Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 5 After a few moments of general conversation on their journey, Trude showed the newcomers their rooms. Knowing that they were hungry, she went down to the kitchen and with the help of the hired girl quickly served the supper. She was delighted with her guests and felt sure that they would enjoy themselves. Strange that—but here her reflections were cut short by the sound of steps on the stairs; and so she rang the big din- ner bell. That meal was of the merriest. Farmer Em- ery possessed a good deal of native wit and kept the young people laughing. Afterward he and his daughter were urged to join in some games Tom had planned for the evening and they proved themselves as enthusiastic and clever as the rest. Sunday passed with snowshoeing, a sleigh ride and, in the evening, the singing of Christmas carols. The young people had splendid voices and Trude, who was extremely fond of music, thoroughly enjoyed it. Monday morning, Trude and Janie were up betimes and had the Christmas dinner well under way by breakfast time. After breakfast the guests went off for some tobogganing, leaving Trude to devote her whole mind to the turkey. What a wonderful bird that turkey was and what appetites in proportion did the coasters bring back with them! Sueli justice was done to that dinner that it was not until late afternoon that the energetic Bessie was ready for something new. She proposed a sleigh ride to take all the evening. The moon would be full and visible for several hours. They could return about half past ten. have a light supper, and catch their train which left for Boston at midnight. The others liked her idea and hurried away to put on all the warm garments they possessed. When they came back, the visitors urged Trude to come with them. However, she knew that the capacity of the sleigh was already overestimated and so declined. Much was said about her re- maining alone but in the flurry occasioned by the departure, Trude slipped away to the kitchen. She did long to go with the rest. John Payne had offered her his seat but, of course, she could not allow that. Suddenly she was roused by footsteps in the dining room and, jumping up, found herself face to face with the young man who had been in her thoughts but a moment be- fore. “I couldn't let you stay here all alone,” he said in his big pleasant way. “Come in by the open fire and we’ll have a good time together this evening.” He saw the comfortable rocker and carried it into the dining room for her. It was good to be sitting here in front of the cheery blaze with this entertaining young man. He talked well and Trude liked to watch the va- rying expressions of his face, lighted only by the flames. He had not changed much, for she had recognized him immediately. She had meant not to bother him with it but in a pause she found herself telling him that they had met be- fore. “Is that so?” he asked, frankly surprised. “I must confess I don’t remember you at all.” Then she told him how, when she went over to the high school in Fielding, he had been in the graduating class. A friend among the older girls had introduced them to one another at a dance near the end of the year and they had had a waltz together. She did not tell him of the hero worship of the strange little girl for the big senior who was gaining honors in Latin. Greek, and Mathematics; nor how she had lis- tened with bated breath when he had won the debate Fielding had held with another school; nor even how she had been rendered speechless by the honor of dancing with him. None of this did she disclose. As she mentioned the place of their meeting, however, Payne, who had been listening with interest, said eagerly, “Indeed. I remember you now. You had on a pretty blue dress and your hair was in a long, yellow braid down your back!” They both laughed. A lively conversation ensued, concerning their high school days. Then Payne told about the removal of his family to Boston in order that he might attend Harvard. He touched on his college life and what he was doing in the business world at present. “But you, Miss Emery, did you finish the course at Fielding?” “No. You see the next year Mother died and I had to stay at home and keep house for Father.” “I understand.” he said, and the deep voice was remarkably gentle.

