Polytechnic High School - Polytechnic Student Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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THE GIFT WITHOUT THE GIVERH Gertrude Peters, W'16. Anne, panting, reached the top of the hill just in time to hear the first bell ring, and to see her schoolmates file into the brown, weather-beaten schoolhouse that lay in the valley before her. If she had had any other teacher, she would have been afraid to be late, but Miss Maegregor always understood that Anne 's work was to prepare breakfast and wash dishes, and she could not make herself believe that she ought to scold the quaint orphan who lived with a childless uncle and aunt. Anne rushed into the school-room and hastily sat down just as the tardy bell rang ominously. She glanced up to smile good morning at her teacher, but the smile was lost in a look of dismay-Miss Macgregor was not there! ln her place behind the battered old desk sat a stately, attractive woman. But the horror of horrors-she frowned ! All of her charms were eclipsed for Anne, who had never been frowned upon in school before, and the child felt a sudden dislike and fear of the usurper. Roll was called, and the morning lessons began. Anne, usually the most brilliant of her class, failed utterly in the simplest questions. She could not study for that horrid new teacher, and where, oh where was Miss Maegregor? She heard nothing of the morning lessons, and the lump in her throat grew larger every second. At noon, miserable, she learned from Marjorie Mallond that Miss Mac- gregor had been injured by an automobile in town the night before, and was now in the hospital. Oh, gasped Anne, tears Welling into her eyes. But Marjorie was gone, and Anne, though eager to learn more of her teacher 's misfortune, had to hurry home for lunch. She stumbled along, moaning to herself, No, she can 't die. They won 't let her die. Oh, if she dies, l'll die, too. She choked over her lunch in a vain attempt to eat. What's the matter, Anne? You aren't eating any lunch, remarked her uncle, a stern old farmer. What 's that? Your schoolmarm's in the hospital? And you don 't like the new one? Well, don 't ery over that. I 'low it's a good thing to have a change now 'n' then. You can 't count on them pretty school marms, no how. I would like to stay home this afternoon, may I? pleaded Anne. I-I don't feel good. Eh, don 't feel good? That ain't no excuse. You jest run along. You eouldn't do nothin' around, no how. I think Anne might stay home if she doesn't wish to go, Eben, meekly put in his wife, who still had memories of the days when she had studied the three R's under a tyrannical master. E301

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THE YEOMAN'S LILT Mildred L. Bradford, S'16 Oh, my home's far away, In a place bright and gay, A place where the flow'rs ever bloom. Though I now roam away, The woods call all day, And I hope to return to them soon. Oh! my heart's in my woodland, The glorious woodland, The woodland so filled with delight. And my soul does not rest And my heart's not its best, When away from my woodland so bright Comrades, grant me a boon, Pray let 's return soon, So that in my woods I may roam. For in sooth I'1n forlorn, In the crowds I e'cr mourn, Pray let me haste to my home. There the birds sing gay, Through all the day, And the brooklets sparkling run. And the whole world is green, Fairer place was ne'er seen, And over all smiles the sun. For my soul does burn To forever return To my home in the wood 's fair glade. And my heart will be gay Through the livelong day As I rest in the great trce's shade. Oh! my heart's in my woodland, The glorious woodland, The woodland so filled with delight. And my soul does not rest, And my heart's not its best, NVhen away from my woodland so bright i291 -

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Well, far be it from me to say whether I care if she goes or not, he answered. But what kind of an edjication d'ye think she will get, settin' around at home? And he stalked out of the room, slamming the door. Anne stayed at home, and worried about Miss Macgregor all the afternoon. She wanted to go to the hospital, but-she feared her uncle's wrath. Finally, towards evening, she summoned enough courage, and snatching her sunbonnet, started off. But in stories they usually leave flowers with a notef' thought Anne. She had only one bush of flowers-a red geranium that Miss Macgregor had given her a year before. Her uncle had complained about it, and told her that he didn 't want the place messed up with flowers. Vegetables was all right, but he never could see the sense o' flowers. There were only five blossoms on the bush, but these Anne picked carefully, wrapped them in some white tissue paper that had come on gifts the Christmas before, and in the middle, she placed a note, carefully written on lined paper. She carried them to the town hospital where a kind-faced nurse took them, and told her that Miss Macgregor would have received them herself, but she was sleeping. Anne, assured that her teacher would be at school within a week, hurried out with a light heart. At the curb a limousine drew up, and Marjorie, rich, fortunate Marjorie, stepped out. She carried a long green box-the kind that the town florist used. At the sight of her, Anne suddenly became ashamed. I ought to have known better than to give her old red gcraniums when she will get hot-house flowers, she scolded, hurrying along. An hour later, Miss Macgregor, awakening, found two bouquets on the table beside her. One consisted of half a dozen perfect American Beauty roses 5 the other, of five geranium blossoms. Beside each was the note that had come with it. She opened a delicate pink envelope, and read: Dear Miss Macgregor: I was very sorry to hear of your accident, and trust that you will be at school soon again. US- 1 mcere y, Marjorie Mallond. She .laid it aside and picked up the second. It said: My dear, dear teacher: . I missed you so much at school this morning, and was awfully sorry to hear that you get hurt. I don't like the teacher we have, and hope you will get well soon. Lots and lots of love from HA Q .nne. HP. S. These geranyums are off that bush you gave me. And the school-teacher, with tears in her eyes, looking into the flowers, saw more beauty in the heart of the geranium than she did in the hot-house rose. l31l