Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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TITE GOIjDEN - ROD The Mysterious Voice By Isabelle Chute, '08. “ O Grandma won’t you please tell us a ghost story ? ” asked little Ross. “ Yes, please do,” chimed in Harold, Tommy, and Jinna. “Of couth, you’ll tell uth a ghoth thtory, won’t you Gammic ? ” said little three-year-old Margaret in a most persuasive voice. We were all seated around the open fire- place. The pine logs were burning cheerfully in spite of the wind which was roaring like a lion and the rain beating hard against the house. I suppose the dreariness of the night was upon the children and they wished something to excite them and keep up their spirits until bed-time. “ Very well, then, I’ll tell you about a ghost I saw myself. I was about sixteen, I think, just about Harold’s age.” “ But Gammie what ith a ghotht ? ” asked Margaret. Suddenly a voice, loud and hollow, spoke from a dark corner of the room. “ A ghost is a person just like you who has departed from this life Sometimes it comes back and visits those who have done any wrong to it.” The children were startled by this unlooked for answer and little Margaret clung to her sister as if she feared the sound would carry her away. “ Oh Grandma! what is that noise ? ” asked Tommy in a very frightened manner. Again the voice in the corner answered, “ I am the ghost which your grandmother saw, but none of you can see me now.” There was a silence and no one broke it. The voice continued, “You cannot behold me be- cause that fire on the hearth is very bright and because seldom can mortals gaze upon us spirits. I heard your grandmother say she was going to tell about me, and therefore I have come to tell my own story.” “ Long long ago when I was a human being your grandmother was my most intimate friend. We played together when we were little, started to school together and never quarrelled so badly as not to make up next day. At school we averaged about the same in our studies. One day an announcement was made that a prize would be given for the best essay on ‘Julius Caesar.’ Your grandmother and I tried for the prize. She won it, but not because she was smarter than I. We were supposed to read up our points and then write from memory, but your grand- mother kept her papers in sight and so was able to write the longer paper.” “ When I learned that she had cheated I told her that I knew it. We had angry words and parted. In a short time my life on earth ceased, so that she never saw me again in any form until the time she had intended to tell you about. I did not mean for her to see me then but it was unavoidable. It was about nine o’clock in the evening and the moon was shining brightly. She was sitting underneath some trees which overlooked a small brook. This brook ran be- hind both of our houses. I thought that she looked sad. She must have been thinking about our early days when we used to play in the brook and make mud-pies, for she looked up longingly towards my room and surprised, saw me standing in the window. I had been watch- ing her from the middle of the room but in my eagerness to see her more clearly I had stepped to the window. The reason why I had been in my room was that I had a longing to see my old things once more and so had come back and had taken a visible form for the time being. “Seeing me your grandmother screamed and fainted away. Her mother came running out to sec what had happened. When she was revived, she was asked why she had fainted. All she was able to say was, ‘ Mary’s ghost! Mary’s ghost! ’ and pointed toward my room.” Here the voice stopped and we could hear a hollow sound as if the ghost might be calling softly to the friend of her school days over this remembrance. The children were more frightened than ever. “ I became invisible immediately and no one has ever seen me since then. I suppose you wonder why I am here now. I heard, no matter how, that a prize was offered for the best essay on ‘Abraham Lincoln.’ I heard also that the grandson of my old chum was trying for it. I thought that if he had any of his grandmother’s ways I had better warn him. Good-night. You know ‘ forewarned is forearmed.’ ” There was a faint rustling and a silence. The children had become so frightened that they could not speak.

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THE GOLDEN- HOD I came in, ’specially across the reef. How'd they bite to-day ? ” “ First t’rate, got a good haul of small had- dock and a few large cod, considering the weather an’ all. Got a fine haul of lobsters this morning, best so fur this week. S’pose your still gettin’ good hauls! ” “ No, scarce, scarce as kin be and all small — by the way have you got any bait you kin spare ? I’m rather shy fer to-morrow mornin’, don’t want much.” “ Certain, your welcome to what’s left, I’m going to town to-morrow, so won’t haul till Thurs- day, better stay and have something to cat. Rather disagreeable out.” “ No, guess not, got to go home early. Much obliged. Good night.” When Rufe went to his traps Thursday morn- ing he found only two full grown lobsters in them. His good fortune of previous weeks had changed, but he lost no time in complaining. Instead, at low tide, he rowed cheerfully across the cove and dug clams enough to equal his loss of the morning’s haul. Continuous clam digging was fatiguing work even for Rufe,who was trained to it by years of hard experience. So he retired early and slept soundly through the long cloudy night. Again the next morning Rufe hauled only to meet with the same result; so he piled all the pots in a boat and dropped them on a smaller ledge about a quarter of a mile up the shore. As this change brought no better success he took them back to the old ledge, never discouraged, but rather puzzled by this sudden and complete change in his lobstering. One week passed, each day of which came and went with empty traps. Monday night the moon shone strong and bright from a clear blue sky, sending its silvery rays across the little cove. From the door of his hut Rufe could plainly see the ledge where his useless pots were lying. Here he sat till late into the night meditating upon his lobster problem. When Rufe rowed across to the ledge in the morning a happy sur- prise was in store for him. Nearly every trap had a good catch. Two more days came with almost the same success. This aroused his sus- picions. In the afternoon of the third day black clouds