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

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THE PIONEER taken the roast from the oven and set it on the table. She had cut one slice when Stanley came into the kit¬ chen and said, “Come on, can’t we open our presents now? Do you have to do that? Twelve o’clock and no presents yet!” She waved the carving knife dangerously at him. “All right, but, darling, I’ve been so busy ... no chance at all till now ...” They hurried into the living-room, carving knife and all. “Take this one first,” Lura urged. Stanley divested the package of its red paper and silver reindeer and opened the box. There before his eyes lay, of course, the scarlet slippers, looking like a crude enlargement of the mazagine illustration. He stared at them blankly for a moment, swallowed hard, and then he cried, “These geese look almost real. And to think that my little girl made them all by her¬ self.” Stanley had remembered the mazagine article and the description of the red slippers and the geese; he had thus been able to classify the indeterminate pur¬ ple spotches in the very nick of time. Joyously, they looked at the other gifts. Meanwhile, Socrates had stood all he could; that tantalizing odor was too much for him. He leapt lightly onto the table, seized the first slice of the roast Lura had cut, and pulled it to the floor. When the two young people returned to the kitchen, Socrates was licking his chops with no feeling of guilt whatever. “You know, darling,” Stanley was saying, “I’ve never seen such clever-looking slippers. I’ll be the envy of every man in town.” Lura picked the black cat up and whispered into his silky ear, “Socrates, honey, isn’t this the loveliest Christmas?” Socrates purred happily and for once rub¬ bed his head adoringly against her cheek. Ruth Shumaker THE DE CISION As if blown by the breeze that was sweeping land¬ ward from the Atlantic Ocean, the sun suddenly ap¬ peared out of the blue waters and like an artist tinted the simple homes of the fishermen of Gloucester. On this bit of rock-bound coast the fishermen had chosen to build their homes and leave their wives and children, to whom they returned after the hard months spent at the Grand Banks. Early as it was, however, on this particular spring morning, people were already hard at work, for every day fishing vessels sailed from the harbor, and every day others returned. Even those men who were remain¬ ing at home, for the present were busy mending nets and repairing their vessels. Along the waterfront of this thriving town as it was in 1891 ran the docks, and beyond them in the water the numerous fishing schoon¬ ers were anchored. Sitting on one of these docks and gazing thoughtfully at the ruggedly built fishing schoon¬ ers was a small girl, probably about eleven years old. Her sturdy brown body was clad in a faded shirt and trousers several sizes too large for her, which had doubt¬ less been previously worn by an older brother. Indeed, had it not been for the pigtails which hung down her back, at first glance she might easily have been mis¬ taken for a boy. She was Harriet Staples, the only daughter of a poor fisherman. Harriet was not in a good mood. She angrily kicked the water, and as each drop fell into the ocean again and the ripples went outward in ever widening circles the same question went over and over again in her mind. Why couldn’t she go to the Grand Banks on her father’s fishing vessel when he left in the morning? Hadn’t she always done everything else with her seven brothers? Hadn’t she played ball with them, helped them cut wood, and even mended nets and sails? Indeed, she was as big and strong as the youngest, but now for the first time in her life she was to be separated from them, for on this trip her father was taking all of his sons—all seven—while previously he had taken only those who were old and strong enough to help with the work of sailing the large schooner and pplling in the heavy nets. Oh, how the fact that she, who so wanted to live a boy’s life, was a girl rankled. Suddenly Harriet knew what she would do as if it had been written before her in the water, for she was determined that she would not be left at home if she could possibly help it. That night before she went to bed she bade good- by to her father and her brothers. They would set sail very early in the morning, and she was not expected to be awake to see them go. As she started to climb the stairs that led to her bed up under the eaves, she took one last look at the familiar living room where she had spent so much of her eleven years. She looked at the old clock which set on the mantle above the fireplace; she looked at the small bookcase in one corner of- the room which held the few books that she loved and which she had read so many times over and over again; she looked at the little out-of-tune piano that had been given them by a friend and around which the family had gathered so many times while her mother played the songs they all loved to sing and her father accompanied them on his violin; she looked at her father as he sat slumped in his favorite chair beside the fireplace, sleep¬ ing as was his evening custom; at her mother as she swiftly put stitch after stitch into the stocking she was mending; and then she looked at her brothers who were gathered around a small table excitedly talking of the next day’s adventure. Then turning, she walked deter¬ minedly up the well-worn steps. Hers could hardly be called a room, for the roof which slanted down to the floor made it practically im¬ possible to stand erect except in the center, where the two sloping walls met in a peak. To separate Harriet’s room from the rest of the attic, which was used as a storage room, a large piece of canvas, which she liked to play was a sail, was stretched across just at the head of the stairs. The space behind this partition was barely large enough to hold the tiny cot on which she slept and the small chest of drawers in which she kept what little clothing and treasures she possessed. She set Eighteen

