Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

Page 31 text:

looked down the mountain. A thin column of white smoke was seen rising from an open space. Prompted by curiosity, he put on his hat and walked leisurely in that direction, and soon saw it was a band of gypsies. For a time he watched from behind some shrubbery and saw them eat their morning meal. Suddenly, from one of the wagons there stepped a slender girl; the loveliest girl he had ever seen. Picking up a tin pail, she ran gracefully to a spring near by and, stooping, filled the bucket with the sparkling water. As she held it to her lips, drinking, James Carey caught his brush. What a picture she made! the shining pail in her hand, her great black braids hang- ing over her girlish shoulders, and her gypsies dress making a splash of vivid color against the deep green of the trees. The color of her cheeks was heightened by the color of her dress, and a red scarf was loosely knotted about her head. He determined to have her pose for him. Advancing to the group around the wagon, he asked permission to paint the senorita’s picture. | The gypsies deliberated among themselves; but when it was made clear that they would be well paid, their consent was given. The girl came back from the spring, and Carey asked her if she would pose for a picture. In a low voice, she said she would; and at the voice the man started. This girl could not possibly be a gypsy by birth. That day the sittings began, and day after day the girl and the artist came to know each other better. One day, when the picture was finished, Carey asked her to pose for another. He gave her the costume which she was to wear. ihe next day she came dressed as he had re- quested. As she took the desired position, her head was turned slightly from him. He gave a cry and passed his hand over his eyes, for there, against the olive of her skin, just behind her ear, was a faint red scar. She turned and looked at him, questioningly. He seized her hand and excitedly told her of the disappearance of his little sister fifteen years before. ‘‘She had a scar like that behind her ear, and her eyes,— she had black eyes,— her mother’s eyes,— your eyes!”’ “T have here a picture,” the girl said, slowly, “that I found one day when Anton, my uncle, dropped it. I showed it to him and asked him who it was. He snatched it from me and angrily said it was none of my business; but I found it again under his coat where he had been resting his head and I took it.” “Let me see the picture,” said James, eagerly. The girl drew from her bosom a faded picture of a sweet-faced woman. The eyes were strangely like her own, and the hair was of the same inky blackness. James glanced at it, and his hand trembled as he held it. Handing it back to the girl, he seized her shoulders. ‘“This is your mother,” he cried; ‘“‘my mother! The picture you have in your hands disappeared the same night you did. You must have been playing with it when you were stolen. You are Alice Carey, my sister; my little sister!”’ That evening a message flashed over the wires to a little cottage in Aaron: Mr. JOHN CAREY: Will be home Wednesday. Will bring Alice. JAMES CAREY.

Page 30 text:

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

Page 32 text:

Patriot Stall Editor-in-Chief, HARRIET MONTGOMERY Associate Editors Class Editors Mary Mack KATHRYNE KESSLER KATHRYN HANCOCK Harry GLASSON CHARLES THOMAS Hitpa Howe Art Editors. EsTHER ARNOLD FRED CULP Gro. SCHLETER Business Manager, FRANK LEMP Assistants WILFRED GEILE HENRY WAJENBERG Mary TECKEMEYER CULLEN BARNES m=] HE publication of an Annual is a departure from the custom of other years. As is 1] always the case with a new venture, there have been many obstacles to surmount in RASA its accomplishment. It was not without a realization of this that we undertook this es Hq] work. We felt, however, that a year book would mean much to us, not only now, but later. We felt, furthermore, that we would gain valuable experience from the meeting and surmounting of any difficulties that might arise. Special thanks are due to Miss Quinn, for her invaluable aid. She has contributed much of her time and effort to the success of the book. In addition to those whose names are mentioned in - connection with their work, we are largely indebted to Miss Volland, Miss Andrews, Miss Davi- son, Magdalen Fettig, Doris Geile, Merle Dannatelle and Earl Harrington. To these, to all con- tributors to the book and to our advertisers we are indebted for any success our book may achieve.