Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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-.-W , , T.-. ,W ......,.,, --,,.,,,,,w,,,,,,.,,W,, ,W Y A CROW FIGHT-Continued. the Herculean strokes of the little hero's natural weapong and the whole feathery flock gathered around the victor of the day, singing their praises in tones somewhat diflerentfrom the music of the spheres. They flew away leaving the conquered on the field to dieg and I, even though a farmer, dared not lay violent hands on him who had so nobly played his part in the game, although his race has been branded as a century-living corn-stealer since the days of Father Adam. The Woodland Message. CARL MAYFIELD, '13. When we have a lazy feeling, And everything is still, Except the robin singing gaily In the peach tree on the hillg When the color of the woodland Changes to a soft, light green, 'Tis then the wild flowers here and there Nod and whisper, so serene, Spring is here. Then we note that from the bogland Comes the croaking of the frogg Near at hand a small blue lizard Plays in and out a hollow logg As we sit alone in musing, We can see the green grass growg 'Tis then we feel our very heart-strings Take the echo, sweet and low, Spring is here. 14

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W 'TV' 'W' Tv 'T ' 'Y A Crow Fight. WALTER CLARK, '13, While on my way to school one sunny day in March, I noticed a large flock of crows, some sitting on the bare branches of a scrubby walnut, others flying around it. They attracted my attention, and I began to look closely, thinking they were, after the manner of crows, attacking some marauding hawk. Upon closer observation, I saw two old-looking fellows, with ruffled feathers, sitting on boughs opposite each other. As I waited, they all, save the two with angry eyes, took seats on the lower branches. Then everything became quiet... Soon, however, the chief of the tribe, a wise-looking old Nestor with sparkling eyes, and with the feathers on his head all turned the wrong way, stepped out on a near-by limb and gave three very loud and distinct cawsf' This signal the sage delivered with a tremendous wag of the head. It had the same effect upon the two important-looking fellows as the trumpet sound upon the knights of oldg for they rushed together in mid-air, and were greeted by a round of applause from the on-lookers, each crow cawing as if the glory of the whole race depended upon that one struggle. The combatants, unable to maintain such a battle in the air, soon fell to the ground, where, amid the shouts of their feathered friends, they clinched one another like two furies. V Just what this struggle was about I have never been able to ascertain. It might have been over some affair of state, or, possibly, some domestic trouble, but I rather thought it an affair of chivalry, and this spot their chosen field, where they fought for their own honor or for their lady's sake. Be this as it may, I was as much interested in this game as were the crows, and, as I took my place on the old rail fence, I imagined that I was back in. the days of chivalry occupying a reserved seat at the scene of some famous tourney. After a fierce struggle of half an hour, the more muscular of the rivals had the other on the ground, and was beating ia merry tattoo on his head, with a beak not very unlike a darning-needle. Just at this critical moment, when it seemed that the life-light was dying in the eyes of that unfortunate combatant, a smart-looking little crow with shining feathers, who I took for granted was the lady of his choice, flew down beside the seemingly conquered hero and uttered in his ear a few soft and musical tones, which, like Prometheus' fire, gave spirit to his despairing countenance and strength to his weakened muscles. Gnce more he raised his head, and with a few jerks of his slender body and a tremendous fiap of his wings, felled his enemy to the ground, repaying with compound interest the blows which he had received. Not well versed in crow athletics I never knew the name of the trick he played, but it worked just the same. It seemed to be used only as a last resort, and was so handsomely performed that it called forth a fresh round of applause from the spectators. The larger crow soon yielded to 13 '

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Gver the Hills. THOMAS CASSADY, '14. Do you take pleasure in roaming over the hills, or following the wind- ing course of some stream? Do you have a feeling of curiosity when you catch a squirrel up to one of his mad pranks, and ta feeling of interest, though probably of a different kind, when you see a half-dormant snake enjoying the first warm rays of the spring sun? Is it a delight to follow the tracks of the rabbit in the snowg to drag your feet -through the dry, crisp leaves as you walk through the saddened forestsof the fall? Yes? You are ready even now to tramp over the hills? Then we are off I We'll find the hole into which your prize pullet went, and watch the bird that flies off with your chicks. - Now we'll climb the long hill and scramble over the fence. The first thing that sees us, and the first thing we hear, is that old tormentor, the crow. As soon as his frenzied caw is heard, we know that we are discovered. Nor will he stop with one caw : soon the chorus will spread, and we shall feel like fugitives from justice. A crow loves excitement. He will caw over the most trivial thing. But let him find an owl sleeping in the top of a high beech, and his excitement knows no bounds. He circles around the tree, and calls for his fellows, and soon there are more cawing crows than you ever knew existed in the county. I was well back in the woods one day, when a tumult attracted my attention. It sounded like legions of crows, yelling as if their very lives depended upon the noise they could make. I stole up unmolested. The air was full of crows, so full I don't see how they avoided collisions, and the branches of the trees were dark with them. More were continually coming. I had just decided they were doing this to pass the time away, when I noticed one more daring than the rest swoop towards an old dead tree in the center of the ring. Then they fairly burst with excite- ment. They had a ninth inning ball crowd beat hollow. Out on a limb of that tree, calmly blinking, sat an old owl. Now and then a crow would swoop down toward him, as if to annihilate him, but never touch that bit of feathered solemnity. Then the whole flock rent their throats with applause for the daring adventurer. At length the owl, tired of this din, flew swiftly and silently away. The crows with redoubled fury fol- lowed, and I could hear them cawing over on the next ridge, where the bewildered old owl had stopped to rest. I often wonder why they make so much fuss over an owl! Probably, since he is a night-bird and seldom seen, he is considered a stranger in the feathery kingdom, and these rude and curious fellows are merely looking him over. Why, are we at the beech grove? Did you catch that flash of brown and white fur in yonder briar patch? It was only a rabbit that you very nearly stepped on. He disappeared under the reddish sumach, but he is not there now. You need not go over and look for him, for he is describing a circle, down the hollow, over the ridge, and around through the sugar 15