Paris High School - Chronicle Yearbook (South Paris, ME)

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HUNTER'S WARNING John Twitchell's heart felt as if a cold hand were squeezing it. He sat very still in the bottom of the rowboat. His gaze turned from the shore which was hardly visible in the gray hour before dawn to the dark-red face of -Clyde Morgan, whose eyes had not left Twitchell in! ten minutes. Now Morgan dropped the oars and let them slide into the water. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask and raised it to his mouth. Here's to us and not to me and you, TwitchelI, he said noisily as he sucked down a drink and then put the bottle back. Although they were supposedly friends, he could not help but think that he had come here blindly. In front of Sally Lane, Morgan had asked him to try his luck at duck shooting in order to show him up as a weakling. And John had accepted, to show Morgan that despite the lack of weight and strength, he was not afraid of Morgan. But he had not counted on murder! In a way it seemed impossible that Morgan, the cpopular hotel proprietor, would commit mur er, killing a teacher in the high school. Did things like that happen to Clyde Morgan and John TwitchellP And the motive-the love of a girl! Morgan's flaming eyes looked at him with evil hatred. The barrels of the shotguns behind Morgan glinted with much of the same steel hardness. You should have read Warning to Hunters that the 'Game Warden handed out with your license, Twitchell, Morgan said. I read mine and it gave me a good idea. One of the para- graphs says, remove the shells before laying a gun down in a boat. A shotgun can blow a hole in the bottom of the plankingf' His lips twisted as he said, That's what's going to happen to us, Twitchell. Your gun's going to blow a hole in this boat. Then, afterthe accident, may the best man get to shore since you can't swim. John Twitchell was rigid now. He felt as il that cold hand around his heart had frozen his body, too. Was he a coward to die like a rabbit without fighting? john struggled to keep his wits, droping his eyes to the leaflet on the seat. He focused them upon it. Stiffly he picked up the Game Warden's Waming to Hunters, and looked at a line. He had read it before. He read it again and shud- dered. I can't he gasped. Morgan laughed. Then he reached backward for john's shotgun, and fixed his eyes upon his victim. - V , Morgan laughed again and said, Won't W6 make a swell couple, Sally and me? I would be yellow if I left her to a man like you, john said in a hoarse voice. Morgan did not answer, but caught the gun and bringing it to his shoulder, pointed it at the bottom of the boat. John quickly bent down and thrust steady fingers toward the barrel. At almost the same instant the gun went off. In the bottom of the boat between the living and the dead lay the Game Warden's Warning to Hunters. It was unable to be 'read now. But John Twitchell twisting a tourniquet about a stump of a forelinger, whispered a para- graph that he would never forget. Always lay your gun down when not in use so that no mud, sand, or snow will get into the barrel. A gun with even a small obstruction in the muzzle of it, will burst when fired! By Warren Bryant '59 TRANSFIGU RATION Upon the mountain top Eternity paused Humanity one day, Weary of his burdens increasing year by year, Yet unconcerned as a little child boisterous, merry, gay. His frowning eyes scanned hastily the world be- low, And his voice rang out in boastful glee, All this I've moulded since centuries ago! Suddenly from the misty blue of Heaven he heard The roar of mighty wings, And in awe he saw a glowing snowy bird. It swept by, gently touching him with its wing, And was swallowed in the storm-tossed sea below Leaving it still, save for an echoing ring. Humanity stood translixed as the mist rose from the sea, Leaving exposed to his boastful heart A mirror of reality for him alone to see. Before him passed the common scenes of misery, pain and woe. Still unperturbed Humanity had one thought within him burning: But those things happen not todayg nay, only years ago. Humanity still stands today watching scenes pass by, But if we take the time to search we'll find The dawn of Comprehension in his eye. Carlene Lary '57

