Somerville High School - Radiator Yearbook (Somerville, MA)

Page 11 text:

SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR 0 Isaac Lamb By Winthrop H. Root, 1919 T was truly a summer day! The ther- mometer registered 105 degrees in the shade. June had merged into July and the fresh green of the land was paling. We,—Lem and I,—lay under the big maple in front of the farm house, where we were staying for the summer, too ener- vated by the heat even to go swimming. We seemed to have lost interest in fishing or any other of our usual means of passing the time. Then the house door opened and the farmer joined us in the shade. “Hot boys?” he queried. “Why don’t you go swimming? Too hot! Well, did I ever tell you about ‘Isaac Lamb?’” Our negative nods brought forth the following story, which I have tried to transcribe from his peculiar idioms to ordinary English: “You remember Thurston? Willis Thurston? He used to own this farm and I used to work for him before I bought it. Well, he had a lamb— just learning to use its horns. The lamb was called Isaac. Why lie called him that 1 don’t know. At any rate it didn’t fit. ‘Little Pepper- box’ would have described him better. “One morning, after milking, Willis set the pail of milk down in front of the barn and went back for some reason. When he returned to the door he saw Isaac standing, head lowered, as if to charge on the pail, evidently attracted by its shining surface. Willis shouted and ran for the pail: so did Isaac! Isaac reached it first and a white sheet of milk went up into the air like spray. The morning’s milk was lost! This angered Willis and he kicked at Issue. The next instant he found himself sitting in a puddle of milk with a very much bruised ankle. Isaac stood off a little way and watched. When Willis looked up Isaac trotted up to him and bleated most innocently. Isaac—I guess—had a sense of humor which Willis lacked. Later. Willis went to paint the barn doors. He had an eye for vivid colors and had chosen a flaring red. He set the ladder against the barn and. paint can in hand, climbing up began to streak on the red liquid. It was pleasant work to paint in the shade and Willis was enjoying himself exceedingly when he felt the ladder shake. Looking down he saw Isaac rubbing his head against it. He paid no attention until the lad- der shook more violently. “ ‘Isaac, go away, can’t you!’ “Isaac looked up and bleated his approbatio of the suggestion. Just then Willis knocked t extra paint brush off the ladder and as it fell struck Isaac on the nose. He was startled a.. jumped back. Then he saw the ladder, and think ing it responsible for the insult, charged i Things became chaotic! The ladder fell and Wil lis with it. He says he saw a whole sky full of stars. “Sitting up dizzily, he passed his hand over his head. Tt was soaking wet! It was his own blood! He sniffed suspiciously and passed his hand through his hair again. Red it certainly was, but not blood. It was ‘Huxtable’s best paint. Guaranteed not to fade or wash off.’ And Isaac! Shades of the lamb that went into the ark! Isaac resembled no creature on earth. His white wool was changed to a vivid and blinding red. Ilis ears alone stuck up like flags of truce on a bloody battleground. But in spite of it alf his raucous voice bleated his sympathy for Willis. “It was Monday—not blue Monday, but red Monday, for Willis—and Mrs. Thurston had just hung out the family wash. Leaving Willis fallen, Isaac stalked like a conqueror into the front yard. The cat was sunning itself on the front steps, but,

Page 10 text:

i SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR iiiir.MniiiiiiiinK'aiiiiliilHrj!: jniHiiiiiniirTiiirMirn v r irji ryiiniiiiiiiir TnniunDBBBmnimmTs nimirainnaMnraiirai

Page 12 text:

10 SOMERVILLE HIGH SCHOOL RADIATOR when it saw Isaac in his ruddy coat, dashed into the house and ran under the stove. Mrs. Thurs- ton looked out to see the cause of its flight. Then she began to laugh! But Isaac evidently did not like to be laughed at for he turned and stalked slowly away. As fate would have it, he walked right into the clean white clothes. His back cov- ered with wet paint hit the garments and left a very evident trail. “Mrs. Thurston saw him and ran to drive him away. But he wouldn’a go away! Round and round , back and forth, he ran under the clothes, until the place looked like a dye yard rather than a yard full of clean clothes. Finally he ran out the gate and into the barn yard, leaving Mrs. Thurston in a state verging on the hysterical. “You would think that was enough mischief for one lamb for one day. But it wasn’t! It was my turn next. “That day I was training a new colt Thurston had bought. As I drove out of the barn in a light buggy, Isaac entered. Never having seen a red lamb the colt bolted out of the yard and down the road at a breakneck pace. The smashed buggy was found five miles down the road. As for my- self, T jumped and luckily landed in some bushes so I wasn’t badly hurt. I wonder I ever lived to tell of it! “Isaac—or the ‘Red Lamb’, as he was usually called—had a bad habit of sneaking into the grain room, and eating out of the barrels. That night partly to teach him a lesson, partly to re- venge myself on him, I put a pan of meal on the grain room floor and left the door open. In sneaked Isaac. He looked at the barrels and found them covered. Then seeing the pan he began to eat from it. In a few moments he coughed, then sneezed, then bleated. Then he tried to do all three at once. All of a sudden things began to happen. Imagine, if you can, a red jumping jack that jumped and turned over and rolled and sneezed and bleated! It was Isaac! I never saw such antics. I sat on the barn steps and rocked with laughter. Then Isaac bolted for the brook. I had mixed red pepper plentifully with the meal. The Legend of the Wildcat Theodore A. Corliss, 1921 IIROUGH one of the many heavily wooded sections of central New Hampshire runs a road which might well be noted for its monotony, the stillness being broken only by the casional twitter of a bird or the howl of a wild limal. The huge trees on either side overhang, heir branches shutting out the sun and lending coolness which has been called by travelers ‘second only to a refrigerator.” It was for this reason that I decided on one hot summer day, to take a stroll down this road and “keep out of the hot sun.” I set of! and traveling about three miles through the dusky forest suddenly stepped out into a clearing on which stands a little red house now falling to decay but once the habitation of a happy family, probably about the time of the Civil War. A spacious barn stands nearby, its roof rising just a bit above the tall trees that abound and serving as an excellent observation post for the hunter of animals which roam on moon- light nights. The house itself is a low building, its roof sloping to the front and rear and enclos- ing about five rooms with all the ground-floor windows “boarded up,” indeed an excellent pre- caution against burglars, should they care to , enter such a house by those means, but should one try the heavy door he would find it swing easily on its hinges, and would stand facing a creaky staircase, a gloomy room with paper and plaster falling, on either side of him. As T approached this building I was curious, and plowing my way through the tall grass, I stood facing the door. When I entered, a large piece of plaster, evidently jarred by my steps, fell from the ceiling and echoed through the empty chambers. I stood still for a moment, seeming to be under the spell of the silent huose and then turned abruptly and retraced my steps to the open air. closing the door very gently for fear of the disturbing, “funny feeling” that haunts the place. Wandering further down the road I came upon another clearing, disclosing a ruined church and gravevard. I had never seen these places before and the question which now filled mv mind was, “Shall I go further or return home?” It was late. T was hungry, so I determined upon the lat- ter and was soon swinging down the road at a mechanical gait, engrossed in my discoveries. That evening, at the hotel, I questioned the pro- prietor. who is also chief clerk and farm hand, and the story he told is something like this: “The little red house is called ‘The Wildcat.’ It seems that, years ago, an old man and his two sons inhabited the dwelling and depended fdr a living upon the fruits of the soil. Things went