Scituate High School - Chimes Yearbook (Scituate, MA)

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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.

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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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HE CHIMES Always, Madam, I — he began, but at this point Jacques came up. The woman turned and faced him. ' ' Mon Dieu! ' ' he cried. ' Tt is she! ' ' And thou art the scoundrel for whom I have searched for four- teen years! Now thou shalt pay for thy crimes! the lady cried, with heat. I — I — pray thee, Madam, do not prosecute me ! Jacques cried. ' T kept the boy for his own good ! R — rather, I intended to bring him back, but could not find him — and you ! In his frantic attempts at explanation, Jacques was entangling himself in a maze of lies. ' ' Listen to me, peasant. Well dost thou deserve the guillotine for what thou hast done. But in my joy at finding my child, I will spare thee. See, however, that thou dost never show thyself near one of the Brebeaufs again ! Now go ! Then turning to the amazed boy, the lady clasped him to her bosom. With emotion, she explained that she was his mother. Graphically she drew a picture of two busy parents leaving a young child in the care of a peasant in a market of the far-oflf city of Paris: of their frenzied grief at finding both child and guardian gone when they returned; of fruitless searching years, while, in the meantime, the Brebeaufs had risen to enormous w ealth. Then she told him of her trip to Spain, how the horses had been maddened by the intense heat, and had run away, and then of her sentiments as she recognized her own boy by the birthmark on his neck, and by seeing Jacques. As she finished, Rene asked once again, Then thou art reallv my mother ? And I am Rene Brebeauf ? Yes, child, thou art. Now come, get into our carriage, and we will go to your father at Paris. With a sigh of utter happiness, Rene helped her into the carriage, and they rolled off. THE LARK Margaret Huntley, ' 37 Can you guess what is soaring ever so high. Sweeping up ever onward into the sky? It ' s a joyous lark with free little wings, Flitting and darting as gaily he sings. Upward and upward ever so high Away, far away, to the deep blue sky; Oh, if only everyone could be so free As the joyous lark that flies over the lea.