Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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THE CHIMES 19 couldn ' t help thinking of the royal feasts once held there or of the men who had spent their lives far below the surface of the earth in those dirty, dark dungeons. Three weeks to a month of this sort of thing is enough, and we were glad to sell our bikes in Oxford. The transaction brought us such a good price that we celebrated by punting on the Thames at night, although not very successfully for we managed to bump into a couple of other punters, much to their disgust. If you want to see England or any other country, this is my advice : Stay away from the big cities and American tourist centers, buy yourself a bike and a pair of shorts, and go to it ! THE RUNAWAY Grace Reynolds, ' 37 The sun blazed down fiercely upon the dusty highway that wound up and down through lofty crags and gloomy defiles of the northern Pyrenees. Along this road, two figures, small against the towering precipices, made their slow way. One was that of a typical peasant of Southern France, brawny and tall, with a sinister, hard look about him. The other, though dressed in the rough garments of a peasant boy, carried himself in a soldierly, erect way, and with his long, tapering hands and finely-molded head, presented a striking contrast to his rough companion. The older man was speaking, scornfully. What, tired already, Rene? After all these years on my farm, one w ould imagine thou wouldst have lost thy high-born ways — they are not suited to a poor peasant l)oy. Thou ' rt almost a man, now; we must have no more of this foolish posing. ' Thou hast no right to talk to me like that! retorted the boy, angrily. And who has a 1:etter right? Am I not thy father? ' ' Well do I know tho u art not! Do not think that I have lost the memory of conversations overheard when I w as a child. I often heard thee talking al:)out one who w as my mother, and other mysteri- ous things. Thou wouldst have me believe that I dreamt it, but 1 (lid not. I will find my mother some day. But see that immense hill we must climb! I will go not one step farther without rest. Go on and leave me, if thou wilt. Tlie peasant trudged on without a word, and Rene threw himself down on the cool grass by the road. Languidly he watched the sturdy figure of Jacques press up the steep hill, till, at the top, he saw him stop and, shading his eyes w ith his hand, stare of¥ into the

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18 THE CHlMEiS PEDDLERS Jane Pitkin, ' 35 On July Fourth, 1931, niy mother. 1)rother and I diseniharked from the S. S. Leviathan at Plymouth, England, where after a few days ' stay we took a bus for Barnstable. Here we bought three nice, shiny bicycles from an old man called Mr. Beer, who strangely enough lived on Beer Street. He took the greatest amount of time and care to see that the bikes were properly adjusted, mox ing that seat up a little and putting this bar a mite back. Equipped with our shiny iron steeds, we set out to conquer new worlds (to us any way). Our route lay through the Lorna Doone Country and along the Severn River to Wells, an old walled town; then across the river at Bristol through a corner of hilly Wales be- side the River Wye to Sudbury and Stratford-upon-Avon, where we saw five or six Shakespearian plays in the ultra-modernistic theatre that is such a strange contrast to the quaint half-timbered buildings of Shakespeare ' s time. From Stratford we went to Oxford, Lon- don, finally arriving in Paris. For clothes we each had a pair of shorts, one moldy, mildewy dress or suit, and a rather leaky raincoat. These we put in a pack which was strapped to the back of the ])icycles. If you ever feel depressed because of lack of clothes, try wearing such a wardrobe for a month. At night we stayed at some (|uaint old inn or farmhouse or even at a pub house, where far into the night w e could hear the men argu- ing over their ale. Once we slept in an ancient gatehouse over the street, to which we had to mount an old, winding, stone staircase From this room they used to lower the portcullis (or iron gate) to keep the enemy out. My brother said that he saw the ghosts of the men who used to work it. For luncheon we sometimes carried picnic lunches or we stopped at some inn. Once we sat in a field adjacent to one where a regiment of soldiers were trying to hit a red balloon drawn by two airplanes, with anti-air-craft guns. First we could hear the officers ordering the men, then a tremendous bang, and about two seconds later a faint report with a puff of smoke near the balloon. I guess they were rookies because they didn ' t hit that balloon once. Sometimes when we saw the gray walls of an old castle perched high above us on a jagged rock, we would take time out to explore it. Tlie keeper would probably tell us tliat one of illiam the Conquer- or ' s nobles had built it and that the old ' ' keep went back to Saxon times. Standing among the ruins of the huge banquet hall, we

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20 THE CHIMES distance. His curiosity aroused both by the attitude of Jacques and by a queer rumble which had reached his ears, he sprang up and hastened up the hill. Arriving at the top, he found himself on the edge of a steep cliff. Beneath this was another ledge. The road at this point could be seen for miles, stretching interminably into tlie distance. About half a mile away, on this road, Rene ' s startled eye caught sight of a carriage coming with tremendous speed, the coach;- man apparently unable to check the two horses. ' ' A runaway, announced Jacques, laconically. ' So it would seem, Rene retorted scornfully. We must do something. But what? ' Tis quite obvious what will happen, said Jac(|ues, stolidly. ' ' The horse, reaching that bend in the ledge down there, will dash off into space, and all will be lost. ' ' While thou wouldst stand here and gape, I suppose. What — all, I have it ! Swiftly Rene lowered himself over the edge of the cliff, clinging to the scant shrubs, unheeding the angry cries of Jacques. Fool ! the latter cried. Thou art mad ! But by this time. Rene had taken up his stand just above the curve. The rumble of hoofs became louder, and nearer and nearer came the two fiery horses. Breathing a silent prayer, Rene braced himself, and as the horses came al)reast of him, caught at the dangling bridle of the nearest horse and held on. At this moment he did not seem to be a weakling; indeed the strength of his arms seemed almost superhu- man. The horses pranced and leapt; the carriage swayed danger- ously on the narrow ledge, but Rene held f?st to the bridle. By degrees the horses quieted down, and Rene soothed them further by quiet words. Then the white and shaking coachman clambered down and approached the boy. But the artificial strength which had sustained Rene had ebbed aw ay, and he lay, fainting on the road. When he came to, he looked u]) into the face of a middle-aged woman. Something in her face was vaguely familiar, even in h half-conscious condition. He struggled to a sitting posture and stared fixedly at the w oman, seeing that her countenance was dis- torted with emotion. Boy, boy, she faltered, at is thy name? They say, he murmured, that it is Chantal, but it is not. I believe I am a waif, Aladam, though Jacques doth sav I am his child. And T believe thou are not ! Since when hast thou had that mark upon thy neck, my boy? ' she queried, leaning forward with excite- ment.