Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

Page 10 text:

8 THE CHIMES were empty) reeled dizzily and crashed to the floor. Ranny saw whole constellations of stars and what seemed to be all the wealth of the Pharaohs of Egypt falling down on him with all its regal splendor. When he came to, he found himself upside down, his feet occupying a packing box while his head rested in his mother's ostrich-plumed Gainsborough hat. In his undignified descent he had plunged thru Aunt Emma's horse hair sofa. His shoulders were now wedged in it in an uncomfortable position. All around lay the treasures of the Magi which he had seen going down. When Ranney had extricated himself, he found these to be Christmas tree trim- mings, tinsel, gaily colored balls, beads, miniature Santa Clauses, cotton snow, all smashed into pieces. 'Charles Rannon! Whatever are you doing so long and what is all this unearthly noise? Nothing, I just fell down. Be down in a minute, reTDlied the battered boy, hastily sweeping the debris into a tool chest. ' I see the old chair now, as he spied it under the shelter of a wide-spreading hoop skirt. Ranny wiped the perspiration from his face and started down stairs with the antique chair, where he found the furniture all covered with a fine white dust, the plaster wh 'ch had descended in a cloud when the earthquake occurred. Son, I should think that you could find a chair without making all that noise. I thought the roof was falling in, scolded Mrs. Rannon. Anyway, I suppose I must forgive you for spoiling my furniture and ceilings as long as you brought my chair down whole. Boys are such blunder-busses. Oh' mamma, it wasn't anything at all, nothin' at all, Ranny innocently replied, rubbing a black and blue spot. Barbara Colman, '29. SUNSET A sunset ne'er did I behold As this one with its specks of gb d, Its dashing reds, its orange bright, Its blues, and lavenders, and white, The sky made rosy with its light Foretells, with beauty, a perfect night. Eleanor Cole. '26. OCTOBER When the nights are long and frosty When the days are cold and clear, When the golden woods are calling. Then we know October's here.

Page 9 text:

THE CHIMES 7 THE ANTIQUE CHAIR ''Ranny, I want you to go up in the attic and bring down that chair that belonged to Great-grandmother Curtin's grandmother. The Silvin-smiths have some chairs that they say are genuine antiques which belonged to some great aunt of George Washington. If my chair is glued and wired to- gether it will be fine to put in the parlor. Fil warrant we can invent as good a history about it as the Silvin-smiths did of theirs. Ranny obediently started for the attic stairs. The attic ■ was always an interesting place to Ranny, the more so because he was not allowed to go into it very often. It was a large attic and in it were innumerable trunks, bags, old satchels, barrels, the clothes of past generations, boxes, mice, a lot of old furniture, a pair of ancient crutches, an ancient and moth- eaten rocking horse, and last winter's woolen garments. You can easily understand how such an attic would be interesting. Some one had recently made a hurried search for Aunt Eliza's wedding dress as a costume for a masquerade. Everything was left topsy-turvy. A clothes basket with several bouquets of artificial flowers in it reposed on a battered highboy. The rocking horse was gently rocked in a rickety cradle by the unruly mice. When Ranny reached the head of the attice stairs, the old chair was nowhere to be seen. Ranny was glad of this be- cause it meant that he could have a chance to clamber over the trunks and other paraphernalia that littered the place. This would give him an opportunity to examine anything that he found while in search of the chair. Se' irg a bed with a mahogany china-closet piled on it, he decided this was the place to bee'in his hunt. Climbing on the bed, he heard a series of hair-rf i ing and blood-curdling squeals coming from the direction of the mattress. Oh h— h! Ranny cried in fright, but he calmed down very soon when he remembered how he had teased Allie, his sifter because she was afraid of mice. 'Tshaw, it's only mice. Fm not frightened anyway. They did sound awful though. I didn't know they made noises like that. No wonder A.Mce is scared of 'em. Oh D haw, I don't rare. he thought. Then he decided that the antique could not be in that corner of the attic. Of course he wasn't afraid of those little mice, but — oh pshaw ! He turned to a pile of trunks, on the top of which was a pile of boxes. The chair might be behind that. Placing his feet firmly in a crevice he started to climb, clutch- ing the lock of the third trunk. He didn't know what hap- pened next, only that the skyscraper of trunks (luckily they

Page 11 text:

THE CHIMES 9 When the cold wind shakes the tree-tops, When the blue sky is o'ercast, When the golden woods are dying, Then we know October's past. Anna Healy, '28. THE THREE JULIAS A hot August sun poured down on a sea of bluest sapphire dotted with tiny white sails. The waves rolled in upon burn- ing sands, whose colorless expanse was dyed with the bright hues of countless sunshades and beach apparel. The gay throngs basked in the sun or frolicked about on the shore and in the water. Among these carefree crowds Kent Stewart tramped moodily, gazing at the far horizon with unseeing eyes. The faint sea breeze ruffled his hair and the sun glinted in his curls, as though they loved to nestle there. His ath- letic form, his bronzed skin, the powerful muscles, the car- riage and the beauty of him, likened to him to a young god of Olympus. Thus thought Julia Faxton as she watched him swing across the sand. A thin treble startled him from his revery. Instantly he recognized that voice and half turned, his first impulse to run. He wanted to be alone — to tnink the thing out. He turned back again and slowly approached the spot where, un- der the gaudiest umbrella on the beach, a plump, good-na- tured looking girl with weak, blue eyes and wispy yellow hair, reclined against a pile of red cushions. Nearby lay a box of chocolates and a novel, while cuddled in the girl's arms was a shaggy, white poodle. ''Oh, Mr. Stewart, she murmured, ''isn't it hot? The crushed ruffles of her organdy, the red cushions, the woolly poodle and her avoirdupois confirmed the statement. Do sit down, she rambled on, and, as he started to make a trivial excuse, added, Sit down. I want to talk to you. Kent spread his six feet of sinewy frame on the sand and raised his eyes with polite interest and mild curiosity. It was seldom that those eyes were serious, but now they gazed into hers with unfathomable graveness as though some profound sorrow or some daring plan lurked in their blue depths. I'm so lonesome, said Julia Faxon. And she rambled on about some recent garden party to an unappreciative listener. Suddenly Kent Stewart's tanned face lit up with gladness, and joy replaced for a time the gloomy suggestion of his eyes. Julia Faxton's gaze followed his across the sands to where a lithesome young figure in a green bathing suit racpd across the beach, closely followed by a young boy. Julia Winslowe couM outrun the fleetest. She scaled a huge rock which stretched long arms into the sea, and stood poised an instant