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CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 easily forgotten. Just last night Stanley had told his young wife, “Darling, I feel as if we were still on our honeymoon. She had said blissfully, “We’ll always be on a honeymoon, always, always.” Then he had kissed her, a sure sign that they were still a little giddy from the great blow that had come when they had both first felt that queer sick feeling that is known as love. Now the dust lay an inch thick behind the furniture in the little white house with scarlet blinds, and the toast was always the color of Socrates, the undernourished black cat, but Stanley and Lura wore rose-colored glass¬ es and were surrounded by a rosy haze so that to them the house was spotless and the toast tasted like the most delicious food ever cooked. They also supposed that Socrates was as happy as they were, but Socrates, not being in love and lacking the philosophizing and un¬ derstanding temperament of his great namesake, often stormed around the house sharpening his claws on the upholstery and doing other ill bred things, anything but happy. Another big tear followed the first down into Lura’s dainty handkerchief. Miserably she picked up the magazine that lay beside her and flipped over a few pages. The stories of young love and moonlight seemed uninteresting to her; the latest Paris fashion notes and the gay new patterns were dull and colorless. She turned a page and saw this: “A CHRISTMAS Gif 1 FOR JOHN? MAKE IT YOURSELF!” The young wife could hardly believe her eyes; she brightened noticeably and looked at the article again. It said, “Achieve that individual, smart, hand made look to your gifts, and listen to the compliments. It’s easy. Make them yourself this year. Send 25c to Marjorie Allen, c o this magazine, and you will receive instruc¬ tions about how to make each of the articles pictured on this page. Hurry, so that you will get yours in plenty of time for Christmas. Around the edges of the page were bright illustrations depicting such things as em¬ broidered bedroom slippers, patchwork quilts, hand- painted desk calendars, hand-knitted neckties, pounded copper ash trays, and numerous similar attractive ktiick- nacks. Lura gazed ecstatically at the unexpected de¬ lights. Stanley would love any one of them, and es¬ pecially the slippers done in red w ith purple wild gees: flying drowsily across a luscious golden yellow moon. Or the shellacked green hook jacket with a border o blase hounds alternating with surprised looking rabbit of a peculiar bronze shade. Or the carved wooden wal rus bookends. 0, what luck to find this, she exulted She dashed off in search of pen, envelope, and a twenty - five cent piece. Socrates lashed his tail angrily and laid back hi ears as Lura swept him into her arms. O. Socrates- honey, Christmas is coming in only two more week . Won’t Stanlev he surprised! Socrates pulled away ii ritably as she laid her cheek happily against his smootl black head. He thought that it would he a much better idea if, instead of wasting time on foolish things like hand-knitted neckties, Lura spent a little more on the planning of his, Socrates’, meals. Indeed, he wouldn ' t mind if she didn’t plan them, if only she would remem¬ ber that the dearest pleasure in a cat’s life is eating and give him anything besides oatmeal in the morning and vegetables (!) at night, things that any self-respecting cat would disdain. Lura put him down on the sofa while she ran out to mail the letter to Marjorie Allen. Socrates clawed the blue upholstery savagely. Every day for the next week Lura watched for the postman; on the seventh day her eagerness was re¬ warded, because he brought the letter from Marjorie Allen. She tore it open and looked upon the promised instructions, but never were more complicated instruc¬ tions seen. For a moment Lura was taken aback, but not for long. Nothing was capable of daunting her when her mind was made up and her Stanley’s happiness was concerned. So at the first opportunity which pre¬ sented itself she procured the materials necessary for the making of the slippers. She also bought a book and a pipe; the slippers were not to be Stanley’s only present from his wife. Triumphant, Lura bore her pur¬ chases home, and dropped them on the table. “First,” instructed Marjorie Allen, “spread your materials before you. Be sure you have everything you need so that you can work without being interrupted. Now, using the pattern pieces labeled A. B. As Lura worked happily on for several days, the slippers steadily, if awkwardly, took form so that eventually they could be recognized at least as some kind of footwear. They were of a beautiful scarlet color, heavenly in the eyes of their maker. Gradually, round, mellow, golden moons appeared on the toes, much superior to the pale, small, cold one that appeared outside her window at night, Lura thought. At last the day before the long awaited holiday arrived, and the purple geese were coming along health¬ ily, Lura worked all afternoon on the birds, but they were stubborn. For some reason or other, they looked like crows. Three times she ripped out her work and three times she re-embroidered the lazily flapping purple wings. She was careful to take time out for supper although her work was far from completion, because if Stanley should return to a supperless home, he would be apt to suspect something. She secreted the wonder¬ ful slippers behind the antique red cherry desk in the hall. That evening while Stanley was waiting for supper, he saw one of Lura ' s magazines lying on the floor. Idly he picked it up and just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity turned a few pages. A bright-colored article lay before him. It was headed: A CHRISTMAS GIF I FOR JOHN ? MAKE IT YOl RSELF! His eye roamed down the page. What ludicrous stuff! Look at those slippers, for instance! What man in his right mind could watch purple geese flying over his toes without a qualm? And red slippers at that! Stanley snorted indignantly at the thought, then dropped the magazine guiltily as he heard Lura say that supper was ready. At twel e o’clock the next morning Lura had just Seventeen

