Reading Memorial High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Reading, MA)

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Page Fourteen The Pioneer house by Cynthia. “Cynthia, is that a dog?” demanded Abbie. “Humph!” said Billy, who was great ly amused by this question, to Edith. “Anybody would think Aunt Abbie hadn’t never see a dog before.” “Yes, Abbie,” Cynthia replied. “And you did not ask me if you might give it to William. You delib¬ erately deceived me. When I asked you what you were going to give Wil¬ liam for Christmas you said a pair of skates.” Then Abbie suddenly real¬ ized that her plan which would pro¬ mote generosity in the children would also dispose of the dog-added, “But, never mind, Cynthia.” Cynthia was rather surprised by this remark. She had not expected Abbie to become rec¬ onciled so soon. After Billy and Edith had finished examining their presents Abbie said. “Are you not sorry for those children who will have no Christmas to-day?” “Oh, yes indeed, Aunt Abbie,” re¬ plied Edith. “You bet,” agreed Billy. “William,” said Aunt Abbie sternly. “I mean, I have great compassion for them,” supplemented Billy wicked¬ ly. “That is much better,” she said, “and do you not wish to do something for these unfortunate children?” “Oh, Aunt Abbie, of course we would but what can we do?” “Ain’t got no chink to buy nothin’ with.” Blly chimed in. “William, what is tl e matter with you to-day?” and Aunt Abbie looked at him so sternly that he squirmed. For indeed, Billy was forgetting all his les¬ sons in politeness and grammar. Then after a minute. “Since you chil¬ dren really wish to do something I have a plan and we will need no money to carry it out.” “Oh, what is it, Aunt Abbie?” begged Edith. Billy said nothing. It always made him cross and sulky to be corrected. “William, do you not wish to hear my plan?” “Most assuredly I do, dear Aunt Ab¬ bie,” he replied crossly. “Well, it is this. Those poor little Perkins children will have no Christ¬ mas, so we will go down to call on them. Edith, you may take your things to the girls, and William may take his to the boys.” The children looked crestfallen. “Now, start to wrap them up,” di¬ rected Abbie. “That ain’t no fair,”, broke in Billy. “Maybe it’s all right to give them some¬ thin’, but if we give them everything then we won’t have no Christmas.” “William! Your grammar,” said Ab¬ bie reprovingly. “Well, it isn’t fair,” declared Billy. Cynthia looked up from her sewing. “I think Billy is right, Abbie,” she said gently. “Cynthia, please be quiet,” command¬ ed Abbie. “You may get your presents ready and put on your wraps. William, you need not give away the dog, nor you your muff, Edith, unless you wish to,” said Cynthia. “Goody!” shouted Billy, and Edith looked happier. “Cynthia, I ask you please not to in¬ terfere.” “Abbie, I will not allow you to spoil the children’s Christmas.” “It is for their good,” said Abbie sternly.

