Pennsylvania School of Horticulture for Women - Wise Acres Yearbook (Ambler, PA)

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All For a Holly Busk. Did you ever get the “digging fever?” My father and I are fond of going off on “digging” expeditions, and one day in early spring the fever suddenly seized us to be off. We had long set our hearts on getting some really beautiful holly bushes that grew in a certain New Jersey swamp that we knew, so on this eventful day we started off early in the morning, armed with spade and gunny sacks. Our meandering train finally landed us at our destination, a forlorn little town that straggled along the sand-dunes between the ocean and the bay. As we stood on the station platform and looked about us there seemed no sign of life anywhere, but we soon spied a fishing smack down at the dock and made our way to it. The old fisherman, who had just brought in his morning catch, evidently thought us strange ghosts as we came down the dock toward him, carrying our spades and sacks. When we explained our errand—that we had come all the way down to N--------- just to get some holly bushes he was evi- dently firmly convinced of our insanity, but he agreed to rent us a rowboat to cross the bay to our swamp and even suggested that his wife might be willing to sell us some “victuals” if we would come to the house with him. We accepted this invitation with alacrity and his cheery little wife filled a basket for us with bread and bacon and a nice big apple pie that looked luscious. Then we went down to the dock again and he started us on our way in his rowboat. It was a glorious day of wind and sun, and the sparkle of the water in our eyes and the taste of the salt on our lips made the whole world seem worth living in, for we were almost tempted to forget about our holly and spend the day on the water, but the thought of the jeers awaiting us at home kept us on our way. The swamp lay inland a mile or so and our only way to reach it was across a salt marsh, so we made our landing in a tiny cove and pulled our boat upon the shore. Perhaps you have never tried to cross a salt-marsh, but if you have you know how a mile stretches itself out interminably. We took for our goal a pine knoll which lay between the marsh and our swamp, and when we reached it we were so exhausted and so hungry that we could not resist the fish-wife’s basket. We climbed up to the very tip-top of the knoll and there we built a fire. Is there anything quite so delicious as a hot bacon sandwich when you are hungry, and is there anything more deliciously comfortable afterwards than to stretch out on the pine needles! Just the tall, dark trees above soughing in the wind, the salt breeze blowing on our faces, and out beyond, seen between the trunks of the trees, the dazzling blue and white of the bay—the whole trip was worth while if only for that half hour’s rest. About three o'clock we roused ourselves and made our way down to the swamp. We chose four splendid hushes and then began our work. They were the most securely established specimens I have ever had the pleasure of tackling. It was boggy under foot and we slipped and splashed about; scratched

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“Charles,” said Mrs. Newlj'wed, “I wonder why our hens don’t lay?” “Perhaps you don’t feed them properly.” “I hadn’t thought of that, I’ll go and get some egg plant.” “Henry, the alarm has just gone off.” “Thank goodness! I hope it never comes back.” - (This is appreciated by several of the students, we feel sure.) ar Our whole neighborhood has been stirred up, said the resident. Reporter: Tell me all about it, we want news. “Ploughing,” said the resident. If you can’t laugh at the jokes of the age, just laugh at the age of the jokes. ar Young man (over telephone), “Is Miss Smith there?” Voice at other end : “No Sir.” Young man: “Would you kindly tell me how I can get into communication with her?” Voice at other end grows mirthful ; “Really, Sir, I can’t tell you; she has beeu dead six months.” Some of our Editors remind us That their times are not sublime; But they have to work like thunder To get their copy out on time. V isitors. Dean R. L. Watts, State College, Mr. and Mrs. J. Star, Germantown, The Carter Garden Study Class, Germantown, Mrs. Frederick Gardiner, Chestnut Hill, Mrs. Hart, Ambler, Miss Mary Hart, Ambler, Miss Alice R. Shinn. Colorado Springs, Dr. A. H. Stirk, Philadelphia, Miss Jane B. Haines, Germantown, Miss Elizabeth Leighton Lee, Philadelphia, Miss Emma Blakeston, Philadelphia, Miss W. Morrison, Germantown, Mrs. J. H. Shinn, Germantown, Mrs. J. S. Lawrence, Germantown, President and Mrs. Hollis Godfrey, of Drexel Institute, Philadelphia, Miss Myra Dock, Fayetteville, Miss M. Grace Osborne, Indianapolis.

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our faces and hands and ankles, yanked our hair, lost our temper a dozen times, but finally triumphed. They were beauties and we tucked two in each sack and started homeward. It is hard enough to cross a salt marsh under any circumstances, but if you want a really exasperating occupation let me recommend trying to hop from tussock to tussock of this same marsh, and at the same time drag two holly bushes after you. We were wet to our knees, dead tired and absolutely speechless when we found our boat. The sun had dropped, the air had grown damp and chilly, by the time we had rowed across the bay and got where our old fisherman could cheer us up. He escorted us to the station and waved us a good-by, shaking his head over the follies of city folk. We did cheer up a bit in the train, and by the time we reached civilization we had persuaded ourselves that it had been good fun after all, and we even saw elements of humor in the picture we must have made as we alighted in the station, scratched, disheveled and dirty, loaded with holly—still carrying the spades. Our holly bushes are thriving, but perhaps you will agree with me that it is easier to let the nurseryman do the digging. F. V. G. The Talc of tke Dog. No one knows where he came from, this dog, but he arrived one morning in time to greet us all at the breakfast table. A happy-looking little fellow that did not have the least air of a watch dog. He evidently had come to stay, at least so says one with much authority, and it depends on all of us whether he is useful or simply ornamental. When lie blinks happily at us from the centre of the dining table, we cannot hold a grudge against him. Yes, it is a queer place for a dog, but you see this is not an ordinary dog, he is a little white metal one, attached to a suspicious-looking barrel-like arrangement with a slit in the top. We have been threatened with something of the sort for a long time; at least the tardy ones had. So when the subject of piano came up and we all thought we needed one, The Lady in Authority commanded that all who straggled in late for meals (a pernicious habit) should pay one cent a minute after the tinkle of the little bell. Would it be polite to tell who paid the first fine, or loyal to say that those brand new horticultural clocks by all the whistles are five minutes fast 1 The little dog looks serenely on, faithfully guarding his increasing load and the piano seems almost a reality. S. A. D. Life is a quarry, out of which we are to mould and chisel and complete a character.—Goethe.