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

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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.

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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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Page Sixteen The Pioneer The nurse hesitated a moment be¬ fore she spoke, but it seemed hours to Jim. “He—he is still unconscious,” she replied faintly. “I don’t know—I— you—he is just a little worse I think— his heart action isn’t regular—he—I don’t know—” She left quickly and he stood there thinking. What did she mean? Could it be that Jimmy, his own little Jimmy, was going to—? He strove to fight off that word, but it was useless. Was Jimmy going to die? Jimmy, bright, frolicking, little Jimmy, who was al¬ ways into mischief. He forgave all Jimmy’s pranks and prayed so that the Lord would save him. To think of being alone in the world! His wife, Nellie, had died when Jimmy was only six months old. The thought alone of losing his only com¬ fort and joy left him with a dull, ach¬ ing pain in his heart. Absently he went out into the gar¬ den and noticed the flowers in full bloom. That was a strange time to re¬ joice over it but he smiled and smelled of them. Then he passed on to the road where Jimmy was struck, but something drove him away. He met the postman and found a letter from the owner of the auto asking if Jimmy was better. Jim wondered if he was. As he walked on he found some blueber¬ ries and remembering that Jimmy liked them, he picked some and put them in his hat. Then he turned back. In the garden he picked some flow¬ ers and was just getting up when a white figure dashed out the back door. Jim’s hear sank—he knew that Jimmy was go—ing. No—the nurse was smiling. She rushed up and said, “Oh, Mr. Bradley, he opened his eyes a lit¬ tle and his heart is stronger! I am sure he is better.” Quickly Jim walked in and laid the flowers and berries on a chair by his boy. Jimmy’s eyes were closed fast, but they were closed in slumber. Jim caught his breath in a little sigh as he thought how nearly he had lost him. He kissed his forehead and smiling at the nurse, turned to go out, but be¬ fore he reached the door a muffled but contented little voice came from the bed, “Hulloa, Daddy.” FRANCIS B. SHEPARDSON, 1918. BIG BEN. Outside the hotise was a dim, un¬ canny light. All was silent. Then suddenly there came to my ears the sound of a gong clanging in a dis¬ tance. Nearer and nearer it approached until finally, with a burst of noise there came into view the source of this furious clangor—a vehicle not unlike a racing-gig, madly speeding up the street that lies perpendicular to mine along the crest of the hill. As I followed it with my eyes, I -was startled, then I shuddered. For in the gig as it flashed past there seemed to be a white rabbit, pounding the bell with its foot and lashing wildly with the reins its fleet-footed steeds, three bears. It was gone, and something more at home demanded my attention. I looked about me and there, surround