Sheridan High School - Syllabus Yearbook (Sheridan, IN)

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28 The Syllabus iidiHmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMim The Prize Christmas Card “Yes, the eighth grade pupils of all the schools in this town will complete. Jolly idea, isn’t it?” “Why what is the matter, Jeanette? Didn’t you see that notice on the bulletin-board in the corridor?” “No, Jack, I guess the thought of our Algebra exam tomorrow has queered me a bit. My head seems sort of wooden today, and I’ve visions of failing, for you know, Mathematics is my weak point.” The boy and girl were walking home together. Jack Dawson, as usual, carried Jeanette Blake’s books with his own. “Do tell me about this competition, truly I can’t wait until tomorrow morning!'’ “No wonder you haven’t the knack for Mathematics. It all runs to Ait with you. No one else in our grade can touch you at all in that line. Well, it said on the bulletin-board that all the Home and School Associations in Dorchester had united in offering a prize to all eighth grade pupils for the best Xmas card design. The idea may be sacred, or otherwise—anything appropriate to the season, but it must be wholly original. It must be submitted by November the fifth and joint committee of teachers and parents will act as judges. The prize is ten dollars and the sketches are all to be colored. Now, I guess I’ve given you every detail, Jeanette.” His companion drew a long breath: “What nice presents I could give with that money, if I won it!” “Of course you’ll get that prize!” he said. “You’ll try to, won’t you?” “No, I guess not. If it were a pen and ink sketch now, there might be some hope. But in the color line, you see, I'm pretty hopeless. But for you it’s clear sailing. Just go right in and win! Here are your books. I’m off for a game of football.” Jeanette went slowly up stairs. For a moment the hideous nightmare of the Algebra exam had ceased to haunt her. A dawning vision of success threw its rose-colored light about her pathway. Though not conceited, she could not help realizing that her ability was unusual. She came indeed, of a family of artists. Her father, it is true, was only a designer of wall papers, but his eldest brother, who had died twenty years before, would probably, had he lived, have become a noted painter. The walls of the Blake home were covered with Uncle Don’s pictures, and the children had been brought up to revere his memory. One

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The Syllabus 2!) .................................. of Jeanette’s most cherished possessions was an old portfolio of sketches of this uncle. Many of them were mere rough outlines, some in pencil and others in water colors. She seldom showed them to anyone, but occasionally she took the collection out and looked them over. Jeanette sat down to get ready for the dreaded algebra exam, still pondering the question of the composition. It seemed more than unusually difficult to her brain to work out Mathematical problems. She thought if would be extremely hard to originate a new design when the market was so flooded with Xmas cards of every description now. If she could once get a suggestion she was sure that her ability was sufficient to enable her to elaborate it with something attractive. At last she laid down her Algebra with a sigh and yielding to a sudden impulse, went to the drawer and took out Uncle Don’s portfolio. She looked them carefully over. One she had not particularly noticed before now held her spell-bound. It was roughly done in water-color and yet there seemed to be much feeling expressed in the figures, Jeanette thought. In one corner was faintly written this inscription, “A design for Xmas card, 1889—“The First Xmas Tree.” She was sure that she had never before read those half-blurred penciled words. The year oi Uncle Don’s Death. It was improbable that this sketch had ever been worked up or used in any way at all. Against a glowing sunset sky was outlined sharply a single pine tree. At its foot was resting a man and woman. Upon the mother’s breast a baby lay. Near at hand stood a horse drooping with fatigue, as if wearied by a long journey. As she gazed at the glowing lights her heart almost quit beating. A sudden fierce temptation assailed her. Here was the very suggestion she so much needed. No one could possibly know if she availed herself of it. Few of her friends had ever examined the old yellow sketches, and, probably not a single member of her own family had read the indistinct inscription. In a sense, too, she asked herself did not the idea really belong to her, and had she not a perfect right to use it? As she pondered over the matter, it seemed as if there were a legacy which Uncle Don had bequeathed her with a portion of his talent, which she had evidently inherited. This thought of his could never be utilized by anyone else. He had died too soon to develop it himself. Then, why should she not do so? Almost immediately, she began, with great enthusiasm, to elaborate Uncle Don's idea. Her first draft of the sketch was a picture about eighteen inches square, and she then made a smaller copy, suitable in size for a Xmas card. Her finished picture certainly showed great talent and the lights in it were wonderful. Around the head of the sleeping child there showed a halo, whose rays shot up in the dark branches of the pine