Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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After Many Years INEZ KREINHAGEN HE deep shadows of late evening had fallen over the little village of Aaron, and here and there the golden glow of a lamp shone through the windows of the scattered cottages. From the nearby stream came the dismal croaking of frogs, and numberless little creatures of the night flitted about, filling the air with a soft, drowsy under-current of sou nd. At the brink of the stream, and reflecting its dancing light in the clear, running water, was a camp-fire. The huge silhouette of a covered wagon showed indistinctly against the star-lit summer sky. Lounging around on the soft earth were five men, while two women finished re- placing in the wagon the rude implements with which the evening meal had been prepared. A third sat on the wagon steps, holding on her lap a sleeping child. Gradually the fire died down, leaving a heap of glowing embers. From the trees overhead, came the cry of a whip-poor-will. In the square in front of the village postoffice, all the children had gathered, playing and shouting in their glee. Near them on the veranda of the postoffice, many of their elders were sit- ting,— the men smoking and talking politics, while the women listened and talked of the coming church fair. A young man of eighteen years strolled up, spoke a moment to the people on the porch and went into the office. No sooner had he turned his back than the buzz of conversation centered on him. “Well, ef I do say so, that Jim Carey ain't no ordinary crittur. The way that boy draws pitchers is a caution,’’ drawled Si Jones, the blacksmith. “Yes; when he went to school over at Cloverdale, they wuz a man there what said if Jim ’ud draw his pitcher so you could tell it was him, he’d send him ter some sort of a school in Noo York ter learn ter draw real fer-sure pitchers, like ye read about in the Vatikan in Paris, or somewhere like that,’’ said Miss Jane Wimple, the village seamstress. At this point in the discussion, Jim Carey came out, holding in his hand a letter. Every one looked up, expectantly. “Well, neighbors,’ he said; “you can wish me good luck. I just received a letter from Mr. Wallon, asking me to let him send me to an art academy in New York.” “Did yer draw his picture?” cried Miss Jane. “Are ye goin’ ter go, Jim ?’’ There was great excitement. They all crowded around him, asking questions and specu- lating as to how long it would be before he would be famous. When their excitement had some- what subsided, they all sat down with Jim in their midst, to talk of his future. A small girl, in a pink gingham dress, was with the others in the street. As she was but four years old, no notice was taken when she did not join in the games of the older children. A

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The Time That I Like Best a6 HE. time of all, that I like best, Is when I sit by the fire to rest; BOBBY ‘!4 When fierce the winds in the chimney blow, As they make the sparkling embers glow. The relic clock sends forth a chime, The pendulum is beating time, The big hand joining in the sound Drives the little one around. In the open doorway of the hall, The playful kitten rolls the ball. The old cat bows with utmost grace, While washing off his dirty face. Above the moaning of the sea Hooting are the owlets three, As they flutter to and fro Seeking shelter from sleet and snow. Far away, o’er hill and dells Is heard the jingling of sleigh bells Joined with voices of gay laughter, Shouting, ‘‘Faster, faster, faster.”’

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glow-worm flitted past her ,she stretched out her hand for it. Not catching it, she ran after it. Still eluding her, it flitted down the road. Laughing, the tiny girl pursued it on and on, past the little church. Now she almost had it in her hand; now it was a little way ahead. Suddenly the child stopped. She had just crossed the little bridge over the stream. A short distance to her right, she heard the soft murmer of voices. They did not sound like her big brother Jim’s. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, and they talked so fast. ““Maybe it’s fairies,” she said, aloud. “I’m goin’ to go and find them.” She did not think of fear as she confidently walked toward the covered wagon. The voices ceased. A man raised his head and quickly motioned for the others to look; then he arose and went to the child. She looked into his dark face and smiled, as she asked, “Is you a fairy?” The others quickly gathered around, speaking rapidly to each other, in Italian. “Is you fairies?’ repeated the child, “‘cause if you isn’t, I’s got to go back; but if you is, I’ll stay a little while, cause I like fairies.” One of the men patted her on the head. “Yes, we are fairies, and we'll take you to fairy land with us, maybe.”’ ““Good-looking kid,” said one to another. Black hair and eyes, too; easy to darken the face.” “Her looks will beg for her,’’ said a woman. ‘“We might as well take her. We'll never get another chance like this.’’ “Will you take me to fairyland with you?” The gypsies nodded and smiled at her. “Oh, goodie! I knew there wuz fairies, cause Jim read to me about them; but I never knew they talked so funny” “Who is Jim ’’ suspiciously asked the man who could speak English. ““Oh, he’s my big brother,’’ said the child. The horses were hurriedly untied from the trees and hitched to the wagon. The fire was covered with sand, the women climbed into the wagon with the two children, the men mounted into the high seat, and the horses were started. Softly and slowly they crept away from the village, down the road; but at a short distance from town, the horses were lashed into a brisk run. An hour later, Jim Carey rose and called for his sister to come, as it was time to go home. The children looked about, and then at each other. Alice was not there. “She has gone home, alone,’’ suggested one. Some one ran to see. She was not at home. Every house in the village was searched. No trace of Alice could be found. There was the wildest confusion. Searching parties were formed and the countryside was scoured. The search went on for weeks. Newspapers all over the country were filled with descriptions of the beautiful child. Accounts told of a tiny red scar behind her left ear, which had been caused by falling backwards and striking the corner of a chair. No child was found answering to that description, and, finally, she was given up as dead. Cs % Fs ry % % othe % % % Fifteen years later, the great artist, James Carey, had packed his easel and gone to spend his summer vacation in the Adirondacks. As he was sitting in the sun one cool morning, he . iy bi