Petaluma High School - Trojans Yearbook (Petaluma, CA)

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The trunk belonged to Malina’s aunt, her father’s only sister, who had made her home with them for many years. She had been a strong minded old lady, who had had no great opinion of her sister-in-law, and had died leaving her not one cent of her hoard, which was thought to be considerable. The question was where she had left it? She ha d made no will. One thing she had said was, that if Mrs. Mellberg ever had sense enough to make over the clothes in the trunk she could. After her death a thorough search had been made of the house, but noth¬ ing had been found. The old trunk had been searched time and time again without success, and at this time it had passed out of the minds of everyone. The thought of the trunk haunted Malina as she busied herself about the room. “There’s no use in look¬ ing through that trunk again,” she argued with herself. “I’ve huntd and hunted and never found anything but old clothes and moth balls.” Argue as she would the trunk finally got the better of her. “Well, while mother is sleeping, I’ll just go up there and look around. It won’t hurt the old things to get turned over and have a breath of fresh air.” Upstairs she went and knelt before the trunk. “Here’s a black silk dress Aunt Elsie must have worn sometime before the war. There’s enough cloth in that to make a dress for every woman in town, I believe.” She put that dress aside and picked up another. “Her’s one that my great grandmother must have worn. There was a for¬ tune spent in getting the cloth for those two dresses alone. This is a walking suit and this, oh yes, that is Aunt Elsie’s graduation dress. That was worn about forty years ago. It looks as if it might fit me. Guess I’ll try it on.” By this time she had forgotten what she was searching the trunk for and thought only about the dress. When she had it on she stepped to the glass to view it. “There now, that looks pretty fine, I’m sure. Just a little short in the sleeves and the skirt could be a bit longer. I’U make short sleeves, take out some of the fullness, lower the hem and it will be splendid.” No sooner said than done. She took a knife and rip, rip, rip went the threads. She had not ripped more than about a foot of the hem when something fell out. She stooped over and to her amazement found a hundred dollar bill. She ripped on and bills kept falling out. “So this is the reason Aunt Elsie wanted us to be sure and keep her trunk. Who would have thought to rip up an old dress to find a for¬ tune? Now, that I have the secret, I’ll just rip some more.” Rip she did and with the same success. Gathering up the money and dresses she ran downstairs, three steps at a time, all excitement. Her heart beat so fast and thumped so hard that she held one hand over her mouth to prevent its escape. “Mother, oh mother! Look! Come quick! I’ve found—“When she entered the room her mother was sitting up, dazed from the sud¬ den awakening. Is the house afire, Malina?” she whimpered. “No, indeed, but just look here. I found it in Aunt Elsie s trunk. I tried this dress on and it was too short, so I opened the hem and this fell out and then I ripped the hems of a few more and kept finding more. I guess we’ll have enough to pay that mortgage with now.” Friday night came with Mr. Dennis on hand. There never was, before or after, in the town of Auckland, a more surprised or disappointed man than was Mr. Dennis when Malina handed him the five hundred dollars with one year’s interest and requested him to sign the mort¬ gage paid and the agreement closed. RUTH C. ANDERSON.

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Dennis’ office and heard nothing but his threat to turn them out On reaching a familiar spot she sat down. Where would she get five hundred dollars? “If father had lived we would not be in this fix.” Her father had died five years ago. He had been a good business man and at his death had left his wife and child a prosperous business, a home, one or two small ranches and a good sized bank account, but his wife had a poor head for business and in the course of a year or so had squandered all except the home and had run heavily into debt. Three years ago they had mortgaged the home for five hundred dollars to pay the debts and now the time was up. “Did Mr. Dennis really mean to turn them out?” Malina was now talking half aloud. “Well, he may mean to all right, but he won’t if Malina Mellberg can prevent it.” Turned out! What a meaning those two words held. “Friday, five hundred dollars, Mr. Dennis, mortgage, turned out,” made a sad jumble in Malina’s poor brain. “How much easier it would be if I could tell mother all and not have her give up so easily, and make everything doubly hard for me. Where will I get five hundred dollars in a week? Not here, that’s certain.” That much settled, she rose, shook the wrinkles from her dress, pinned on her hat and started homeward. Her home was a little shingled bungalow, set back from the road in the midst of blooming fruit trees and as it came in view Malina loved it more than she had ever be¬ fore. The violets that bordered the walk from the gate to the front door filled the air with their perfume, and the clover lawns had a sweeter fragrance than ever. She even loved the big bees that buzzed over the clover blos¬ soms gathering honey. Mrs. Mellberg stood at the gate waiting for Malina. In her every action, as she stood there, dependence and help¬ lessness were written. She was a decided contrast to the daughter who was approaching. She had a firm expres¬ sion about the eyes and mouth; she was her fathers child. Malina greeted her mother, slipped her arm through her’s and walked to the house. They sat down on the porch and some minutes passed before either of them spoke. Malina was trying to mould words to tell her mcther of her experience and her mother was wating for her to speak. Mrs. Mellberg broke the silence. “Did you see Mr. Dennis?” “Yes.” “What did he say?” The conversation of the morning was repeated. “And now, mother,” added Malina, “you must help me think of a way to get the money.” The sentence was barely com¬ pleted when Mrs. Mellberg, as Malina had anticipated, broke down. She walked the floor and wrung her hands. “Brace up, mother; we won’t get anything accom¬ plished if you carry on like this.” “I can’t help it. Oh, what shall we do?” After pacing up and down the length of the porch sev¬ eral times she fell in a swoon. Malina had another prob¬ lem at hand now, besides the mortgage. She ran to her mother’s side, bathed her face with cold water to revive her, helped her to her room and laid her on the bed, where she comforted her as best she could until she fell asleep. While Malina had been attending her mother an oft- repeated request made by an aunt before she had died kept coming up before her. “Be careful of my trunk and don’t do away with anything that is in it.” 15

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Augramua As, at dawn, the softest whispered chirping, When the early crimson tints are glowing, All the stillness of the air usurping, haint at first, but slowly louder growing. Swells until the melody o’erflowing Bursts from every throat with animation, Joining nature’s mighty orchestration; So, as onward years go swiftly fleeting. Sweeter may the memory returning Of the happy days so fast retreating, Of high hopes all opposition spurning, Of deep friendships in our bosoms burning, Daily grow and fill our hearts with pleasure At our faith requited to the fullest measure. As a brooklet gently onward flowing, Over stones and fallen branches splashing, Ever bit in volume growing, Over waterfall and boulder crashing, rhrough deep valleys, smiling woodlands dashing, drains at last a calm majestic motion Sweeping forward proudly to the ocean; May our friendship thus for one another, Growing ever from a warm affection io the love of toiler for the brother Of his labors, surely find direction From the author of our high election Gaining rest, at last, in love eternal When life’s twilight melts today supernal. THEO. A. PELOQUIN. 17