Paxton High School - Reflector Yearbook (Paxton, IL)

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18 Paxton High School Reflector regular school routine. When four o’clock had come and school was over for the day, 1 went to congratulate the teacher on her splendid school. She liked her work and loved her pupils, and I knew that she would deal kindly with that little chap who was still gazing steadily into his book. As I passed his desk to go home, I looked to see what the boy was so diligently studying. It proved to be a picture of Sir Galahad, the front-piece of his reading book, and opposite it were written the lines of that remarkable poem. I had left the building only a short time when I saw the boy appear. A little girl, doubtless the one who had sent the note, was waiting to walk home with him. She was happy and gay, and soon the cheery sound of her voice died away as they walked towards home. Thus are healed those aching sorrows and disappointments of childhool days, which linger long in the memory of those who have attended a country school. CHARACTERIZATIONS OF SENIOR CLASS—DO YOU AGREE? A liberal soul shall be made fat.—'Kenneth Smith. A man that hath friends must show himself friendly.—Fred LaBare. Deliver me from the oppression of man.—Lois Moffett. A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance.—'Genevieve Carlsten. Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue, keepeth his soul from troubles.—'Charles Jensen. I behaved myself as though he were my brother.—Catharine Thompson. I love them that love me.—Maurine Schneider. A merry heart is a good medicine.—'Lawrence Sackett. Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therein.—Helen Johnson. Walk with wise men and ye shall be wise.—Dean Ireland. The wise in heart shall be called prudent.—Florence Hanson. The righteous shall grow like a cedar.—Fannie Watson. He winketli with his eyes, he speaketh with his feet, he teaeheth with his fingers.—Vernon Moore. A soft answer turneth away wrath.—Mary Currie. My son, despise not the chastening cf thy father, neither be weary of his correction.—Nobel Johnson. The lips of the wise disperse knowledge.—Frances Culver. See’st thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings.—Francis Wenger. As a flower of the field, so she flourisheth.—Agnes Barnes. It is vain for me to rise up early.—Maurice Levin. She that is slow of wrath is cf great understanding.—Florence Bear. Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy and drink thy wine with a merry heart.—Bessie Shinker. She dearly loves to talk and does it well.—Ruby Weberg. Know you not my importance?—Sylvia Funk. Not only good, but good for something.—Pauline Berquist. —Helen Johnson.

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Paxton High School Reflector 17 UA Visit to a Country School' By Dean Ireland—Written as Theme in English IV.” Several years had passed since I had visited the old school. In fact, I had nearly completed my third year of high school; and since I had finished the seventh grade, I had not entered those doors. I had often tried to imagine what it would be like to go back once more and seat myself in those old and battered seats—to hear once more the ringing of the bell, and to read the rude carving on the desks. When the day really did arrive, 1 was more anxious than ever to test the visions of my memory—to see if I was not mistaken as to the inscription above the door, or the initial I had carved the first year on the under surface of my desk—to see if I would feel strange and lonely in the crowd of boys and girls I did not know. But no, the inscription was as I had remembered it, and the initials, truly, were those of my friend; and, the various faces, some of them a bit dirty, were not unlike those that I knew before. 1 was at home there; and, as I sealed myself in ona of the larger vacant seats, which the teacher kindly offered, I felt the atmosphere of good will which pervaded the room. I gazed out of the window, and my eyes measured again the vast expanse of open fields glistening green in the bright spring sunshine. Hundreds of blades of tender grass made a beautiful carpet of the school house lawn, dotted here and there with golden dandelions, bordered yonder with purple violets—and, mingled among all, the star design of the mayflower. Those same tender flowers had blossomed there before, but the dandelions there grew not for their golden beauty, but to be held by some boy under the chin of his friend to see, ‘‘if, she liked butter. Or. perhaps, when the fluffy down had replaced the royal flowers, a blow of one great breath would tell if your mother was calling you.” Yes, the violets held a fragrance then, and they were fair; but it was more to our delight to pluck them from their place; and removing a few of the petals, to fancy an unmistakable likeness there. .My meditation was interrupted by a slight brush against my arm and the sound of a falling book. Some little brown headed fellow had been ‘to the library to get a book,” and while passing my seat had dropped it in an effort to reach a note purposely placed for him. I leaned over to pick up the book, when my eyes fell upon the title, “Lost in the Woods.” I had read it when I was in the fourth grade, and from it I received the idea of carrying an old butcher knife about in my belt for a week; and, during all that time, going over in my mind, the remarkable escape from that snarling wildcat. But the quick eye of the teacher saw the note and demanded that it be brought to her. The boy obeyed reluctantly, but without fear. I only heard the last of what the teacher said, but I could guess from the two audible words, “after school,” the whole of her reproof. The boy returned to his seat and took a book from his desk, which he appeared to be studying diligently, altho’ those two words, after school,” must have been ringing in his ears. Little happened during the remainder of the afternoon, other than the

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Paxton High School Reflector i9 Tribute of the Seniors to P. H. S, (Apologies to Wordsworth.) How dear to my heart is the old Paxton High School, When fond recollections present it to view; The trees and the shrubs, and the lawn that surrounds it, With every known flower that in it there grew. The walls of red brick, and the walks that led to it, The old stepping stone in front cf the door. The broad oaken stairs with their banisters tempting To rush our decending from floor to floor. The dear, dear professors, the kind, kind professors, Who made us walk stately right out through the door. Four years seemed so long to the eyes of us Freshmen, When first we enrolled in old P. H. S. The class rooms, the hallways, the dignified Seniors, All served to confuse us we do now confess. The teachers appalled us with looks condescending. Till we wondered why we ever came here at all. But years have worked wonders, and now you behold us, Dignified Seniors so learned and tall. Yes, dignified Seniors, the wisest of Seniors That ever passed out through the P. H. S. halls. We’re sorrowing to leave you, we know you will miss us You need our example, of this we’re quite sure. But cheer up our school mates, your day is approaching. The day of commencement which each of us lures. To all our teachers who helped to prepare us For this Gala Day our thanks are all due. Their wisdom, their patience, their kind understanding Has made our four years seem but days that are few. Our dear, kind instructors, our long suffering teachers, To you and to schoolmates we bid fond adieu. —Ethel Swanson. SENIORS LOSE THEIR DIGNITY. Yes, the Seniors did lose their dignity for one whole evening, as the cows and o;her on lookers (if there were any) will tell you. The Senior Picnic, in the latter part of September, was the first social event in P. H. S., worth mention. The big parade started out at five o’clock for Horner's timber and arrived en masse (Fords too.) It ought not be called by the enphon-