Quincy High School - Goldenrod Yearbook (Quincy, MA)

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THE GOLDEN-ROD 7 cried all night when she was packed in a hard wooden box with hundreds of other frames, and sent to far off America. It was not many days after I had listened to the sad misfortunes of my friends, the bam- boo chair, and the picture frame, that an elder- ly man entered the store with the intention of buying a desk. It proved to be Governor Warren of Vir- ginia, who had been sent to the store by a friend, who had noticed me the day before. The proprietor of the store told the Gov- ernor to examine me carefully and see of what a fine quality of mahogany I was made. I was purchased on the spot, and taken by two laborers into the packing room, where I was put into a crate much against my own wishes and injured pride, though I was very glad to know that I would soon see new and strange things. Next morning I was taken by the express man to a freight house where the baggage man scrawled some words on the outside of my prison walls. I was then carried by two men into a freight car. That is about all I remember until I was taken out again in a new and strange place, for I had fainted from fright when I felt the cars begin to move rap- idly and heard the engine shriek out blasts of warning. I recall being taken out of the freight car, when I reached my destination, and being put into an express wagon which carried me to the Governor’s home. Such a drive as I had, through long streets and parks until at last I was driven up a wide tree-shaded avenue where the teamster stopped before a large and stately mansion. The house was of the white colonial kind with stately pillars upholding the many bal- conies and verandas. It was surrounded by well kept lawns bordered with flowers and shrubs of different kinds: while a crystal fountain added to the beauty of the place. The sight of all these new things absolutely took my breath away, but I was awakened from my deep musings by the sudden jar I received in being drawn off the wagon, and carried with great difficulty up the grand stair- way of my new home. I was placed in a large, cheery, old-fash- ioned library, near one of the bay windows in one corner of the room, and as soon as I was settled I began to make friends with all the occupants of the room. During my conversa- tion with an arm chair, the wide panelled door swung open and into the library scampered two youngsters of about seven and ten years of age. They rushed over to me and began to ex- amine and handle me most rudely until I groaned with pain, and were in the act of open- ing one of my lower drawers, when their father appeared and dismissed them from the room. They went out unwillingly but quietly. Their father closed the door after them, and sat down in the large arm chair apparently in deep thought. It was here in the library that young Colonel W arren found his father. “I shall have to hide these papers some- where, father,” exclaimed the impatient officer, as he strode into the room. They stood a few moments in deep thought before Governor W arren spoke. “I’ll tell you what to do! Hide them in my new desk. I’m quite sure they will be safe, and I have a key that will lock each drawer.” “A good idea,” said the young Colonel, tak- ing the important documents from out of one of his leather boots, and locking the thick package in the drawer in my left hand side. The key was hidden in one of my deep ink- wells and covered with a pile of books and papers. After a few words which I could not dis- tinguish the Colonel pulled out his watch, started up hurriedly, shook hands with his father, and putting on his gloves, left the room. A little later the sound of horse’s hoofs was heard in the drive, and I knew that he had departed. The next day being stormy the children were obliged to stay in the house. After play-

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6 THE GOLDEN-ROD shouted frantically, Marshall. Marshall, the shelf is sinking, I can feel it go down. What’ll become of us?” Donald was right. The shelf was slowly but surely being drawn down, with the two frightened boys standing on it. Did the owner of the thunderous words which they heard, have anything to do with this? Time alone would tell. John Preti, T9. A Story Told by a Writing Desk Introduction One day as I was exploring the attic, I dis- covered in a corner, an old, worn, and battered desk. Its aspect was very interesting, and I could not help wondering about its life his- tory for I knew it must have an interesting one. The old desk must have read my thoughts, because it said. “Ah! you are wondering about my history. If you would like to listen to me, I will relate it to you.” I was delighted with the plan, so I thanked the desk and consented to come and listen a little while every day. The following story will give an account of the old desk’s history, as it was told to me. I was made in the year 1862 by a large fur- niture company in New York. I am, as you sec, an old fashioned Adams’ desk made of mahogany, with a bookcase above and a chest of drawers beneath. At one time you might have seen books of rare and beautiful bindings behind the leaded glass doors of the book case, but now only papers are stored where these once priceless books were kept. Beneath the bookcase is the main part of me. My front cover may be let down to form a rest to write on. This, when open, reveals many pigeon holes where papers and letters are kept. One of the three spacious drawers that form the lower part of me is di- vided into oblong shaped boxes. In these Mr. Warren, my owner, used to keep his valuable papers. There are a great many scratches on my surface made by the children of the War- ren family, so that from my present condition you can hardly imagine what a beautiful piece of furniture I was, when new. But, as people have to grow old and of little use, so it is with furniture. I am now good only as a place in which to store these old books and papers. One day. I was placed in a large wooden crate, on which was printed the name of one of the largest furniture stores of Boston. At last I was to see the world. I was put in an express wagon and taken to a large railroad station. In three weeks I reached Boston. Never before had I seen such a bustle and hurry as I did when I arrived there. Another express wagon came for me and without much cere- mony I was taken to the store. Here I met many new friends, but, a writ- ing desk or any piece of furniture from the time it is made in the factory until it is chopped into fire wood is always making friends and then losing them. Well, as I said, I made many friends in the store and heard stories of their lives, some of them sorrowful and others glad. One of my new chums, a beautiful slender, bamboo chair, told me that he was made in South America and on the way north, the ship on which he was aboard was held up by a southern ship and detained for two months before a northern ship rescued it. The chair, with some of his brothers, was injured, one of his legs being broken by the rough handling of the southern soldiers. He was, however, mended and polished over until the wound could not be noticed. When a wooden picture frame of beautiful Swiss handiwork heard the chair’s story, she told us of the picturesque Swiss mountains and of the life of the one who had made her. She said that she became very homesick and

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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