Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 9 locked, the soldiers began to pound at it, until at last they broke in. To judge from the noise, they went through all the rooms upstairs and down, smashing, banging everything they could possibly find. When they came into the library they de- stroyed some valuable pieces of furniture. I thought that this would surely be the end of me, and in truth they left me in a terrible condition. The glass on my bookcase was shattered into a thousand pieces, the books were taken out and scattered over the room, and my beautiful mahogany sides were all scratched. After this reckless destruction the soldiers must have gone to the kitchen and helped themselves, for I saw them going past the win- dows with all the provisions they could carry. While I was in this sorry plight the Gov- ernor and his son, who during this time had been away, arrived home, and it was a sad sight that met their gaze as they glanced about the rooms and realized what had happened. In great alarm about the family they went in search of the missing ones, and discovered them in the attic, dreading to go downstairs and see the ruin caused by the soldiers. As they went from room to room and gazed about them, they realized that they were a ruined family, for their home was really de- stroyed. The furniture, which they were unable to use any longer, was stored in the attic, and much to the sorrow of the Warren family, I had to go with the rest. So it is here in the attic of this old Virginian home that I am now telling my life history to one of the Warren dcscendents. The war has long since been over and my owners have rebuilt this dear old home, but they hardly ever think of me; in fact, you are the only one who has come to visit me for many years. Perhaps you will come again some time; at any rate I want to thank you for the little bit of sunshine you have brought into the life of a poor old discarded writing desk. H2a. My Queerest Dream It was the fitting end of a gorgeous August. It seemed a pity that school began the next day, and as I threw aside my book, and lay back on the grass, I banished the thought from my mind. I gazed around me, wondering why more people hadn’t seen the beauties of the place and built there. The smooth, green meadow stretched to the softly rounded hills on three sides, while on the fourth towered a clump of enormous trees, an outpost of the dense woods beyond. It' seemed as if one were miles from human habi- tation, although the sleepy little village sat stiffly, like a group of doll houses, just over the nearest hill. As I lay there, suddenly I felt a touch on my arm. Jumping up, I found myself con- fronting a dccidely pretty girl, with haughty gray eyes that went with the manner of one born to command. “I—I beg your pardon,” I stammered, “I didn’t mean to trespass.” “Oh, you’re not, at all,” she replied, “I saw you here, and came to ask you to tea.” Here was my chance. Something interesting had befallen each member of the party except myself. This would be something to tell about, although I wasn’t quite sure what my chaperon would say. “I’d love to go,” I assented, and picking up my goods and chattels, I followed my guide in the direction of the clump of trees. We fell into conversation. “Might I ask your name?” I queried. “I’m ‘The Girl Philippa’,” she replied,

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8 THE GOLDEN-ROD ing several games, they thought it would be fun to play school. Muriel, the eldest, was chosen to be teacher. While arranging the papers and books on top of me, she came across an old inkwell under a heap of papers. She took it out intending to fill it. Upon opening it she found three keys attached to a ring, which she laid aside, thinking no more about them. By the time school was dismissed, the sun was shining again. The children, eager for new attractions, did not stop to put the desk in order, but ran out of doors. That afternoon. Mr. Warren sent word to his wife that he would bring home to dinner, a guest, who came with a letter of introduc- tion from their son. Mrs. Warren was pleased when she heard this, for she anticipated hear- ing news of her boy. Upon their arrival Mr. Warren introduced the stranger as Mr. Coburn. Mrs. Warren was immediately impressed by the appearance of their guest. He was a man about twenty years old. well built, and handsome to look upon in his well-fitting uniform. After dinner, while sitting in the library en- gaged in an interesting discussion about the war, they heard the sound of a fall in one of the children’s rooms overhead. Mrs. Warren hastily excused herself and rushed upstairs. Presently I heard her call to her husband who excused himself from Mr. Coburn and left the room. Mr. Coburn, when left alone in the library, acted very strangely for a guest. He rose and walked over to me, and examined me closely. I had noticed before that evening that he had cast several searching glances in my direction, but had thought he was simply admiring my beautiful lines and mahogany. Now, to my surprise, he drew out a bunch of keys and tried each one without success. Glancing quickly over the top of me. he dis- covered the three keys which Muriel had found earlier in the day. With breathless haste, he tried each one until he found one that fitted a drawer at my left hand side. Upon opening it, he found a bundle of papers