Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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THE CHIMES 9 appeared entirely. Carried off, Fll wager, by this fearsome goblin in yonder hall. We must arm ourselves and fight this creature, good Underwood. It is the full of the moon, when witches ride and goblins dire with banshees dance and work their evil spells, but at cock crow their power ceases and me- thinks the hour is near. Still, thy clicking teeth. My own ink is chilled with horror of the unseen, and of the empty place that so lately held the beautiful form of our charming little friend. Let us speed away to the rescue. We'll hurl our longest words, our most ungrammatical sentences at the foe; banish the fiend with words that have no meaning, that are, and yet are not; floor him with words of fearful force; call Miss Woodstock to life if he has charmed her, with soft sentences from the poets, that we know so well. Forever and a day, we will banish this demon from our Scituate High, and arise a great dust with dry business letters that shall blow him into the next country. So saying, they bravely passed out into the hall. Peering over the banister, they beheld the lady of their search, weep- ing and moaning, as she passed into the library trailing her black robe behind her. ''Methiriks, said Remington softly, the lady walketh in her sleep. I will shake my keys, said Underwood, 'she must be awakened gently. So saying, he boldly entered the library and ran his fingers lightly over the entire alphabet. 0h, my friends, I am sleeping, sighed dolefully the gentle Miss Woodstock. ''Have I, in my selfishness, robbed you two of your needed rest? We care not about that, so that you are safe, spoke Remington. But why, pray tell me, do you roam and grieve so, this chilly night? Alas, alas, 'tis many a night since I have really slept, she sadly replied. I have endured so many hours of careless usage. I have been obliged to endure the disgrace of so many errors and mispelled words credited to me. My shame drives me forth to search for the lost letters that should be mine. You are young, spoke old Remington, and will become hardened to such treatment. I can well remember that in my youth I suffered the same sorrow. I will quote you a poem written by my old friend, Elsie Smith if I can remember it; it ran like this : They come to learn They come to learn They fritter their time away, And the words misspelled And the task half done Shall bring regrets some day.

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8 THE CHIMES Lillian MacQuarrie, '14, is now Mrs. Andrew Finnie. Mildred Litchfield, '14, is teaching school in Quincy, Mass. Mrs. Frederic L. Wright, (Miss Marion Cole), '12, is living in Palo Alto, California and has two sons. The son of Laurence Haywood, '12, recently died from the effects of a mastoid. A NIGHT WITH THE TYPEWRITERS IN SCITUATE A typewriter rose in the stilly night and drew closer her cover for warmth, as she crept down the lonely halls. Her teeth chattered in fright, but her woes drove her on. On each stair she paused to search and peer around in the feeble light cast by the moon. Oh, where can they be, she moaned, and moaning crooned this song. 1 search, and I search, and I search in vain, For letters I never may find again. From words misspelled, I'm in such pain My ink has all rushed to my brain. The Remington woke from his sleep with a groan. What is this voice in the night? he cried, and his aged frame shook with fear. Closer he pulled the cover over his head, and drew the bar a little tighter. Can't an old fellow get a little decent rest at night? he muttered. I work hard all day and if my sleep is broken like this, I know that some day I shall go all to pieces. Ah ! — who would care, already I hear them finding fault with the old fellow that has served them so well and so long. My teeth may be a little loose and my frame a bit shaky, but after a good drink of fresh oil, I feel all the courage of a younger fellow and can do my bit with pride. Thus musing he grew wide awake. I'll show them, he whispered. I'm not afraid, and with creaking bones he rose. Come, comrade, said he to the Underwood who slept near him. I can see you are awake also and that your frame trembles with fear. Let us face this spook that roams the old school hall, and protect young Miss Royal here, who seems to have swooned, so pale and still she lies in the moonlight. Why, bust my ribbon! If Miss Woodstock hasn't dis- Barbaea Brown, Alumni Editor. HIGH

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10 THE CHIMES The want of the knowledge They could have had The chances they threw away, Shall live in their hearts With a memory sad And sting when heads are gray. A soft patter of applause rang on the keys of Miss Wood- stock. Now, said old Remington, if you will excuse me, seeing that you are safe and in good hands, I will try and get a few hours sleep. Au revoir. When the last rattle of his departure had died away. Under- wood turned softly to the tear-stained maiden and whispered, Ah, come my beautiful one, let not thy sad tears rust thy keys, or mar thy shining varnish. Behold, I long have loved thee. See, dear one, the sun rises yonder over the tower and it is already a new day. I, thy lover, promise thee that on this very day all thy lost letters shall be restored to thee. I will beseech Miss Elliott to compel these careless pupils to rewrite every sentence and every misspelled word. Ah, my dear one, come and rest thee, we have still a few hours. I have a beau- tiful new purple ribbon to give thee, which I will bind across thy head as a sign of our betrothal. Oh,' sighed the maiden happily, you are such a fast wooer. Yes, said Underwood, I come from a very speedy family. My father was noted as a very rapid, speedy man, and I take after him. None knows, but I too, have suffered. Some days my ink rushed madly through all my frame and I feel I can outrace the swiftest airplane and roar like the ocean in mad joy. Those are usually the days some Junior plays a funeral march on my keys. It must be dreadful to live as long as they do, if they are always so dull and slow. But let us away, my dear one ; we must not chatter longer about them or we will be all worn out before our time. Sweet rest to you, dear, and quiet keys. Good night. Good Night. ' H. Eaton, 26. IMPRESSIONS Springtime, A tall and stately maid. Whose golden hair and gentle ways Bring soft winds and balmy days.