Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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18 THE CHIMES With another oamin i rin and a ban of the front door Shonnie was off — and the quite resi)ectal)le i)ur])le nmhrel- hi that stood in the corner 1)y the door rustled rather in- dignantly, as a woman scorned. I watched the swini ino- progress of the fool-hardy girl as she i)ace(l off up the street, and wondered musingly if there hadn ' t been a roguish l anshee abroad the day she was created. When, after two hours of incessant downpour, I heard a shout kitchenward, a whack of wet rubber on the floor, and the shower of shaken raindrops on smooth tiles, I ambled thence and beheld Shonnie shaking raindrops from her eyelashes and wriggling soaked stocking feet out of the martyred shoes. The moody, discontented frown that had sat so unbecom- ii;igly on her young face was gone, and in its place was a completely cherul ic smile. Why, the shine of her, the wdiole-hcarted wave and glow of her, and the gay kink in her sopping hair quite took my breath away. I found myself wondering uneasily about that banshee — he could- n ' t have been such an awful dud after all — a bit tempera- mental perhaps, but he certainly had an eye for the lighten- ing of eyes and the curl of a smile! And then— that very night, as though I hadn ' t already had enough of sheer nonsense, — as I w as puffing across the street after having mailed a letter in the corner box, I heard the scrunch of snow under light feet and out of the ])erfect blizzard that was howling in my face, came Shonnie, brown throat open to the gale and glowing face adrip with melt- ing crystals. And as though already her small feet weren ' t thoroughly soaked, she scuffed — actually scuffed — in the drifted snowM I shook my head wonderingly and asked her rather humbly (for surely such happiness as hers isn ' t to be scorned) what she saw in all this — roaming around the square in a snow storm getting soaking wet and scar- ing people to death? She laughed, did Shonnie, and I could have sworn that the banshee w-as there for how else did that lilt rise? Shonnie linked her arm in mine and answered, What do I see, Dee? Oh — heaps o ' things! And she included in a gesture the mounds and heaps of downy snow that lay piled on the dim landscape. Um, ' ' I heard the banshee chuckle. Yes, ice palaces and gnome ' s houses, hidden fairy ruins and — as you can very plainly see ' Heaps o ' things ! ! ! ' '

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THE CHIMES 17 HEAPS OTHINGS Esther Perry, ' 32 Even when Shonnie was a very Httle girl she ' d had an utterly mad streak that cropped out now and then in the form of preference for the rough warmness of the crazy carpet under the huge side board in the living room, to the inviting pillow s of the divan. Grown-up talk interested her immensely, and she ' d sit, wide-eyed, on a hard, extremely uncomfortable chair for hours on end listening gravely, until that inevitable ogre, Sleep, crept out of the shadows in the chimney corner and claimed its due. Then — away to the den under the side board and — what price sleep? A queer young un her grandfather labeled her. A brown paper bag of lobster claws and a spare hour never failed to find her ensconced in the leafiest, most hid- den bower of the apple tree, meditating gravely or reading one of the most grotesque of fairy tales. And now — now that she is seventeen and to all appear- ances a sane and sensible being, she is madder still ! Why only last week I chanced to drop in at her house and as it was raining, a bitter soul-searing downpour, I stretched my damp legs more than gratefully toward the hot blaze that ripped up the chimney place. In ten minutes ' time Shonnie, the mad, appeared on the stair landing. And such a Shonnie ! A ragged tuck-in sweater peeped unashamed between the lapels of a faded green slicker. Pulled low over the turned-up nose and concealing a lone freckle that struggled gravely for existence on its bridge, was a hat — one such as you had never imagined existed ; a black hat, a tipsy, scowling, battered flat hat with an air of having been jammed to the farthest depths of a smelly ragbag and resurrected in a moment of compassion, or hasty need. Shonnie grinned unabashed and continued to plod down the stairs toward me. With each bold step I became more acutely conscious of her shoes ! Why, they flipped and flapped and wavered uncertainly in their descent; and when at last they gained the bottom step, I observed that they reared their heads and growled and squeaked menacingly at the mere thought of even one more tramp. Surely a walk of any length at all would completely annihilate these poor soles, I reflected. ALLEN MEMORIAL LIBRARY - SGIIUAIE. MASS.

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THE CHIMES 19 MY DOG Elizabeth Willard, ' 30 My dog is what people commonly call a ' ' mongrel ' ' or a yellow cur. ' ' He, being a mixture of collie and German police, is subject to these insulting names and many others. Even if he is a cheesehound, he can roll over for a piece of cake if you keep at him long enough. The thing he does most easily is sitting up with his paws on the tal)le tc ask for his tea or coffee. No doubt this helps him to be more of a mongrel as no aristocratic dog would drink — tea or coffee. His greatest achievement is singing. When there is company at home, Dad is sure to ask me to make that dog sing. No one else has enough breath. I will sing an octave higher than any prima donna ever sang; my face gets as red as a cooked beet; and still that foolish dog sits at my feet, cocking his ears and head and looking up into my face, no doubt wondering why I make such a jack ' ' of myself. When at last he joins me, his voice sounds like a fog horn. Our two voices do not blend harmonious- ly. Trying to get that doggie to sing is worse than trying to start our car on a cold winter ' s morn. But just the same I would not sell my mongrel pup for any amount of money. APRIL Barbara Knox, ' 33 April showers are coming; Winter winds have gone; Soon will be the blue birds From their winter home. Then the buds will open In the sunny air; To all the little garden folks. So merry and so fair. THE CHIMES Paul Bresnahan, ' 33 C is for its contents that didn ' t come from Rome, H is for the happiness the Chimes brings to your home, I is for the interest that in it scholars take, M is for the make-up, like frosting on a cake. E is for endorsers who bought at our behest, S is for the students who contributed their best.