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CHRISTMAS 19 3 9 down the oil lamp she had carried with her and taking a large burlap bag that had been stuffed around the windows to keep out the cold she emptied all her cloth¬ ing into it; then she pushed the bag under the bed. She did not bother to undress, but only blew out the lamp and sat on the bed. Impatiently she listened to the clock strike the hours and half-hours until her parents went to bed. As soon as the house became quiet, Harriet picked up her bag and slowly descended the stairway to the living room. Here she walked lightly from one braided rug to another until she finally reached the front door, which she pushed open and closed noiselessly behind her. Still silently, lest she rouse the neighbor’s dog, she hurried across the yard and climbed over the picket fence to avoid using the squeaky gate. Now, she could really begin to enjoy herself! As she passed each dark shop, she tried to imagine the expression on the propri¬ etor’s face the next morning as he discussed her disap¬ pearance with the villagers. In the inky blackness of the moonless night, however, the rough road that was the main street of Gloucester was far from a cheerful place. At the head of the common, where during the day cattle grazed but which was now barren and empty, was the little white church with its steeple that seemed to guard over the people in the village. Next to the church was the graveyard, its blackness broken by the irregularly placed headstones. Harriet began to run past the shops, the general store, the bakery, then the small postoffice. As she turned the corner which would bring her to the water’s edge her determniation to go with her father became stronger than ever, for here fac¬ ing seaward was the one spot in Gloucester that Harriet really hated, the grammar school. She resented sitting hour after hour in the stuffy little schoolhouse when she could be out of doors with her brothers. Completely out of breath, she arrived at the water¬ front, and after a short search along the dock found a small rowboat. Carefully she climbed into the boat and directed it toward the schooner. She should be enjoy¬ ing herself immensely, but hers was not the satisfaction of rowing through clear crystal-like blue and watching the ripples caused by the oars as they raked the water for now the harbor was a cheerless black, and the sounc of the oars dipping into it seemed hollow and eerie Hanging from the bow of the fishing schooner was a lamp, which swung hack and forth in the breeze and cas ominous shadows on the water. Guided by its rays, sh soon located the rope ladder that was fastened to th side of the ship and climbed the few steps to the deck She pulled the bag up after her and heaved a sigh o relief. Familiar as she was with the ship, each tim she came aboard it seemed to hold a new fascinatio for her. Below deck were the crowded living quarter which, nevertheless, had always to her seemed com fortable and homelike. On the deck, as usual, were nea piles of nets, mended and ready for use. lowering above all were the strong masts to which the heavv can¬ vas sails would soon be fastened. But Harriet couldn t waste time on reflection. There was but one place on the ship where she felt sure she would not be discover¬ ed—the fish bin. This was the enormous box-like struc¬ ture in which the fish were stored and salted down as they were caught. After lifting the heavy trap door that covered the bin, it was a simple matter for her to slip down to the bottom. Exhausted but happy she lay down, using her bag for a pillow. But sleep was far away. She was much too excited even to think of sleeping, for now it was but a matter of a very few 7 hours before she would hear her father and brothers arrive and prepare the ship for sailing. As time passed, the rough boards that she was lying on seemed to become harder and harder, and in the close air of the bin the disagreeable odor of long dead fish combined with salt seeped from the wood and seemed to be suffocating her. More than once Harriet heard near at hand a small scratching sound. She knew the sound to be mice that lived between the boards ot the ship but she was far from comforted by the thought. The water of the Atlantic slapped rhythmically against the sides of the boat, and as if in obedience to its master the boat rocked in time to the rhythm. This was what Harriet had wanted, but suddenly she sat bolt upright, clasped a hand firmly over her mouth, and as if she were being chased climbed from the bin as best she could. Now that she was once again on the deck, the clear air restored to her the resolve to remain on the ship. Instead of returning immediately to the dreaded fish bin, however, she wandered aimlessly about the dock. Leading downward through a trap door to the living quarters below 7 was a ladder. This Harriet descended, feeling her way until she found herself at one end of a fairly large room. Running practically its entire length was a long table, along the sides of which were backless benches. Most of the space along the walls was occupied by bunks built two deep, and at the end opposite the ladder was a stove which appeared to be very incapable of preparing even the simplest of foods. It seemed funny to her that the cabin had never looked so bare and ugly before, or that she hadn ' t realized how much space there actually was in her cubby hole at home. Disappointed, she returned to the deck again, to find that it was no longer pitch dark. Now there seemed to be a gray veil overhanging the earth. In the distance, where the sky met the water, it was hard to tell the gray of one from the grav of the other. But although the water was no longer black, neither was it the clear blue of a sunshiny day. Suddenly the thought entered Harriet’s mind that every night on the ship would be the same; in fact, nights would be even worse when the boat was on the high seas. No longer did the trip seem so pleasant as it formerly had. There wasn’t much time to think, and—oh dear—she was getting that peculiar feeling Continued on page 28 Nineteen