Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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The Call. COY STEEL, '13, She sat in the shade of the old gray rock, her hands clasped about her knees, her bare feet tucked under her tattered gown. She gazed wist- fully out across the seemingly limitless expanse of majestic hills to where the sun was just disappearing behind Old Baldy's lowest peak. As she drank in the beauty of the evening, a vague feeling of awe for the great world beyond the mountains filled her soul, and she wished that she might go forth and mingle with its people. What was there? Would it fulfill her dreams? Suddenly her reverie was broken by a shrill voice calling, Berna--a -oh-Bernaf' Reluctantly she turned. Then, lithe as a deer, she sprang down the mountain side, in the direction of the Voice. Around an abrupt turn, she came in sight of a little log cabin perched on the hillside, with its scanty clearing at the back. This was her home, the typical home of the mountains, a home of many children and few resources, a home of many struggles and few pleasures. With one longing glance backward, she entered. Just inside the doorway sat her mother, an uncouth-looking woman, smoking a clay pipe. As the mountain girl entered, her mother scolded her for neglecting her work, and roughly commanded her to get supper before pa and the boys came. The girl obeyed with a heavy heart, for her thoughts were elsewhere. She realized that her parents could not understand her intense desire for a different life, a life of broader views and higher ideals than those of the people about her, the people shut in by the confining hills, and denied even the small luxuries which we think so littlc about. Soon the men, rough and hard-featured but withal kind-hearted, came. After Berna waited upon them--for it was the custom in the mountains for the men to eat first, the women serving- she herself sat down to the frugal meal of potatoes and corn-breadg its scantiness was not noticed, however, by the mountaineers accustomed to privations. The supper over, the girl climbed into the loft where she slept. Taking an old spelling-book from a chink, she sat down to read by the feeble light of a small candle. An old circuit rider had given her this book, and the little worn volume, together with the promising report which had worked itself back from a friend who had gone into the settlements below, had awakened within the girl an ever-restless and active desire for the light. First she had merely wished to master the old speller, but that accomplished she desired more books and a chance for schooling. To gain this she knew that she would have to go into the outside world, the world that seemed so distant to the backwoods farmers, for in their locality schools were entirely unknown. Every night she sat poring over her treasure, until her mother, little appreciating the girl's thirst for a fuller life, would call to her to stop her foolishness It was the pathetic story of a girl struggling under every disadvantage to rise above her existence, 21

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v..v-..:: .,,, . ,, MY BOUT WITH DEATH--Continued. my back and swam very slowly, for I was numb, I could see myself nearing the shore. After keeping this up for what seemed to me hours, I turned over-only to sink. Again I fought my way back to the surface. I could see Jesse, whom the current had swept to a near bank, preparing to come in after me. Then I lost consciousness. When I came to, I found myself standing in water knee-deep, my teeth chattering, my limbs shivering and my voice faintly calling for helpy Finally, with Jesse's aid, I climbed up the low bank. We were in a strange part of the country, but headed toward a farm-house in the distance, which, it seemed, we should never reach. The people were very kind, and after our clothes were fairly dry, we returned to the river to recover our boat, but, alas! it was caught under a log, far out in the stream. So we plodded back to town, minus a good gun each, our borrowed boat, and our stock of confidence in our own boat management. Of course it gave the folks at home a good scare, and as for me-no more duck-hunting in those pesky boats. The Red Bird. UA'l'llARlN1'l M1m,1c:AN, 15. . High up in the top of the old oak tree Sings a reclbird all the day, His song is sweet and full of glee, As he whistles his merry lay. He sings of the cold days that have past, And the coming warmth of spring, The flowers, the trees, the fields so green, That the warm south wind will bring. His song is happy, and full of mirth As he sways aloft in the tree, For nothing troubles him on the earth, And his heart is glad and free. 20

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THE CALL-Continued. not being understood by anyone, not even by her mother. Always as Berna had studied, she had tried to plan a way to obtain an education, but the opportunity for which she longed seemed 'slow in coming. A few days later, while going up to her retreat by the old rock, she unexpectedly met a stranger. Frightened at the sight of a new face, and perhaps recalling stories of raiders, she would have turned had there been time. The man was an old gentleman with a kind face and a gentle voice. He spoke pleasantly to her, but she was too startled to return the accustomed Howdy of the mountains. When she came back from the old rock, she found the stranger sitting on the porch talking to her father. Having regained her composure, she crept up within hearing distance and listened intently to the news of theoutside world. The stranger, who it seemed was making a trip across the mountains, asked for a night's lodging. Berna's father consented, for he had the hospitality of the mountain people, who receive with a glad curiosity the rare visitor and share with him the best they have, too often poor indeed. Berna was glad-she would learn more of the outside world. During his stay, the guest spoke of a school founded by three cul- tured women, who, when they had realized the needs of the illiterate back- woods mountain people, had lost interest in all else and had left their homes to give the mountain children a chance. All that was required to enter this school was a willingness to work. Before his departure the guest, appreciating the girl's wish, urged that Berna should attend. This met with small favor from the family, and the father informed him that he 'lowed thet Bernie didn't need no edication to git stuck up about, and thet she, for one, couldn't go. 'The news of the school quickened the girl's ambition, for here was an opportunity greater than any of which she had ever dared dream. Her father persistently refused to give his con- sent, yet in spite of all these obstacles, she knew that eventually she would go. A One day while visiting a neighbor, she again saw the stranger, now returning to his home. His mention of the school increased her zeal so much that she felt she could wait no longer, she must go at once. So the next morning with all her belongings tied up in an old handkerchief, she slipped from her home and faced the west. Her route lay past the old gray rock, the sharer of all her childish secrets and sorrows, out across the mountains. Thirty miles of ditlicult walking to reach school! She had made herself neat in her homespun, so she presented a very attractive picture as she started on her journey. Late that afternoon she stood upon the last ridge of the mountains looking down into the smoke-wreathed valley, with its miles of level blue- grass, and its busy cities. The girl's heart was filled with awe and thanks- giving, awe for the strange life she was to live, and thanksgiving for the education she was to earn. A moment she hesitated, drinking in the beauty of the scene, then she started down the trail to the city at the base of the mountains-the city which contained her heart's desire. 22