Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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THE CHIMES 11 LITERARY PETER ' S LAND Eieanor D. Kent, ' 32 Would the whispers never stop? Must they go on for- ever and forever? Peter knew the whispers were v;hat was kilHng his mother. He was young, but he could under- stand this. And he, who worshiped his beautiful mother, was wild to protect her from the tongues of the world, those serpents that so harmed sensitive victims. Sometimes Peter went down the steep mountain path to the village, on some errand or because of a natural longing to be among people, to- play with boys and girls his own age, and watch the busy trades-people about their work. But these trips only brought him sorrow and hatred for his own kin|d. Eor there were always the whispers, ' ' That ' s her son, or They say she was born in slums and you couldn ' t expect her to be decent, but I guess his money had a lot to do with it. After one of these trips to the village Peter had asked his mother why the people talked so. But she had only told him that whatever he heard h e mustn ' t believe any of it be- cause she had never done wrong and could face God with clean hands an(d an open heart. She had told him that when he was older and better able to understand, she would explain everything to him but until then he must love and trust her as before.

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10 THE CHIMES window and in the l)acks4r()nn(l red ikunes leap and stretch their fiery tongues along the tindery floors. But look ! A passerhy has seen the smoke and has turn- ed in an alarm. The tenants have also discovered the fire and soon they come streaming out of the burning house, grasping what few personal belongings they have had time to snatch up. Far down the road comes the sound of the approaching fire engines. With sirens screeching, they swerve around the corner and pull up beside the doomed house, which by now is vomiting flames from windows and roof. Quickly the firemen couple hose to the nearby liydrant and before long several streams of water are being direct- ed upon the flames. Ladders are run up to the floors above the street. Fortunately all occupants have fled from the burning quarters and are now safely in the street below. By this time the interior of the structure is a seething volcano of flames. Entire floors give way as the flames eat through the joists and supporting timbers. The build- ing is doom(td and the only thing the firemen can do is to prevent the fire from spreading. In another half hour the four walls collapse and the house is nothing but a red hot pile of ashes. The last flame is put out and the pile is reduced to a smouldering mass of charred timbers and white ashes. Thus, another house and another fire-trap is reduced to embers. And soon, in the place of that old, rickety, death-trap, there will be a modern brick apartment house which will further beautify the city. CHIMES Dorothy Studley, ' 34 C is for cheerfulnes ' s, which leads the way. H is for happiness, as we all say. I is for ideals toward which we all aim. M is for motives that lead to fame. E is for editorials, some are a ' ' wow. S is for sense, we ' ve all got it, ' ' And How !

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12 THE CHniES ' lieii. a year and a half later, Mrs. Barlow died, she had not yet explained the gossip to Peter. But that faithful lit- tle l)oy remembered how she had told him to love and trust her. Indeqd how could he help doing his? She was his god- dess, 1)eautiful, and kind, and good as any saint. Some- times he thought he could almost see her sitting l3y the fire where she had sat on stormy nights, reading to him about brave men and women who had sacrificed their li es and happiness for mankind. He could hear her telling him he must be brave and true for truth ' s sake, and kind because Jesus had taught kindness and love. Oh. who could doubt that she was good ? Nearly three years passed and during that time Peter, who lived alone with his servants and old tutor, had not been known to visit the little village in the valley. et the whispers persisted and they managed to reach the great, lonesome, mountain home. There was a new whis])er too. It went something like this, ' ' They say he has lost biis mind since his mother ' s death; thinks he ' s a ruler or judge or something. ' ' Yes, a ruler ! Peter was a ruler, for the heartsick and lonesome little boy had learned to hate the cruelties and shallowness of humans. He dreamed of an idcr.l land where kindness and understanding were the only laws, and gossip the worst crime that could be committed. In this land people lived as he and his mother had lived, — sitting by the fire reading wonderful books; or riding horse back up the steep mountain paths and down again into the can- yons and valleys where beautiful lush green grass and wild flowers grew. Then to satisfy that longing for their own kind, the people would gather together and talk of their different stories and poems; of their adventures in the hills, — and they would dance and play and l)e verv liappy. Everybody in this land would do his best to help others. Every door would be open to strangers and every heart would be loving, cherishing no troubles or dislikes. Peter, dreaming this, had had a great wall built around the Barlow estates to enclose his lonely kingdom. And curious village boys, peeping over this forbidding wall, had