Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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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

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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 - ROD half the kitchen, and without delay Don pro- ceeded to ransack the shelves, closets, and every nook and corner that could be found, and was re- warded by the finding of a small rusty screw- driver which he pocketed. “Not much here, Joe. Let’s see the next room.” Opening a door on the right we saw a room which had served as a parlor, but now was bare and dismal. As Don was leading, he first spied the closet, and again began a keen search for anything that might have been left behind. As for myself, I had no part in the search, and took good care to leave all the doors open behind me, so that I could easily gain the door by which we entered, and I walked on tip-toe, listening to the least sound. Yet, I wasn’t afraid of ghosts! “ Don, you would make a good detective.” “ Thanks, Joe. Say, you look very pale.” “ I feel sick, Don, I would like to go out into the fresh air.” “Come, come, don’t show the white feather Joe,” the lad said smiling. “ Now we’ll go down cellar.” My heart sank within me as he opened the door leading to the depths. Down we went, the rickety stairs ready to collapse at any moment. Such a cellar—if it could be called one! for the base of the huge chimney formed a small circular track which served as a cellar. Don had an idea there was money hidden there, and was poking out several stones of the cellar wall in hopes of finding some. I was examining a large jug, which, judging by the odor coming from it, had contained hard- cider. I was trying to put on a brave appearance, examining the jug, and was about to put it down when a scurrying, creaking noise reached my ears. I let the jug drop and it smashed into a hundred fragments. I grew pale as death. Don came softly over and even he was pale. He was the first to break the silence. “ We must get out of here, Joe.” Without another word he ascended the stairs while I followed at his heels. Reaching the kitchen, we found the noise was coming from up- stairs. “ I’ll dare you to go up, Joe.” “ Come on and skidoo, Don. I have had enough of this house. I will have to take nerve- tonic for a year.” “ You are a squealer, Joe. I’ll lead, if you are afraid.” To be called a “squealer” was more than I could endure. “Go ahead, I’ll follow.” Shaking in every limb I ascended the stairs after him. The noise was plainly heard now, and the door at the top of the stair-way was ajar. Don poked his head in and pulled it out quickly. I thought at first I perceived a smile on his face, but if there was one, it quickly vanished. “ Look in, Joe,” he said in a scared voice. The sight I saw I shall never forget. Fully a hundred, yes fully two hundred rats were holding a mass meeting. A loud laugh escaped my lips, and the rats stopped their meeting. Two hun- dred pairs of eyes were directed towards the door, and in another moment two hundred rat- tails were disappearing from view. On turning towards Don, I was surprised to find that he had disappeared. I heard a foot- step in the next room and went in. Don was procuring a small mantel-piece with the aid of his screw-driver. His face wore a serious look almost as if he were ashamed. “What’s the matter, Don? ” I asked. “ Not much, Joe, but to think we were frightened by rats! ” “ You were not frightened, Don. It was I who was frightened.” “Yes, Joe, to all appearances I wasn’t, but within I was frightened.” “ Well, Don, no one shall know how we were frightened by rats, or our thrilling experience in the Haunted House.” c j AS ADVERTISED. Annual sale nowon; don’t go elsewhere to be cheated, come in here. A lady wants to sell her piano as she is going abroad in a strong iron frame. Wanted: By a respectable girl, her pas- sage to New York, willing to take care of chil- dren and a good sailor. Lost: Near Highgate archway, an umbrella belonging to a gentleman with a bent rib and a bone handle. Mr. Brown, furrier, begs to announce that he will make up gowns, capes, etc., for ladies out of their own skins. — Ex.