Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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THE COMMENCEMENT NUMBER “Then Imogene, would you be brave enough to leave your un- cle’s roof and help share my life of good or evil?” “Hvil it could never be for you are good. I am going to my. uncle and tell him to give his wealth to somebody else and let me go with you. And before he could restrain her, she sped away to the castle. She ran eagerly into the library and breathlessly re- nounced all desire of the heritage it her uncle would release her from the proposed marriage and give her to the young artist. “An artist,” sneered the old man, “artists are always poor and worthless. No, if you are not careful, you will be locked in your room and have only bread and water to eat.” Imogene knew that to argue farther was useless, so she turned and walked away slowly back to the brookside. ‘He will not con- sent, he says all artists are poor and worthless. Money seems to be his all-in-all,’ and she sank down on the mossy bank. The artist put down his palette and brush and upon Imogene’s look of inquiry, answered, “IT am going back to the castle with you. When your uncle sees me he will not refuse to give you up.” Wonderingly the girl led the way up to the castle and into the library. The old man looked up astonished to see a young man of so distinguished a bearing with his niece. As he peered intently at him through the gloom, the artisc said, “Sir, do you not remember me?” The old man sprang up eagerly, ‘Malcolm is it really you? When did you arrive? How is the Earl, your father?” Malcolm, seeing Imogene’s astonishment replied, “Yes, 1 am Mal- colm Chesterfield, the son of Earl Chesterfield, your friend. I am going about the country, sketching and painting a little and have met your niece, Imogene. But sir,’ he began appealingly but with laughing eyes, “you used to like me very well at court and was my friend and defendant. Now you say all artists are poor and worth- less, that Imogene could never marry one with your consent.” ‘But Malcolm,” answered the old man, “I didn’t know the painter was you.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” turning reproachfully to the girl. “Blame me,” put in Malcolm, “she supposed that I was some poor vagrant,—but sir, for the sake of old times at the court and even if I am not the man you chose for your niece, won’t you accept me as a substitute?” PATRIOT | Pope sie “Yes, boy, yes.” “Tmogene, show him about the place, I must return to my books.” But he sat a long time, gazing with softened eyes after the forms of Imogene and Malcolm, strolling about the garden E. M. H., ’10. AUNT MARY The flickering flames sank lower and lower casting weird shad- ows over the dimly lit parlor of Judge Stanson. Soon the flames leaped up and fell upon Beverly seated on the floor at her father’s knee and gazing dreamily into the open fire. She was thinking about tomorrow—her graduating day. i “Father tell me something of your early- school days,” she said. Judge Stanson’s head rested on his bosom and he sat musing of his school days and his friends, many of whom had passed into the great beyond. The room was intensely quiet, only the ticking of the clock and the snapping fagots broke the silence. Presently, Beverly pressed her warm cheek more firmly against her father’s knee which seemed to bring his wandering thoughts back to her. Slowly the Judge began, ‘My first recollections of school days are of some forty years ago. I was then a boy of five on a farm, one mile from the little village school. The teacher whom we all knew, as aunt Mary, was a frail uttle woman and boarded at my father’s house. Behind her on our old family horse “Mollie” I rode to school each morning and home at night. Over hill and fields, fording a stream which at times was swollen to dangerous proportions through rain, snow and mud, we made our daily pil- grimages. There was one room in the school building and one teacher for some fifty or sixty pupils of a.l sizes, ages and grades. In iact there were no grades at that time. The relative standing of the pupils was measured by their ability to read, spell and manipulate fractions and percentage in arithmetic. The school furnishings were crude indeed. Wooden benches, a smoking old wood stove, a globe six inches in diamater, a few wall maps and charts and eight or ten feet of blackboard constituted the entire equipment. The school term was in the winter months and lasted sixty to eighty days. You would say that with such a school little could have been accomplished by the school of forty years ago. In arriving at such a

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THE Page Five PAE Ra-O T COMMENCEMENT NUMBER LITERARY IMOGENE A young girl once lived in a lonely castle, away up in the moun- tains, with her uncle, an old crabbed miserly Duke, isolated from the society of anyone save her dog, nurse and uncle. He had left the court partly from a desire to live more economically and hoard more money to his already fabulous riches, and partly to bring up the beautiful Imogene away from the companionship of the young “people about the court. So when Imogene was eighteen, she knew nothing of the society of people her age and birth. Her dog was her companion in the long rambles which she took among the stately forest trees and fern- grown dells. At home she had her books and music. For hours at a time she would sit dreaming by the brook of the beautiful knights and ladies she had read about in her books. But her days of dreaming were soon to be past. One day her uncle summoned her into his gloomy, heavy-curtained library and with woat was meant for a friendly smile, bade her sit down. His long claw-like fingers drummed nervously on the polished table, as he tried to think of a way to open the conversation. Fidgeting un- der tse wide-eyed gaze of the girl sitting opposite him, he began. “Of course, Imogene every woman and especially good-looking women like you should marry. I have picked out for you a man who is one of my old college friends. He is very wealthy and if you obey me in this desire, you will be my only heir and a much- envied woman.” “But uncle,” said Imogene slowly, “I don’t think I care to marry anyone. I like my life here.” “Never mind,’ replied her uncle and turned to his books. Imogene went out of the house and turned toward her favorite nook to think it over. She walked slowly with bowed head, but raised it suddenly when her dog gave a sharp, quick bark. Looking to her right she saw a young man sitting before an easel upon which was a reproduction of the little dell she so loved. He, too, looked at her with his brush held in space; but finally recovering himself he sprang up and exclaimed, “T fear I am intruding