Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

Page 11 text:

THE PORCUPINE 3 Class Prophecy MARGARET RUED It was nearly six o’clock, Wednesday, when I remembered that my much-enduring old desk still contained some half- dozen soiled handkerchiefs, my mittens, a book-strap, at least four apple cores and last month’s copy of “Life,” all of which I was determined to remove, even at the cost of missing the six o’clock train for the ranch. So I ran back and explained the situation to Mr. Jones, who kindly let me have the keys to the school house. The hall was dark. I closed the door behind me, found my way to my seat, and slid leisurely into it, indulging at the same time in appro- priate sentimental reflections that ran about like the burden of that old song: “New ties perhaps may bind us To brighter scenes than this, But something left behind us Our hearts will always miss’— And I felt that I would miss nothing more than my old désk. Running my hand over its battered surface I was glad to find that cleverly carved reproduction of Happy Hooligan upon it. Resorting to poetry again I felt that—

Page 10 text:

THE PORCUPINE May we have the highest motives, Seeking ever to obtain All the noblest, grandest virtues That alone make life a gain. May we shun to stoop to evil, May we spurn each impure thought May our lives be sweet wit Doing that which God Then, dear class-mates, when our life-boats At the haven have arrived, Gently bearing blooming beauty Or the aged o’er the tide, May the world be better, fairer, Filled with greater truth and light, Since we've lived and placed our standard At the doing of the right.

Page 12 text:

THE PORCUPINE The time was drawing nigh When we no more may enter The dear old Santa Rosa High! Unconsciously I spoke my next thoughts aloud, “Where and what should we sixteen be in ten years from now, and— Heigho! I wish I had my class prophecy written.” Just at this point, “tap! tap!” rang the bell and a clear, pleasant voice called me to the front. I walked quickly forward and in the twilight I could just distinguish a girl, gowned like a court jester, half in black, half in colds ak know you well, child, and may be of some assistance to you. You must know that I am the High School Spirit. (I won- dered if it would be appropriate to say “Pleased to meet. you,” but she went right on). So you would like to know where and what your classmat es will be ten years from now Shall I tell you exactly what each member of your class wilk do during the sixth day of February, nienteen seventeen?” Should she! “Delighted!” I murmered, overjoyed at this easy solution to a problem that had caused sleepless nights- “Listen, then, and I shall give you sixteen pictures that will exist on the sixth day of February ten years from now:” First—Along one of the pleasant country roads, south of Sebastopol, a man on a bicycle is peddling easily along with his coat tails flapping gaily in the breeze. A square package is strapped to his back. At the first house he stops, tuns lightly up the steps to the front door and rings the bell. He greets the matron who responds to the ring with a dignified “Good afternoon, madam. Fine weather we are having. Ahem! I have here a book on the great San Fran- cisco fire in ‘06. It is a book at once so instructive, so en- tertaining, so ” and then followed a stream of oratory So convincing and materful that at the end of twenty min- utes the good wife fairly runs for pen and ink to subscribe for the book and Mr. Abeel rides off again breathless, with beads of perspiration on his brow, yet right gratified at the result of his labor.