arose from the west, hiding the sun and making the evening dark and thick. After sup- per Rufe sauntered along the beach, around the cove and out to the extremity of the point. Here he found a hiding place behind some old rails of a long broken-down fence and waited. At half past eleven he was suddenly aroused from a half doze by a slight splashing and rippling of the water. Looking towards the reef he saw in an instant the answer to his lobster problem. The following night he was at his post on the point, this time clad in swimming apparel with a large ulster thrown over his shoulders for protec- tion against the evening dampness. When eleven o’clock came he was wide awake and watchful. At last, across the sound he perceived a black speck coming rapidly towards the point. Taking a log from the fence he plunged into the water, pushing it in advance as he gracefully swam towards the ledge. Near a lobster pot that was located on the edge of the ledge he stopped swimming, resting lightly on the log. The water was cool but Rufe did not notice this in his anxiety about the black speck that was rapidly approach- ing the pots. When this speck had reached the first pot he recognized the fisherman’s dory and its one lonely occupant. One by one the pots were hauled and emptied. Gradually and silently the dory approached the pot where Rufe was waiting. The critical moment was near. He must not be discovered. Two strokes under water brought him up under the protecting shadow of the overhanging stern of the dory, while the thief was hauling the last trap. This completed, the thief sat down to the oars for retreat. Before he could take a stroke Rufe plunged through the water, grabbed the blade of the port oar, threw his entire weight upon it, and with the gunwale as a fulcrum hurled it off into the darkness. A quick plunge under water brought Rufe up on the other side where he found the other oar floating on the water where the thief had dropped it in his bewilderment. The wind was now blowing quite hard and the bewildered thief was drifting helplessly toward Rufe’s hut. When the dory grounded on the smooth beach Rufe was there to receive its occupant. With knitted brows and lowered head, Peter West walked sullenly up the beach under the guiding influence of Rufe’s double barreled shot gun.

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THE GOJLDEN- ROD At last Harold said, “Grandma did ybu really win that prize by cheating? ” “That’s what the ghost said wasn’t it ?” “Yes,” he said hesitatingly, “but I don’t believe it.” Slowly the wondering children withdrew for bed, all but Harold. Being left alone he asked, “ Grammie, how did that ghost know about that prize essay at school ? ” “ I’m sure I don’t know. I suppose that you are going to try for the prize.” “ Yes, I am going to try, but I shall try to win it without cheating. They haven’t said much about the rules concerning the prizes but I sup- pose we shall have to write our papers as you did.” “ Well, I hope that you will try for the prize and I hope that you’ll win it fairly, my boy.” A few days later Harold came bounding up the steps three at a time. He was shouting, “ I’ve won the first prize. Hurrah ! ” “That’s good,” said his mother, “and I am sure you did not win by cheating.” “ Cheat! Do you think that I would cheat and have a fellow’s ghost chasing me all my life? Well I guess not.” “ What do you mean by a fellow’s ghost chas- ing you around ? ” asked his father sternly. “ Why Grandma was going to tell us a ghost story the other night arid the ghost came and told it instead. Grandma had cheated in a prize essay such as mine and the person who would have received the prize if Grandma hadn’t cheated died. Grandma has seen her ghost.” “ Did you really see a ghost, mother ? ” exclaimed Harold’s mother. “No, I didn’t, but I’ll tell you what I did sec. I saw how eager Harold was to win the prize. You saw it also. You were afraid that in his eagerness he would use foul means. You did not know how to mention the subject so as to warn him. In my younger days I was quite a ventriloquist. When Ross asked me to tell a ghost story I happened to think of this long for- gotten art. I thought I must try to kill two birds with one stone, that of amusing the children and warning Harold. My plan succeeded. Harold has won the first prize and I’m sure that the children have enjoyed the story. They have done more thinking in the last few days than in as many weeks over the ‘ Mysterious Voice.’ ” A Haunted House By Gilbert Booth, '07. It was Saturday at last. I had been counting each hour since Monday, waiting in great antici- pation for this day. Quickly I breakfasted and by nine o’clock had succeeded in finishing the necessary chores, Hurrying to the house of Don Kent, my chum, I found that he was also free for the day. “What’s up today, Joe?” he asked, for he readily saw I had something important on my mind. “A little adventure, Don. Do you remember that house which is nearly two hundred years old, up by Auruns Bend ? ” “ Do you mean that one we ran across when we were blueberrying ? ” “ Yes that’s the house; it is deserted now since the father died two months ago. Jim Stone was up there the other day; the people that live near there say the house is haunted.” “ You don’t believe in ghosts do you ? ” “No Joe. I have not had the pleasure of meeting one.” “ Nor I either Don ; I guess this ghost story is all a sham.” “Well, will you go up with me, Don ?' “Sure Joe. I am with you; we ll start now.” Off we went. The house was nearly two miles away, but this didn’t trouble us, for we walked nearly twice the distance every Satur- day. Soon we came within sight of the house and judging by the appearance, it looked as if it would not stand another New England winter. There was no doubt as to the house being vacant. The windows were broken, the door was open, and we entered without any resistance. We stood in the narrow hallway and the door closed behind us with a prolonged creaking sound. It shut out the daylight and left 11s in nearly complete darkness. I felt uneasy. W hat if the house should be haunted ! and a feeling of awe crept over me as my heart beat quickly against my breast. “Well Joe, is this all the far you are going? Arc you scared?” “N—No Don, I don’t be- lieve in ghosts.” He pushed open the kitchen door and walked in without the least hesitation. The first object to meet our gaze was the large old-fashioned fire-place. This took up nearly