Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 13 afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. This is my dog. He’s a beauty, isn’t he? Such a cunning little thing, though he’s very mischievous. I’m so sorry that you’ve last your dog.” Jack felt puzzled. That was most certainly his dog. Why under the sun did the girl want to claim it? Then he became a trifle indignant The idea of her claiming his dog in this cool fashion. “But, Miss Arden, there is some mistake. That is surely my dog.” he said stiffly. The girl’s chin went up, and she looked at Jack with heightened color. “Mr. Standish, you are hardly doing a gentlemanly thing. You claim this dog, inferring that I am not telling the truth. The dog is. without question, mine. I shall have to bid you good-afternoon.” Then, still carrying the innocent cause of the dispute, she walked indignantly away. Scowling. Jack walked back to the house. He too, was angry. ‘ ‘ What do you suppose possessed that girl to act like that?” he muttered. “It’s incomprehensible! She appeared to be such a nice girl, and she certainly is pretty. And she claims my dog. I can’t very well enforce my claim—at least, 1 don’t want to. If she were only a man. Lord! these women. What made her do it?” » The next day Jack arose with a fixed purpose in his mind. He had been extremely rude. That girl would never have claimed Bill without some good reason, and, whatever it was, he was ready to accept it. Now he was going to Miss Arden to o “Jack,” said my father out of a temporary silence at the dinner table,” Jack, do have a piece of pie!” It was Sunday and as bleak and desolate a day as ever I remember. Out of doors the wind howled and shrieked and hurled the falling leaves hither and thither, a desolate accompaniment to the falling rain. Within doors, my father, Jack, make an apology for his rudeness, and to offer her the dog. if only she would forgive him and take it. He went to tin library, but what a sight met his eyes! Magazines were chewed and tattered, the inkstand was overturned, the cushions were in ribbons, and in one corner, a silky black bundle of mischief was worrying Jack’s derby. Jack snatched up the pup. “You little nuis- ance. you ought to have your neck wrung! You blamed little trouble-maker? Now you’re going to be given away. You’re a disgrace, but I’m not going to let Miss Arden think I’m such a cad.” He tucked the squirming handle under his arm and hurried toward his neighbor’s home. As he mounted the steps, he saw Miss Arden sitting at the farther end of the piazza. He hur- ried toward her. and was about to speak, when something she held attracted his attention. He looked at it, stupified, and gasped, for the “some- thing” was Bill. No, not Bill, for he himself was holding that little wretch. But this was certain- ly Bill’s double. This, then, was the explanation of the trouble. Jack began to laugh—laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. Miss Arden looked up startled, then saw Bill, the First, and she, too. went into a helpless gale of mirth. When they had both ceased laughing from utter weakness, Jack held out his hand. “I’m sorry to have been such an idiot,” he said, “Won’t you forgive me? I think we can be the best of friends now.” And Miss Arden seemed to think it highly probable. D. D. ’ll. my oldest brother, Esther and Carrie, the twins, Nan, and last, but not least I myself, were gathered around the dining room table on the aforesaid Sabbath day, in the month of Decem- ber, 19—. Well, never mind, I never could re- member dates. “Jack,” my father repeated, “some pie?” But Jack was not favorably disposed toward Just Pie

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12 THE GOLDEN-ROD Christmas night had come. The great concert hall was crowded, and a burst of applause broke forth as a girl stepped out on the stage, then all was quiet. The pianist struck a few soft chords, and then as the clear, sweet voice of the singer rang out in the words of a Christmas song, “Peace on earth, good will toward men,” the joy of the Christmas angels filled the heart of one gray haired man, who sat gazing at the singer with eyes dimmed with tears. II. M. P. ’ll. That Pup Jack Standish looked gravely at the puppy. “Now look here, Bill,” he said, “You’re a mighty cunning little tyke, but you’re not going to chew up my boot. It'll ruin your digestion, and I might possibly need my foot-wear again. A dog with your pedigree ought to have too much pride to do anything so foolish. Out you go!” He picked up the wriggling puppy and thrust him unceremoniously through the door. “Here, Hiram,” he called to the gardener,” keep an eye on this dog, will you? He’s alto- gether too valuable to lose, but I can’t stand him in the house. He’s a blamed nuisance.” Turning back to the library, he settled himself comfortably in the leather arm-chair. “Here’s hoping I’ll have a bit of time now to finish this story and my pipe,” he said, and soon became absorbed in his book. The story held his attention for only a short time. It seemed a shame to waste such a beauti- ful afternoon indoors. Suddenly he thought of Bill. “Guess I’ll go and get my dog,” he thought, “Hope Hiram’s taking good care of him. I’d hate to lose that pup.” With this he hurried out of the room. However, upon reaching the lawn, no puppy was in sight. Hiram was grubbing away in the flower-bed, and, when Jack anxiously inquired for the canine, he looked up, much surprised. “ Wall, Mr. Jack, yew don’t say thet that tliar dorg’s a-missin’? I took a lot o’ pains to fix him up in the carriage-house. Have yew