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4 THE GOLDEN-ROD AVhat is school spirit? School spirit is a faithful and constant endeavor to further the good of your school in every way possible. Have you tried to make your school worthy of its name? Have you prepared your daily lessons well and regularly? Have you given material to your Goldenrod to make it the best ever? Have you contributed towards the football games, cheering the fellows on to victory? If you have not done all these things, wake up! There is still time to show school spirit. When a collection is made, feel interested, do not say, let the other fellow do it. Be interested in all the teams and go to the games. Help the Goldenrod with subscriptions, live jokes and good stories. See to it that you do your daily lessons to the best of your ability. Lastly, honor the Quincy High School. The Heart's Christmas What is more peaceful or more beautiful than a snowstorm,—a country snowstorm? The city variety is unproductive of imaginative flights— in fact, the least said, the better, on that score. But a real Northern New England snowstorm, such as they were having in Clyde one day in late December, affords much that is delightful. The big, bare hills, the stark elms and beeches, and the deserted pastures were provided with a cov- ering of dainty purity by the thousands and thousands of dry flakes which were falling steadily down, down, as they had been for two days past. The children of the neighborhood, on their way home from school, were shouting to eavh other that Santa Claus could come in his sleigh this year. Yet, for some unaccountable reason the fairy flakes failed to bring joy or even a sense of calm to Trude Emery. She was sitting at the kitchen window, gazing out and off toward the village. Now she started as if she had heard some sound; then she sank back into her rocker, disappointed—for she was expecting to hear the whistle of the train from the city. When it did not come, she began to blame the faultless snow for the delay. Mr. Emery was a shrewd, Yankee farmer who had already discovered that the cultivation of that perennial crop—the summer boarder—was profitable. He even took “select parties ' in the winter for a jolly Christmas gathering—when the sleighing was good and he would have an op- portunity to let his horses! lie had driven to the station but a scant twenty minutes before to meet a party of six who were to spend Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Christmas Day, at his home. Trude had thought of very little else since the letter came from Boston. Although she saw a few- city people in the summer, enough time elapsed between summer and Christmas to make her eager for the coming of the strangers. She had lived in this retired corner of the world all her life and therefore was remarkably young for her twenty-two years. For this reason, al- though she had no fault to find with her quiet but useful life, she did enjoy the excitement and novelty afforded her by her father’s board- ers. What was that? A sleigh bell? Yes. Would they pass by or?—no, they were turning in and Trude could discern a group of laughing faces. She rose hastily, went into the dining room for a last look at the blazing logs in the great fireplace and was at the door when the guests came in, stamping off the snow. T! e coi-.'.idl welcome of the little jiousekeeper put the visitors immediately at their ease. First came Bessie, stout and voluble; then her sedate mother, who, by the way, had a twinkle in her eye; Bernice, the stately opposite of her friend Bessie, and fair Eleanor followed; mischievous Tom was not far behind them: Trude liked them all on the spot. As she held out her hand to the sixth member of the party, she had to lift her eyes quite a lit- tle in order to see his face for he towered high above her. Anyone observing her closely, would have seen the warm color in her cheeks fade. John Payne thought the little hand he was shak- ing so vigorously was rather cold. He told her his name and asked her to lead the way to the others who were already gathered around the fire.

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6 THE GOLDEN-ROD The old Grandfather’s clock struck with its silvery chime ten times. “Ten o’clock! and those people will be back in half an hour! There’s barely time to get supper.” Trude was half way to the kitchen by this time. Payne followed her and urged, “Let me do something. I used to cook things at college and it was great fun.” Trude laughed but assured him that coffee and some biscuits would be the only hot articles, lie looked so disappointed that she relented and investing him in an enormous apron set him to work grinding coffee and slicing cold ham. Still clad in his apron, Payne was removing the biscuits from the oven when the sleighing party suddenly trooped in, bringing with them a wave of cold, crisp air. In spite of the mirth at his expense Payne was quite at his ease and ordered, “Sit right down. We’re all ready for you. The train won’t wait for us, you know,” for the others were inclined to loiter about the fireplace. After supper Trude went upstairs with the girls and did all she could to help them get their things together. Nevertheless, they were rather late and rushed down after the third sum- mons from Bessie’s mother and the boys with hasty “goodbyes. Trude slipped on a coat and stood in the door- way watching them get into the sleigh. Just then, Payne left the excited group and came quickly toward Trude. He held out both hands and she put hers into them. “I’m glad we met again as we did,” he said. “You and your father have given me the finest holiday—but particularly you. This evening was the best of all. I hope I’ll see you again. I will see you again. I’ll write. Goodbye— Trude.” The sleigh had started and he had to dash after it and get in as best he could. Trude watched them out of sight and then slowly closed the heavy door. Miss Trude Emery still lives in the large, white farmhouse. She and her widowed sister keep house and run the farm. In such an active life there are few moments for idle dream- ing but once in a while Miss Emery—sweetly middle aged—sits down in the old kitchen rocker and folds her hands. She has passed the mile- stone of life that is marked “Fifty” and her hair is white but there are few things she has forgotten. As she sits there all alone on a late winter afternoon, particularly if the snow is falling or she hears the sleigh bells ring, she thinks of a ribbon-tied package of yellow letters locked in the antique secretary and she seems to see before her, as if he were really there, the lover of her youth who never came back. Priscilla Robinson, ’13. The Woman-Hater The great stadium flashed red and blue in the sparkling sunshine of a brisk November morn- ing. A biting breeze played amidst the flutter- ing banners and imprinted rosy kisses on the cheeks of laughing maidens and excited youths. All was a scene of tense excitement, the first half of the game had just ended with the thrilling score of six to five in favor of the visiting team. The hero of the game thus far had been Bob Whiting, the husky quarter-back of the home team. But for his brilliant passing, a fumble on the other side, his forty yard dash, and a touch-down, the score would still be six to zero and the chances of the home team much slimmer. Bob Whiting was a manly fellow with broad shoulders, comely features, and a magnetic per- sonality, the idol of men and the hero of girls— an avowed woman hater and consequently more than worshipped by them. He stood, now, at the far end of the glistening field, surrounded