Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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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

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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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High School Life Between The Lines. IRMA GRAY, '14. UBETWEEN the Lines! That which is not provided for in the rules and regulations. That which exists for those who wish and look for it, otherwise remaining unseen. The pages and pages between the lines are adapted to ourselves, our natures, our inclinations, and reflect our moods. Between the lines we find sunshine or gloom as we make it. It is companionship in little things that does so much toward fostering interest and success. In school life is this especially true. The hard student finds only his books to interest himg the giddy, heedless youngster cares nothing for his studies, and lives only in the merry, rollicking round of mischievous rule-breakingg while the pupil who strikes the happy medium is the normal specimen. The high school age sees the character which has been forming during earlier years, molded, often, into a firmness which holds, and makes the man or the woman. Truly important is the fact, that the part of school life which is not provided for in the school regulations is that which makes, to many, the drudgery of lessons bearable, and which supplies the stimulus of zeal and interest, without which little would be accomplished. One of the many little things which tend toward this interest is one which comes to every person, that of hurrying to be on time. Suppose your exemptions depend upon being at school at half-past eight, and you wearily open your eyes at a quarter past. It doesn't matter why you are so late, it may have been merely a sleepless night, caused by the mince-pie which you ate for supper, the fact remains. For a moment you are horrified, you rub your eyes and look again at the clock. It cannot be! When you realize the truth, you give up in despair. Then there arises in your breast that spark of stubborness that has saved many a day, and you are possessed with the burning desire to beat Time and bluff him entirely. You dress as you are sure you never dressed before, and feel that you present a most ridiculous appearance, but-you are not tardy. Then after recitation you are delighted-at least the girl is-to be told by your most candid friends that they really couldn't tell the difference. For one day, at least, you feel an interest in school life. Then there are the thousand and one little incidents of daily life, which one is indeed unfortunate to have missedg the notes passed on the sly , the hurriedly whispered confidences in hall-way and assembly rooms 5 the mischievous pranks played on class-mates, and-dare I say it ?-on teachers. Who does not recall with a smile-partly mirthful, partly tender-his experience in school cases '? Do you remember the rollicking youngster who occupied the seat in front of yours, when you came into school, a new scholar? Do you remember the naughty wink he gave you that first morning, and the astonished, then admiring, expression of his face as you gravely returned it instead of blushing or getting angry? Then the 23 l