Plymouth High School - Mayflower Yearbook (Plymouth, IN)

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THE SENIOR ANNUAL I have a faint recollection, once, in pinafore days of trying to cal- culate how far all the tatting she had ever made would reach. Such a charming picture as she made, standing in that old-fashioned door- way, in her quaint Quaker garb. The hall behind her was furnished in pineapple carved maghony, and the lighted tapers in the brass scones flanking either side of the console, cast such a soft glow down on her, that I thought even my stern great-grandfather hanging above must smile approvingly. Someone called shrilly and I ran to find Aunt Prudence standing in the south entry. Her skirts were pinned closely about her for, there's was no use amessin' up so, just doin' a little scrubbin'. Only once before, when I had pulled all the blossoms off her early strawberries, did I experience such a bear-hug. The hidden motive behind the two clutches, however, was vastly diiferent. At tea I was asked so many questions in such rapid succession that my quince honey and muflins remained almost untasted. The little tea table was very dainty with its polished top, covered with the fringed doilies and china of the Blue Willow pattern, and the bright old faces of my aunts, added the last touch to the whole picture of Warmth and good cheer. Aunt Patience gracefully played the role of hostess as she sat behind the silver teapot. The latter was an exquisite affair all done in chased silver, with the most adorably wrought handle and the letters S. F. engraved on the lid. Why, Aunt Patience, I cried, Hwhat lovely old English en- graving. , Then I told her of my collection of teapots, from the smiling little Mandarin that came with a pound of Orange Pekon, to the rare cloisonne one that Jack had sent from Shanghai. She said this one was very old, but Aunt Prudence with a sweeping glance of contempt for all such truck, dismissed the subject by asking me where I got my cuff-links, fer they looks much like some Zeke's got. Afterwards we sat in the long drawing-room by the great fire- place whose glistening andirons were heaped high with crackling, sputtering logs. Aunt Patience slipped the cover from her gilded harp, and her slender fingers glided over the strings, while I ac- companied her on the yellow-keyed spinet. We sang all the beauti- ful old -melodies ending with Annie Laurie, and the high trills of the Mocking Bird. Even tho her voice sometimes wavered doubt- fully, the mellowing of the years had only lent to it an added charm. Last of all We went upstairs, I to sleep in the guest chamber under the eaves. Here the soft summer rain pattering down on the shingles, soon soothed me to sleep, and to dream of all the people who had ever slept in that massive four-poster. My visit lengthened on thro the lazy summer days, on till the mournful chirp of the katydids and the hoarse croak of the bullfrogs in the marsh, betokened the coming autumn. One evening at sundown, Aunt Prudence sent Aunt Patience and me after the drove of bronze turkeys that had strayed to the west woods. Starting home we crossed the stile and sat down to rest on the way, in the family burying ground. When a child I had often come here, and dug the moss from the letters on the headstone with a pin. One poor little lonesome grave, particularly, had always claimed my sympathy, for tradition