on private grounds, but the spot was so beautiful?” ; “Oh, no,” answered Imogene brightly. “I supose you are a painter, although I never saw one.” “Only an amateur and a poor one at that,” he replied modestly. “Why it looks just like the place and the light shining through the trees on the water is so real,’ and she crossed over and gazed earnestly at it. She turned to the straight manly looking artist with innocent admiration shining in her eyes. “T would like uncle to see your picture and know you, but he is so busy.” At the ringing of a bell in the distance, Imogene called her dog and bade the artist good-bye, saying lunch was ready. The next day the artist would occasionally stop his work and listen fo r the possible approach of Imogene. True enough she came. Why shouldn’t she? He could tell her of, many things concerning the world she was eager to know. But if he told her much of out- side events, he said very little of himself, except that he was an amateur artist and that artists were seldom rich in worldly effects. In turn Imogene told of her hitherto uneventful life and also of her uncle’s plan for her marriage. And busying himself with his brushes, the painter asked, “Would you not care to live a life of ease and plenty with a high social standing and servants to do your slightest bidding?” “T have never known any but my own simple way of living and I would enjoy no other with a man, who perhaps is old, miserly and harsh as my uncle is. But I must obey my uncle as I have always done.” She was so innocent, so sacrificing in her desire to please her uncle, that the artist turned away, much moved. Thoughtfully he answered, “How would you like to live with a young struggling artist, endure poverty, even privation?” “It would be happy for me,” she replied. “I would still have the flowers, birds and brooks even if I were poor.” ,

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THE Page Seven conclusion however, you have failed to estimate the frail little teacher, Aunt Mary, at her full value. In her mild, modest way she reigned supreme. By her culture and refinement, her example and her precepts she gave many a boy and girl the basic elements of character and the inspiration which brought to them success and nonor in after years. But of that little school room in a poor “back-woods” settlement, largely as a direct result of Aunt Mary’s influence, has come more than a score of college graduates. Among them are lawyers, judges, physicians, ministers, educators and bus- iness men who have a.ained high places. Who can fully estimate the influence for good of one noble character even under every un- favorable opportunities. While this is the brief story of one little school and one little woman teacher of forty years ago, it is by no means an exceptional story. The man of the world today, those at the head of large bus- iness enterprises, those eminent in professional life, inventors, statesmen, in fact the men who largely direct and control the af- fairs of the world at this time, can each tell you of some obscure little teacher of forty years ago whose influence is largely respon- sible for their success in life. Fortunate indeed is the boy or girl of today who comes under the influence of such a teacher as Aunt Mary. FERN RITTER, ’10 -FROM A DIARY “Oh, dear, what shall I do this rainy afternoon. Oh, yes! I'll run up to the attic and get those quilt pieces that I promised aunt ‘about a week ago. “Why! what on earth is this? Well, if it isn’t my old school diary from the year 1910 when I was a Soph, and here are all the names of my schoolmates. I just must stop and see if I can remem- ber them. First, there’s Joe McDonald. Oh, yes, I remember Joe. I read in the morning paper that he is a famous doctor in New York. And here’s his chum George Laupus—little George has now become a great inventor and married a society belle. Ah, here is a name that I will never forget, Hattie R., how we teased her, but that is past and to think that she married Leland Hadley, a travel- ing salesman. Well who is this?—ah! now I remember, it was Rea Gilbert, who joined the navy before finishing school; and then there is Hazel Henderson, that popular little ‘Miss’ who is now one PATRIOT COMMENCEMENT NUMBER of the best stenographers in the city. Then there is the name of Lora Reynolds,—what was it she wanted to do, oh yes—go to Hurope and study music; but alas her wish was never fulfilled. Then there’s that dear little Linton B. who has won fame by his latest edition of “Brewer’s Unabridged Dictionary.” And here’s our: infant ‘Ray F.,’ who is now making a sensation as pitcher for the ‘National League Baseball Team.’ And here’s a name that is rever- enced by all, that of Ethel R., who is now a primary teacher in one of the city schools. Then here’s a name loved by the many poor in Hast New York, Clarence Craig, the generous millionaire, And here’s Jewel of our class, now a leader in the chorus of the ‘Gingerbread Man.’ Then ther’s the name of Russel P. and Ruth A. who shortly after their graduation went west. Then there was the ‘David and Jonathan’ of our class, Ruth B. and Ruth Lebline, who are now nurses in alarge hospital in Indianapolis; Bessie Bol- linger, now noted English teacher. “And here’s a name that used to cause a smile of amusement to flash over the faces of those who heard it, Roy Hughes, who is who are now nurses in a large hospital in Indianapolis; Bessie Bol- ‘Luella Louis,’ oh yes, she is now an able Latin teacher, I have forgotten just where, but I know it is in some large city. And the class sport, Francis Bunton, is.the proud possessor of a large farm, where he resides in peace and happiness with his wife, who was formerly Miss Elizabeth Hoffman, also a member of our class. And here is the name of another one of our number( Willard Everhart, who has become lost in the whirl of some large city, but who is probably making a large fortune in the way in which he should. Then here’s the name of one I saw only yesterday, Frances Switzer, now librarian at the Public Library. Next is the name of a famous lawyer, Carl Fox. ‘Nellie Fenton,’ she is the member of our class, that is now winning fame and money as a vocal soloist. And Hazel Heintz, I am sorry to say, is still enjoying the blessing of single maidenhood, in company with her cats and numerous pets. And Edna Schwab, much to our regret, has gone to some distant city, and we have lost all trace of her. I have also lost track of my schoolmate, Alice Stanfield. Alas! how many of our number have stolen beyond the reach of friendly eyes and ears. Roy Schafer is now owner of a department store in the enter- prising and flourishing city of Freetown. And our class seems to be a lover of lawyers, for here are two more renowned ones, John Pes