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I A thing of beauty is a joy forever, It's loveliness increases, it will never Pass into nothingness, but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams and health and quiet breathing . john Keats A THING OF BEAUTY One has only to look about him to see a thing of beauty. It manifests itself in so many ways, yet it is sometimes difficult to understand. I see beauty in the outdoors. I see it in the grass and forestation spreading forth life, in the amazing worlds of insects and animals, in a babbling brook running swiftly, then slowly, through woods and meadows, in all that is a part of the nature of things. There is beauty in the steel and pounding heart of Industry, creating new life and shaping new forms, all working together, controlled, yet uncontrollable. Beauty abounds in any field of athletics: in the grace and silent form of the performersg in the anxiety and joy, the strife and grief of com- petition. What more is Beauty than the love of a mother for her child, or a child for his pet or newly found friendsg or the, silent love that grows be- tween two strangers 'until they met and it sud- denly surges forth as a bright flower springs from a seed. Literature is a thing of Beauty, moulded and blended into grace and perfection. Each word strikes deep into the heart, now full of sorrow, yet now so joyful. How amazing and wonderful that a handful of letters could be given life and feelings to express themselves so freely in shat- tering emotion. Yes, all things of Beauty will last forever. And why? Perhaps because Beauty is life itself. Gard Plummer '57 SNOWFLAKE Oh, little, tiny snowflake, So happy and so gay, I like to watch you whirl and dance Upon your merry way. Oh, little, tiny snowflake, Do you hear music sweet That tinkles through the frosty air just for your dancing feet? Oh, little, tiny snowflake, So pretty and so wee, Sometimes I think, when you go by, You turn and wave to me. By Judy Newell '59 THE HAPPY SONG Sing a song, sing a song, Ring the glad bells all along. Smile at him who frowns at you, He will smile and then they're two. Laugh a bit, laugh a bit, Folks will soon be catching' it. Can't resist a happy face, World will be a merry place. Laugh a bit and sing a song, Where they are there's nothing wrong, Joy will dance the whole world through, But it must begin with you. By Bonnie Morrissette '59 DESCRIPTION OF ROOM 3 It is a rectangular space of twenty-four feet in width, thirty-five feet in length, and twelve feet in height, bounded on three sides by solid stone walls. In its vast emptiness there sits a man lost in his own thoughts. Brrrrrrring! The door opens and in rush thirty-two dancing, prancing rays of light and hope. Each takes h1S own place, .and with deepest respect listens silently to every word uttered by the man in the blue gabardine suit. Brrrring! His face droops. There is an uneasy stirring. Brrrring! The rays of light dash out. The man is alone once more. John Simpson '59

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WHY What is life, that you and I Must sit and sit, and wonder why? Why are we happy then sometimes sad, Why are we good then sometimes bad. Why do we like some folks and dislike others, Why not treat all like sisters and brothers? It's said sometime we all must meet Beyond the path trod by mortal feet. What is the need of bother and fuss, lf there is a life all planned for us. Or if we have no directed road, Why must we carry life's heavy load? Won't someone put straight all this confusion, Or is the confusion just an illusion? By Thelma Bumpus '58 BEAUTY There is a quality which my thoughts now dwell upon. 'Tis a paradox to some, A mystery shrouded by a materialistic world. Through the ages of history both the great and small Have discovered its eternal force. It has been the creation and destruction of man. This non-stereotype quality can be depicted by the brush Of an artist, the writings of a poet, the Com- position Of a musician, and often best of all through the Simple wordsof the common man. Its size is of little importance, yet its capacity is of Greatest significance. The most valuable asset is its Ability to be shared, or as the most priceless gift, Given completely away. Carlene Lary '57 THE STILL, DARK NIGHT The snow drifts down, down through the pale light of the street lam as I walk slowly down the street. My feet shuffle noiselessly in the cold, white snow. My face is washed in the small flakes. They sting as they fall, but melt with the warmth of my skin. As I move away from the street light my shadow makes a path on the still, untrod snow. Now the moon sheds light, silvery light on the snow. It sparkles like a thousand diamonds beneath the pale, blue light. Tiny stars blink in their dark blue setting and the night is still. Now I see red and green Christmas lights. As I pass the house the beauti- ful music of a Christmas Carol drifts out into the night. But again the night is still. The stars and moon shine. The snow drifts softly .,.... A hot tear falls from my eyes. This is beauty, this is peace. Nancy Emmons '59 THE KNEE-HIGH MAN Have you ever heard of the Knee-High Man? He was unhappy because he was so small. He was always looking at the big animals with envy. They could do so many things that he could never hope to do. It was easy for them to be brave when they were so strong. They could see wonderful far-away places because they were so tall. . Finally, the Knee-High Man could stand it no longer. He got up his courage and walked straight up to the black horse. Please, Mr. Horse, he said, tell me how to be big like you. That's easy, neighed the horse, eat oats and lots of grass, then gallop about the fields, about twenty miles or more. That's the way I grew big and strong. The Knee-High Man did just as the horse advised, but the oats filled his stomach so full that he felt sick, and the galloping wore him down till he felt smaller than ever. He would just have to find another way to get some size for himself. While he was looking around for another big creature to advge him, he heard the hoot owl calling from a high tree. The owl was not big, but it was said to be very wise. Please, Mr. Owl, called the Knee-High Man, can you tell me how I can grow to be big and strong? Pray tell, why do you want to be big? Hootecl the owl. I never know when someone might start zz fight with me, said the little man. Has anyone ever tried to start a iight with you? Asked the owl. Well, no, answered the Knee-High Man. The owl then said that wasn't a very good reason. r The knee-high man decided to try again and said, I want to be tall so I can see far-away places. The wise owl also had an answer to this one. You can climb a tree, can't you? From the branches of a tree, you can see far-away places. The Knee-High Man ,stood looking up at the owl. He did not have a thing to say, so the owl spoke again. You don't need to be bigger in the body, but you surely do need to be bigger in the brain. With this last statement, the wise old owl flew away leaving the Knee-High Man to think about what he had said. By Judy Newell '59