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THE SENIOR ANNUAL ESTHER O'KEEFE I I U72 ZDBSQU C0901 1 I I had just received my degree at the State Varsity in June and was so tired after the Prom and house party, that I ran over to B- to rest up. B-is a wee bit of a place, but very shady and cool. The square white houses sit complacently back in a sea of green lawn, far removed by the row of high picket fences from the glare of the outside world. Farther down the square was the same corner- store, where I used to invest every available penny for licorice nig- ger babies. Everyone in this village of Friends was glad to see me for my father 's sake, for he had grown to manhood among them. My mother was of the world's people, a somewhat forbidden topic in these regions. The sincerity of these villagers was so genuine, that had a stranger cared to assume any superior airs, they would of necessity have fallen aside like a discarded cloak. My Aunts Prudence and Patience were the nearest of my kin, and I chose their home as my headquarters. It was once an old tavern on the State Road. Here my grandfather kept open house and here my father was born, and his mother died. VVhen but a tiny girl I used to come and stay weeks at a time. The things that I best remembered from these occasions were the quince honey and hot muffins for tea. First, however, I must tell you something of my aunts. Aunt Prudence was a large finely proportioned woman, whose word was law. She was always scolding and Worrying over some minor detail, but remarkably well did she play the masculine part of the house- hold. Oftentimes I have seen her don a pair of rubber boots and seizing the plow-share, show that worthless hired boy Zeke, how to run things. Aunt Patience is as different, well there is about as much diiference as can exist between a delicate damask rose and a purple cabbage. The latter is sometimes very useful, but for my part I prefer roses. Zeke was waiting for me at the station with the buckboard. His freckled, smiling countenance had not changed in all the years since I had last seen him, except that over it time had traced slight furrows, and the freckles if anything, were browner. A dampish drizzle had set in and the old gray nag trotted along with surprising alertness, considering his years, until we were soon at the farm. It was the same place as of other days, with the prim evenly-clipped box-hedges, and flaming rambler over the queer arched door framed by its two tiny panes of leaded glass. Zeke handed me out with the air of a prince in a fairy tale and there stood Aunt Patience at the door to greet me. The first thing that came to my notice was the tatting and shuttle in her hand. Since my earliest remembrance she had been placidly making tatting.

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THE SENIOR ANNUAL declared it to be that of a white child murdered by the Indians. I had noticed that Aunt Patience was unusually quiet, but presently she spoke. She and Aunt Prudence always use the Friends' speech. Virginia, thee hast admired my silver teapot so much that I shall give it to thee. But first I must tell thee something of its his- tory. Years ago, I was young and filled with life like thee. Sister Prudence was much concerned about my spiritual welfare, but my father granted my every whim. I had long harbored a desire to at- tend a young ladies' finishing school in the South. At this idea the neighbors looked askance, for to them the very thought was start- ling. But father was on my side, with the result that I soon started to Virginia, with a polonaised dress of grandmother 's silk, a bewitch- ing white crepe bonnet, adorned with rosebuds, and a new haircloth trunk. . Those were pleasant days, here she smiled reminiscently, but were to be soon overshadowed by the crisis of '62. Life was filled to the brim then of merriment, for there were dances and gay- ities of all descriptions,--and broken hearts, too, perhaps. On Sab- bath When we attended church, there was a young man, very hand- some and tall who sat in the judges' pew. His sister attended school with me. They lived on a nearby plantation and he certainly was a favorite with the girls. Their amazement was great to see when they knew his preference Was for the prim little Quaker as he chose to call me, and here the color came into her faded cheeks like that of a young girl. Before long however, we had dreadful tidings of war and Rob enlisted. I shall never forget the evening he told me that he must go to his regiment. We were walking down the curved drive edged with lilaes, and even now, the fragrance of lilacs when bursting into bloom makes me a trifle faint. He told me the story of his family motto, Servabo Fidem, or I keep the faith. How all the ances- tral knights of the olden times had fought even giving their lives to preserve it and now, how he must keep it ever before him, so as to keep faith with all the things that were worth while. The motto was engraved on some of the silver plate, and that is what the initials S. F. stand for on the tea-pot. School was dismissed in a few weeks and l accepted the invi- tation of Rob's sister and mother to stay at their plantation until it would be safe to go North. After he had gone a silent foreshadow- ing seemed to overhang the whole place. But there was much to do and little to do with, so our thoughts were directed toward work, and not lost in idle mourning. Ere long the humming whirr of the spinning Wheel and click- clack of carders long silent in some dusty garret, were heard upon entering all the neighboring homes. I so well remember one inci- dent, half pathetic, half humorous. Upon hearing Miss Margaret fRob's motherj complain of the poverty of wartime, faithful old Uncle Eben followed by the few remaining slaves, appeared one morning in the door of the loom-room, and offered his dusky tresses to be spun for the use of the cause. We lived through the next year by careful management and scrimping, for every cent that could be hoarded, must be deposited in the silver tea-pot that set over the great fireplace in the dining hall. This money was to go to the aid of the Confederate soldiers.