Shields High School - Patriot Yearbook (Seymour, IN)

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You prayed too hard, replied Mrs. Gorgan. Mr. Gorgan, who had spent the evening before in town, came slowly into the room. He gave one look at the window, fell back, and made a dash for the door. Where on earth are you going, now? asked his wife. To Father Cassidy, to make a pledge, he answered. Things keep a ' gitten ' bigger and bigger and now I ' m seein ' unicorns. rHE RIflbW5 G MATHILDE KESSLER, ' 22. IVE me the welcomin ' han ' , Ah — Melicans, welcome me — do! I come far away to this Ian ' To begin life afresh, life anew. Don ' laugh at ma funny ole face! I know these clothes — they all queah, But — gie me the welcomin ' hand, Instead of that laugh, and a jeer! Ah come heah to work an ' to live, In this Ian ' of ma long-ago dreams, So — gie me the welcomin ' hand, A regula ' smile full o ' beams. Ah, Melicans surely are happy, Now— make me a happy one, too ; Oh — gie me the welcomin ' hand, Oh, Melicans ! welcome me — do !

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grown by its master, who would be only too glad to give it as a Christmas gift to a little lame boy. Oh ! Happy thought ! She had found a plan. She decided to use that fifty cents to pay for an advertisement in the paper for a hobby horse. She remem- bered that Mr. O ' Donnel had once said, It pays to advertise. That night after much deliberation, Zandra put her advertisement together. After it was finished, it looked something like this: Poor little lame boy would like a second-hand hobby horse. If you have any to give, please leave it at 1420 Small Street in the alley, back of the house. She hoped Mr. and Mrs. ' Donnel would not read the ad in the paper and that they would have company Christmas Eve, so the coast would be clear. Her wish came true, for company carried the O ' Donnels to the movies and Zandra was left to herself. Presently she heard the whirr of a car, and looking out of the pantry window, she saw the glaring headlights of the car piercing the darkness. The auto stopped, a man got out and set a hobby horse under the specified maple tree. Zandra leaped with joy, and ran down the alley to see the horse safely placed in the Gorgan ' s back yard. As she tripped gayly back to her home, she saw beneath the maple tree another horse. She listened as she heard the merry voices of carol singers, coming down the alley. Don ' t they sound happy, she said to herself, and won ' t D enny be the very picture of happiness when he sees two ' harses ' instead of one. Here ' s the horsey you wanted, one of them cried, coming nearer. Thank you, said Zandra, but you must have wanted it awful bad yourself. Her heart moved with kindness at their liberality. ' ' Not like we wanted the little lame boy to have it, ' ' he answered moving on. Altogether there were eight donations. Some were certainly objects for the tender ministrations of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, but would have appealed to the heart of any boy. In spite of the fact that it was a holiday and the O ' Donnels had a late breakfast, Zandra was delighted to find that the Gorgans, too, had arisen late. To be able to behold the joy on Deniry ' s face when he first beheld the chargers was itself Christmas present enough for Zandra. When she saw Mrs. Gorgan, she was just turning unbelievingly from the window. Holy Mither of Moses! she ejaculated. Harses, gasped Denny. I wished for one and I prayed for one, and now I got more.

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fluons FRANCIS EUDALT, ' 23. THE sun to rest sinks in the west, The end of a day is near ; A lonely thrush sings in a bush Whose leaves are brown and sear. The sky o ' erhead is gold and red, A wedge of geese goes o ' er; The autum leaves fall off the trees And cover the forest floor. There is a nook beside the brook, A bit of beauty rare, That thrills the heart and makes one start, When one comes on it there. The slender trees, the autumn leaves, The ferns beside the stream, The marvelous sky stained with God ' s dye Appear as in a dream. The days go on; the beauty ' s gone From the trees and the woods and the hill. Soft falls the snow and the cold winds blow; The voice of the thrush is still. But God is not gone ; his work is not done, On the trees or the hill or the wood, He only doth rest, He knoweth best That the world will go on as it should.