which to me looked like the papers the Colonel had hidden the day before. Just as he was about to put the papers in his pocket, a voice called, “Hands up, or I’ll shoot.” Turning swiftly he saw Mr. Warren with a drawn revolver. He had a look of surprise and consternation on his face, for he had hardly expected to find that their charming guest was no other than a Union spy. Covering him with the revolver, Governor Warren started toward the papers, and as he stooped to pick them up, the visitor with a quick movement, darted out the French win- dow and made his escape. One morning a few weeks later, Arthur and Buddie were playing in the library, when happening to glance out of the window they saw a number of men crossing the field and coming toward the stable. The boys recog- nized them to be stragglers from the Union Army, and they immediately hastened out of the room to tell their mother what they had seen. It was true, the men were now surround- ing the stable, and some of them were leading out the horses. Then I heard Mrs. Warren exclaim, “Quick, we will have to go up into the attic, for they are coming towards the house, and that is the only place to hide.” “Oh, mother, why do those terrible men come here and trouble us like this? I am sure we have done nothing to injure them,” said the Governor’s daughter, as they were going upstairs. I realized what was happening. These stragglers from the Union Army were coming to raid Governor Warren’s house, as they had raided many other houses during the war. I only hoped that they would not trouble the frightened family, for they had no means of defense. All was quiet for an instant, then I heard the tramp of many footsteps coming up the front steps onto the piazza. Finding the door

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10 THE GOLDEN-ROD “Don’t you remember? I came out in the ‘Cosmopolitan’ ”. My face must have shone my astonishment, for she began to laugh. “Why, I thought you knew. The last after- noon of every August, the Story Book People' are allowed to have a mortal to tea. We had almost despaired of having a guest this time, as our country is not frequented a great deal, when I caught the glimmer of your white dress and came over to ask you.” “Oh, what fun!” I cried, “I’ve always want- ed to see my favorite characters in real life. Do hurry.” We soon entered the grove of trees, which had, in some mysterious way, grown a great deal larger, and there before us stood a little white bungalow, its veranda, and the strip of lawn in front of it, dotted with tables. Philippa approached the girls and men seat- ed on the steps. “We are the entertainment committee,” she explained, “These are Miss Trilby, Miss Mag- gie Tulliver, Mr. Quced, and Mr. Wilkins Mi- cawber,” and, turning to them, “this is our mortal, who has come to tea.” They rose and greeted me enthusiastically. “My dear young lady,” quoth Mr. Micaw- ber, putting his hand in his waiscoat, “I as- sure you we shall endeavor to express our thanks for this visit, in some slight way. In fact,” he went on, in a burst of confidence, “we are glad to see you.” Mr. Queed, a studious, timid looking little man, bowed, and without speaking, shook my hand, while both the ladies courtesied. “The others will arrive soon,” said Mr. Micawber, “at present we are the only ones here.” “As you may have observed,” put in Mr. Quced, his eyes twinkling. Trilby turned to Philippa, and burst forth, “My dear, have you heard that My Lady—” “Which one?” I rudely interrupted. “The one written up in ‘The Three Muske- teers,’ of course. As I was saying, have you heard that My Lady is giving a big dance at which that nice little Lorna Doone is to make her debut? It is two weeks from tomorrow. You’re invited. I—Oh, heavens, here comes that awful Robinson Crusoe. I wish he would remove that motheaten sheepskin. It looks so hot. I never could see what Guinevere saw in him. “Sir Lancelot’s Guinevere?” I ventured to ask. “Oh. that affair was broken off long ago. Robinson Crusoe and Guinevere are quite de- voted now.” “Here come some people,” Philippa broke in. “Ring for some hot water, somebody.” Mr. Queed rang the bell, and in answer to it, who should appear but my old friend, Un- cle Remus, dressed in a uniform covered al- most, with brass buttons. I turned to sec a group evidently coming from the tennis courts. As I don’t read “The Red Book,” or “Snappy Stories,” I failed to recognize many of them. Then three men strode around the corner, and I saw they were Sherlock Holmes, Jean Yal Jean, and John Ridd. The newcomers placed themselves about the tables, and fell to consuming sandwiches in quantities. “Hey, Dick,” called a dapper young man, who looked like the hero of “Seventeen.” “I heard somebody inquiring for you.” “ ‘Dick,’ is Richard Carvel. You've heard of him?” Mr. Queed murmured in my car. Dick turned red, and muttering something under his breath, looked angrily at the young man. The group burst into laughter D’Ar- tagnan turned to me. “Poor Dick,” he said. “One of the heroines of a ‘Ladies’ Home Journal’ novel follows him everywhere. I forgot what they call her, the ‘Gernanium Lady,’ I think. He has been teased about her so much, he almost hides when she comes around. S’blood! Here she is now!” Sure enough, rather a pretty girl rounded the corner, looking eagerly about, as if search- ing for some one. The minute her eye fell