Salem State University - Clipper Yearbook

 - Class of 1919

Page 20 of 74

 

Salem State University - Clipper Yearbook online collection, 1919 Edition, Page 20 of 74
Page 20 of 74



Salem State University - Clipper Yearbook online collection, 1919 Edition, Page 19
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Salem State University - Clipper Yearbook online collection, 1919 Edition, Page 21
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Page 20 text:

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Page 19 text:

Laughing with Nature Ough ! exclaimed Ann, who was endeavoring to pick herself up from a sudden fall over a rock. Without shaking the dust from her clothes and without noticing a large rent in her stocking, she plodded on. What a contrast to her surroundings was this little dejected figure with tear- stained face and rumpled clothes! Why wasn't she skipping along, singing some joyous song, for all nature was singing. A little brook gurgled happily across her path, reflecting the chalky blue of the summer sky and the graceful willow trees which dipped their branches into the water. A tiny thrush sent forth an exquisite melody, filling the air for an instant and then dying away into silence. Soft breezes sang in some distant pines, while a chorus of frogs provided an accompaniment for a wonderful songster high in a nearby tree. It seemed impossible for unhappiness to exist in such a place! Ann seated herself upon a moss-covered rock. Yes, she said half to herself and half to a little violet whose leaves she was violently plucking off, I am as wretched as I can be. Mother says I can't go to the picnic just because it is so far away. Just as if I wanted to stay here all alone! Horrid old world! I am as unhappy as I can be. I will go away. Mother and father won't miss me. Upon this, the little girl rose and plodded on. Tiny goldnnches went flitting among the bushes before her. A rabbit sat still an instant to look up at her. Crows called loudly over her head, but Ann neither saw nor heard. An unhappy little girl thoroughly absorbed in her own troubles, she sank down upon the ground. She was not sick, she was not poorg she was not unfortunate in any Way. On the contrary, she was a healthy child with a good home, a kind mother, and an indulgent father. How could a little girl as fortunate as Ann Crawford be so wretched? I wish I were like Fanny Murphy. I would much rather be her than me, thought Ann viciously. Fanny Murphy could do anything she wanted to. She was the middle child in a family of thirteen, and lived in blissful independence. She was going to the picnic that afternoon. She always went everywhere she wanted to. Ann pictured Fanny with bitter envy. All the children would be there but herself. Why was her mother so cruel? Just then Ann looked up. A black cloud overspread the sun. The breezes in this trees changed their gentle songs to warning cries. The branches of the trees thrashed wiidly about as if trying to get free from some impending danger. A frightened squirrel scurried past her, seeking safety. A loud rumble, a vivid flash, and Ann was upon her feet. Turning her face instinctively toward home, she almost flew along the 1'oad. She tumbled over walls and jumped over streams as she tried to outstrip the storm. A t1'iumphant little girl rushed into her mother's arms just before the first downpour of rain. The race with the coming storm had dissipated all her unhappy feelings. Isn't it strange, said Ann as she pressed her radiant face against the window to Watch the raging storm, that when all outdoors was laughing and singing, I was cross and pouty, but now that I want to sing with the birds in the sunshine, they have stopped singing and all the world seems angry. Often we do not see what is beautiful until something like this makes us, said Ann's mother. Suddenly Ann laughed joyously as the golden sun peeked from behind a great dark cloud to look at her. E , IWARGARET K. BATCHELDER. .Z7



Page 21 text:

The Faculty WHICH IS WHICH? He laughs with one shoulder. He wears the greatest variety of stunning neckties, and declares they are all old ones, too. She has excellent theories which she puts into practice. The result is that all hustle to work for her. She has never been able to keep track of such minor details as chalk and spectacles. She rustles, rustles, rustles along the corridors. She hustles, hustles, hustles through the corridors. He pokes at you and demands, Say, am I right '? He has the quietness of a mouse and the control of a lion. She tries so hard to make angels of us. She runs courses in dramatics, elocution, Red Cross work, and war financing as a side line. He is far from being as slow as he sounds. He has a cherubic blue-eyed smile for all occasions. Thev say there are two sides to him: the quick and the dead. He is always getting chairs for people and putting them at ease. He scares the juniors out of their wits, but the seniors know him better. She is a great addition to the division parties. She is small, tiny, wee. She takes off her glasses, wipes them with a corner of her handkerchief, puts them on, removes them again, wipes 'them with another corner of her handkerchief, and puts them on again. She repeats this operation until all corners of her handkerchief have been used. Then she lays down her glasses, gets a clean handker- chief and begins again. She sings as heartily as she laughs. Like Macbeth she clutches the empty air for creatures of her brain. Her Now, let me see gives the class the signal to rest in the pause that is sure to follow. If she ever shows any partiality, it is for Georgette. She counts on short, white, dimpled fingers. 19

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