feet like do corn dey eats.” “Why. said I. “my grandmother raises Pekin ducks, and it was only this morning I heard her say she had an extra drake, so I am sure you can get it. At that Mrs. Churchel lost all control of herself and she cried and laughed at the same time. Lordy! Lordy! chile.” cried Mrs. Churchel, “I been a prayin’ an’ prayin' fer mor’n a week fer one ob dem ducks, and the good Lord’s answered ma prayers. I tell you. honey, if ya have faith in dc Lord, your prayer’ll be answered. I been a thinkin’ de Lord neber wanted me to have dat duck, but He sure did, an’ Me 2 sent yo clear from Bosting fer ta answer me prayer. So now yu rush round an’ write to yu granney. and tell ’er to sen me dat duck. I promised to do my best in getting the drake for her and in due time it arrived. It was not far to Mrs. Churchel’s home, so 1 decided to carry the drake to her yard. She was talking to her ducks, and as I came within hearing distance she was saying: ‘Bless, yo ole hearts, yo mammy done helpen yo to clean house en I got a sprize fo’ vu all. an’ yo will sure be sprized en happy when yu find out what it ez. Just then she saw me and she got up and hurried to meet me. I had the duck in a basket with a cloth tied over the top. When Mrs. Churchel saw the basket she started to shout with joy. “Oh ! he’s come, he’s come: give ’em to me! In her excitement she was not able to untie the cloth over the basket, so she snatched a pair of scissors from a hook and cut a long slit in the top of the cloth. The minute this was done the old drake popped his head out of the basket and Mrs. Churchel went wild about his charms. At length she got him out of the basket and after a great deal of loving and petting, she put him down in her duck yard. As soon as he was free he flopped his wings, and gibbed his bill in the water trough and then made friends with the other ducks. “Derc now. said Mrs. Churchel. “ladies, you got a man at las', and look how he flap his wings. He. he. honey, he sure am a ladies’ man.” RUTH HARRIS, ’18. 8

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ghost’s neck. It gave one startled hound, springing away so suddenly that the end of the rope was jerked from my hand and I fell to the ground. The next thing I remember, a tall bearded man whom 1 did not recognize was bending over me. This was probably the person, I decided, who was masquerading as the white dog. He asked in a very pleasant voice, “Whose little boy arc you?” I was so frightened I could only gasp. “Who are you?” At this he laughed, saying. “Why, I am Mr. Snider ” And then 1 knew he was an old friend of my father’s whom I had never seen. “Now won’t you let me take you home?” he continued. The next morning while I was in the yard playing 1 heard a loud, “baa! baa! and looking up. I saw our old sheep standing at the gate with a suspiciously long rope around her neck and dragging down the trail. This must have been the White Dog” of the night before. OLIVE RUFF. ’15. A LADIES’ MAN As 1 stepped off the train at Daily. 1 saw coming toward me. not my friend, but an unusually large colored woman. She was as black as the ace of spades, but the sun shone through several holes in her big straw hat and lit up her happy old face. She wore a red calico dress with two blue patches on it and a bright green and blue checked apron. “Hello, honey chile. Miss Stella couldn’t come to meet yu, so I done come, ’cause I knowed yu’d have some luggage and it’s a mighty hot day,” she called to me. Before I could get my breath she took my suitcase and, taking the lead, she told me to follow her. “Come along, little missic. yu ole auntie’ll tote your bage fo yu.” she said as she waddled along at a good rate It was not long before we reached Stella’s home She was in the kitchen, and as we came nearer she looked out and called to us, “Oh, you are here, are you? 1 knew you would be hungry, so I stayed at home to get some lunch for you. and Mrs. Churchcl came over, so I sent her to meet you.” Before I could answer. Mrs. Churchcl. my new friend, replied. “Yes, we're here. Miss Stella, un it sure am a hot day. I jes' knowed it would be hot by dc way de chickens lazied around an’ never had no suspicions to lay.” By this time we had reached the house and Mrs. Churchcl made her way in and Hopped down in a big rocker. She pulled her hat off' and began t«» fan. as if her life depended on it. Then she put her hat on the table, and using her blue and green checkered apron, she mopped the perspiration from her face. This was the first time she had removed her hat. so I got my first glance at her hair, unruly, kinkey curls pulled back in a walnut and securely pinned with toothpicks. While she went through these various maneuvers, 1 removed my things. Then Stella told me to sit down and rest while she finished preparing lunch. I told her

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WHO? WHERE? WHAT? Feather River glistened in the sunlight. It foamed over the rocks, and ran swiftly and happily on, down to the valley below. But the boy paid no attention to its beauty or to its murmurings. lie did not notice that it seemed to be trying to tell him something. The door of the cabin was swung wide open. The boy peered in. Nothing, absolutely nothing! He explored the corners, the loft above: still nothing. Only an old sack, bcsmattcred with blood. Baffled, he turned and half ran toward the head of the stream, which from the cabin, looked as if it went right into a solid wall of rock. Reaching there, however, he found that the Feather took a sudden turn to the right. He went straight towards what, at a first glance, appeared to be merely a thickly leaved tree up against a sheer rocky wall. But he pushed through and on into a cave which was disclosed when he brushed aside the leaves. It was very dark and damp within. The boy lit a match. Something in the corner! He caught up a bunch of paper from the ground and touched his match to it. It flared up, revealing to his gaze an old white haired shaggy looking man. lying prone in one corner. I he boy drew nearer. The old man. slowly, painfully. lifted himself on one elbow, and struggled to rise. It was all in vain; he sank back gasping on the ground, trying to speak. “Take it easy, old man,” said the boy, “take it easy. Then tell me what’s the matter?” “A man came about six hours ago! He finished me!.....rook Ilcen! Promise me you’ll find her!” “But how? Why? Who are you? What are you doing here?” “Promise me!” groaned the dying man, “Promise me!” “I promise!” cried the young fellow in despair, “but which way did they go? And what does she look like?” The old man struggled to reply, but fell back with a sigh. The other jeaned over him but he was beyond all earthly speech. He was dead! The boy took off his hat and said solemnly to himself : “Who is he? Who is Ileen? “Which way did they go? What in the world am I to do?” But try as he might, he never found out. It was only another unsolved mystery of the Feather River Canyon. Perhaps that was what the river was trying to tell him, but it had no tongue. Who knows? 29 —RUTH C. RIPPEY, ’15.