Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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Che Chemistry Star MARY TECKEMEYER HE Chemistry class could boast of but one girl member; not because there were no other girls wanted, but because no other girls wanted it. To say she was petted would not be exaggerating in the least. Three weeks had passed since she entered the class and not yet had she been able to accomplish any of the marvelous things of which she had so proudly boasted. Everything was quiet as she sat in the laboratory, alone. Though the Chemistry recitation came next, she had not even begun the preparation of her lesson. “‘I’d like to know,’’ thought she, “‘what’s the use of learning all these old names and formulas. I couldn’t learn them in a week, much less in one period. I'd rather spend my time experimenting. That's fun. But this text-book work! Oh, it makes me tired! I wish I could discover some explosive that would beat nitro-glycerine; that would make me great; all the boys would gaze in wonder and admiration; perhaps my picture would even be hung in the ‘Hall of Fame’.’’ Thus her thoughts ran, until finally she became drowsy, and her book fell from her hands. She went to the shelf and took down a large mortar. Placing it on a table, she began filling it with first one chemical and then with another. A gleam of victory lighted her face as the mix- ture began to turn green. Slowly she stirred it, and it grew greener and greener, until finally it began to bubble. She was a little surprised at first, but kept on stirring and stirring. All at once there was a pop and a sizzle, and finally a blue vapor began to rise slowly and spread an unpleasant odor through the room. The girl now became thoroughly frightened, realizing that something dreadful was going to happen. She rushed to the two doors, only to find them locked; then to the windows, but they were too small for her to crawl through. She took another glance at the mixture. The popping seemed to be growing louder and the blue vapor increasing in volume. Cold sweat stood out on her forehead as she rushed up and down the room, unable to speak from fright. The room was now almost filled with the vapor and the sounds from the bubbling mixture had in- creased to miniature explosions. She staggered to the middle of the room, blinded and almost suf- focated. Out of the stillness, which seemed to reign for a moment, there came a terrific explosion which split the air and blew the room to pieces. She felt herself rising in the air; a sudden rush of cold air told her that she had passed through the roof. Now she was sinking back — down, down — into darkness. Would she ever reach the bottom? The moments seemed hours. Down, down — splash — and she lit in ice-cold water. She awoke with a start. Her chair had tipped backward, landing her in a tank of water, in which the class were accustomed to clean their apparatus. To her dismay, there stood the en- tire class. They seemed to be choking, and yet it couldn’t be on account of the vapor. One part of her wish, at least, had come true, for the boys were gazing at her in open-mouthed wonder.

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Throwing a shawl over her shoulders, she started to run down to the beach; but before she had gone twenty steps from the door of the cottage, she found herself caught in a gale that seemed bent on bearing her bodily down into the heaving, churning, green and white waves that broke on the rocks at her feet and covered her with icy spray. Numb with cold, almost unable to stand, and with an awful terror now in her heart, she made her way to a more sheltered spot with great difficulty. Here, in a little space, she walked to and fro, moaning and wringing her hands, and trying to catch a glimpse through the white mists of that tiny speck so far out on the heaving seas. The little craft bore up well, considering the conditions; but the last ray of hope died out in the heart of the fisher when the stinging particles of snow and ice shut out from his blurred vision all traces of the landscape. Though the little boat was half filled with water, and he himself drenched from head to foot, he still worked on the oars and strove to reach the shore. Little Elsie, thus left alone, tried to amuse herself by playing housewife and arranging a row of little cakes before the blazing hearth-fire. Her childish attention was easily diverted, and it was dark before she realized it. Then it was, for the first time, that a fear for her mother arose in her breast. But she threw some more wood on the fire, went over to the bed, and was soon lost in the land of dreams. Outside the storm raged on. How long the almost insane mother wandered about, she never knew; but it was past midnight when, chilled to the bone and utterly despairing, she staggered into the little room and sank in a senseless heap on the bed beside her little daughter. The slight disturbance awoke Elsie. She arose and looked about her. The fire seemed to have been out for a long time, and she felt strangely numb. Outside it was so bright and white that she felt sure it must be morning. Her desire had been to hang out the sheaf of wheat the first thing in the morning and now, it seemed, was the time to do it. Without stopping to put on any wraps, she picked up the sheaf of wheat and started for the bird pole. It had ceased snowing and the moon shone brightly, but the wind still blew furiously and the waves dashing on the rocks could be heard a long way off. Elsie soon reached the pole, but it was with difficulty that she lowered it to put on the food for the birds, which she thought must soon be coming. ‘That strange feeling of numbness seemed to increase and she felt dizzy after she had set the pole up again. Suddenly, it seemed, a sound of music fell on her ear and at the same instant she sank to her knees. With folded hands, she listened attentively. The sound was repeated and before her eyes there came, not a flock of birds, but a vision of angels wrapped all in a glorious cloud of light. For a brief moment the cloud hung over the little kneeling form and then Elsie felt herself borne up, as on wings, amid a host of singing cherubim. When the sun rose that Christmas morning, it spread its long rays along the rocky coast that was still being assailed by thundering waves that had shaken it the night before. Great rocks were rolled high up on the beach; masses of sea-weed were strewn everywhere; and piece by piece the great waves were tossing up high and dry on the sandy beach the remains of a fisher’s boat. Farther up the beach stood the little cottage. The door was open and a warm sunbeam shone through and fell upon the still form of a woman lying just as she had thrown herself on the bed a few hours before. Farther yet up the beach, a flock of noisy sparrows was twittering and flut- tering about a sheaf of grain that hung on a tall pole, and at the foot of the pole was the form of a little girl, kneeling as in an attitude of worship to the birds which she loved so well. ae a ee — —- —

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Che Baitnnil BOBBY ‘14 A SHE sun comes up from o’er the hill And greets the dancing daffodil, Which nods along the twinkling rill, That doth the ocean help to fill. The wind comes up from o’er the mead And blows aloft the ripened seed, Which oft the little birds doth feed, That on their southern journey speed. The frost comes up from o’er the deep And puts the daffodil to sleep, Which doth its little blossoms keep, That in the spring again will peep.