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The Pioneer Page Thirteen ert’s children shall come to live with us or not, Abbie?” inquired Cynthia timdily. “Yes, Cynthia, I have. I think it our duty to bring them up.” “You are right, Abbie. It is our duty, but will it not be a great re¬ sponsibility?” “We must not shirk our duty,” re¬ plied Abbie in a severe tone. The clock on the mantle struck five. “I suppose you have written Rob¬ ert?” “Certainly,” answered Abbie as she arose. Cynthia arose too, folded her sewing neatly and laid it in her basket. Two days later Abbie received a let¬ ter from her brother saying that Edith and Billy would arrive the following day on the noon train. “Does not Robert realize that noon is a very inconvenient time for them to arrive? This will upset us. It will delay luncheon,” complained Abbie. “Yes, it will upset us. It will delay luncheon, but we must expect to make some sacrifices,” remarked Cynthia. “Cynthia Whitaker, you certainly do not think that things will not contin¬ ue exactly the same after the children arrive as they always have. I will tell you once for all that we are going to make no allowances. Absolutely none!” Then she added, “And, Cynthia, you are not to call William Billy. It is so common.” “Yes, it is very common,” Cynthia admitted, “but Billy is so cute and don’t —” “Billy, cute,” interrupted Abbie, “Cynthia, you shock me, you really do.” And she drew a sigh of despair. The next few weeks were weeks of trial and anxiety to Abbie Whitaker. Edith was not so bad, but Billy—Billy was Abbie’s cross. During these few weeks Billy had brought home a dog—• a great, shaggy, dirty dog. He had ac¬ tually brought it in the house. Still worse, he had wished to keep it and still worse Cynthia had asked Abbie why she would not let him. The par¬ rot and the cat were bad enough, but a dog she could and would not tolerate. Besides this he had spilled ink on her best stand cover, broken a window with his baseball and other things which had tried poor Abbie’s patience. But finally, after those weeks of tor¬ ture Abbie felt that all was again in order and that Billy had been convert¬ ed. For three days now he had not asked questions when she told him to do anything. She congratulated her¬ self. He had been boisterous, disre¬ spectful and rude, but under her care and influence he was fast becoming a gentleman in the true senfee of the word. Now that she had tamed him she would attend to the development of his character. To-morrow she would begin to teach him to be generous and thoughtful of those less fortunate than himself. Abbie had had the children write letters to Santa Claus telling him what they wanted most for Christmas. She had, moreover, made frequent trips to the city to purchase these presents, leaving the children in Cynthia’s care.. Christmas morning both children were awake at an earlier hour than usual. Billy, to his great delight, had found among other things in his stock¬ ing, a watch. Now all that was need¬ ed to complete his happiness was a dog and a bicycle and the former was soon brought in from the carriage-

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The Pioneer Page Fifteen “No, Abbie, it is not. They will grow to hate Christmas if each year it means they are to give up their pres¬ ents after they have seen them, to some one else and have none them¬ selves.” “It is more blessed to give than to receive,” quoted Abbie. “Not what we give, but what w r e share, for the gift without the giver is bare.” Cynthia reminded her. “I realize, Abbie, that you wish to teach them to be unselfish, but I am afraid that you have chosen the wrong meth¬ od.” And Cynthia explained to Abbie why the way she had chosen would do more harm than good. Gradually Abbie was brought to real¬ ize and to understand that the plan she had decided upon would not pro¬ mote the children’s generosity but rather lessen it. Finally Abbie said, “Well, Cynthia, perhaps you are right.” Then, after a pause, ■ “but how can we make the children wish to give anything to others?” “It will not be hard, Abbie, for they are not selfish children. I do not think they could enjoy their Christmas if they knew that their next door neigh¬ bors were having no Christmas. I hardly think they would want your dog Billy, for they have one, and Edith, Laura and Ruth both have dolls which the minister’s wife gave them, so you may keep yours.” “I’ll give them my other presents,” offered Edith. “ ’Course we will,” declared Billy stoutly. “Yes, children, and tomorrow we will go to the city and William, you .shall have a bicycle and we will see about getting a pony for Edith.” “Good for you, Aunt Abbie,” cried Billy rapturously. “Come, on. We’ll go over to Perkinses now,” and in a minute more they were all going down the path with happy faces, and their arms w r ere full of Christmas presents for the Perkins children. JANET ROBINSON, ’16. DADDY. The horizon in the east was pink, but there w T as still a cold chill in the air. The grass was covered with dew, and the little town of Athens had a hazy appearance. Off in the farm yard a cock crew and was soon answered by others. The pink haze began to grow brighter and finally the first sun¬ beam made its appearance. It threw a spot of pinkish light on the tops of the trees, and in the east bed room of the “House in the Willows” the light blue wall paper took on the color of the early horseshoe violet, which grad¬ ually gave way to the original color. The dew on the grass began to sparkle and the haze started to clear lazily. It was daylight once more. All this was noticed by the weary eyes of Jim Bradleys. They had taken in everything to the minute, but then he started to dream. He saw little Jimmy playing in the road and he fan¬ cied he heard the horn of that fearful auto, fast on its deadly mission. Jim¬ my didn’t hear, however, and again, as he had the previous afternoon Jim saw him struck, and thrown to the curb un¬ conscious. The heat of the rising sun brought Jim to his senses and he wondered how Jimmy was. He arose and dressed mechanically. His heart beat swiftly as he met the nurse at his door. “How is he?” he asked hoarsely.