looked tliar?” Jack hurried to the spot, but no puppy ap- peared. He was worried, for it was a very easy matter for that wriggling mite to lose itself. He was rather angry that Hiram should have al- lowed the dog to escape. “I’ll search the grounds, and if I can’t find him. I’ll put an ad in the paper immediately,” he said. Starting out, he covered every inch of the ex- tensive grounds, becoming more vexed at each step. Of course the puppy was too young to know him for its master. And he would have been such a valuable bird-dog. Anyone could see that. By this time, he had reached the low stone- wall which formed a boundary between his estate and the one adjoining it. Looking over, Jack was astonished to see a girl coming from the house. “Huh! here’s a surprise,” he said. “I thought the house was to be vacant this season. That must be Miss Arden, though. Wonder if she’s seen anything of my dog. I’ll wait a sec- ond and ask her.” The girl came toward the great oak-tree, evi- dently bent upon spending a quiet afternoon in reading or sewing in the pleasant shade. She carried a cushion, a book and something small and black. Jack looked at the latter object curi- ously, then gave a sigh of relief. It was Bill. What a lot of trouble he was saved! He vaulted over the wall, walked toward the girl and raised his cap. “I beg pardon, but isn’t this Miss Arden? I’m your neighbor, John Standish, and I’ve just been hunting for that pup. I’m glad you’ve found him. Saves me a great deal of trouble.” The girl looked at him in a surprised man- ner, then smiled. She was a mighty pretty girl, Jack thought. Self-possessed, too. Her chin showed that, though her mouth was soft and sweet and red. and her eyes were wonderful, so big and dark. “Your puppy, Mr. Standish? Oh! no, I’m

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14 THE GOLDEN-ROD pie after his hearty dinner. lie glanced longing- ly at its apple dumpling sides and hesitated. But discretion won the victory and Jack replied, “No, thank you, Father.’’—as did the rest of the family, with the exception of myself. I decided to have mine then and there. “Some pie, Lucile?” A terrible crash of thunder prevented my reply and brought us all almost instantaneously to our feet. In the general alarm that followed all thoughts of pie were forgotten. Father turned the lights on all over the house. Bright fires glowed, sparkled and hissed cheerily to us from the fireplaces. Father sang to us in his deep bass voice to Nan’s accompaniment on the piano. Jack played chess with the twins, and I curled up on the rug before the fire-place with “Alice in Wonderland.” “Alice in Wonderland,” for once did not in- terest me. The Cheshire Cat seemed to glare at me from within the printed pages. I wanted pie! Just pie! and pie I would have. I glanced around me but everyone seemed occu- pied with his own affairs. Father still sang on. Jack and the twins quarreled and laughed fitful- ly over the chess-board, Nan’s white fingers glid- ed daintily over the keys of the piano,—I smiled in triumph. The White Queen seemed to nod en- couragingly from within the printed pages. The Cheshire Cat continued to glare. I left the room noisily, knocking over Jack’s chess-board as I passed. Once out of the room, however, I stole cautiously toward the pantry. Ah, there it was! Its apple dumpling sides tempting and delicious. Neatly, and with a dex- terity of which I blush to write, I transferred that pic from the pantry shelf to a more sensible and safer hiding place behind the flour barrel. There! that done I could return to my story. As I left the pantry I encountered Jack coming in. “I was looking for the corn popper,” he ex- plained, rather discomfited. I handed it to him in silence and left him, to return to my story. The printed page continued to dance before my eyes. The Cheshire Cat continued to glare. Jack had returned with the popper; his eyes avoided mine in passing. A terrible suspicion entered my mind. I glanced around for Nan; she had vanished! I hadn’t seen her leave the room. What if she had—? I sprang up hastily and quitted the room, again knocking over that unfortunate chess- board. “What are you trying to do, Lucile ?” said Nan’s voice behind me, “Break up housekeep- ing?” 1 turned to see the dimples of mischief darting to and fro in her cheeks. Her brown eyes were alight with merriment. She had come from the direction of the pantry. What if she had—? I hastened on toward the pantry only to meet Father coming out. He smiled dryly as he passed by. Father loved, above all things, a good joke. 11 is humorous expression filled me with an anxi- ous foreboding. I walked toward the pantry to see if my prize had been disturbed, but as the in- exorable Fates would have it, Father turned and said, “Come with me child, and read some of your story to me.” And could I refuse? At about ten o’clock we all met in the pantry. “For Goodness’ sakes, children, what are you rummaging for in that flour barrel?” Father was saying, as I came in, a trifle testily to the twins who seemed to have some weighty secret on their minds. “Nan, tell me what it is you are looking for.” Father’s patience was fast disap- pearing. “Jack, I am surprised at you; come from be- neath that ice chest at once. Lucile! what are you doing behind the flour barrel?” All this from Father who was gazing into an empty cof- fee box with a mystified expression on his face. Silently we wended our way upstairs; but to this day when apple pie is mentioned in our family, we avoid each others eyes and murmur sadly to ourselves, “Who took that pie?” A. D. ’12.