Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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----W --- e - 1 1 Evening. HARRIETTE WHEELER, '15. The view from White River bridge is very beautiful, especially at sun- set. The sun, nearly to the horizon, sheds its soft radiance over the river and surrounding country. All is quiet, with an occasional sleepy twitter of some bird. Far to the south can be seen the hills, looming distant and purple. To the west at the bend about half a mile away, is a rocky bank rising about twenty feet. At the top of this is the railroad, two lines of glittering steel. The Big Elm, distinguished from the others by its pe- culiar shape, stretches one gnarled limb over the water, as if to seize any object that should by chance pass near. Chained to the trees are boats, which seem, in the dim shadows, like ghosts. Cn the opposite shore are many graceful willows. Back of these is a large cornfield, dark in the fast gathering shadows. My revery is broken. A farm wagon rumbles over the bridge. Sand- wiched in between the farmer and his family are the purchases from the town stores. A suit-case in the back of the wagon, and the happy faces of all suggest the return of one-the mother, I judge. The town clock is striking. I know not the hour, for the number of strokes is lost to my ear as an automobile goes thundering across the bridge. I know, though, that the sun has gone to rest, and the twinkling lights in the town tell me it is time to turn my thoughts homeward. I give one last look at the river, listen once more to the cowbell tinkling in the distance, and hasten away, just as a little boy, in scarlet sweater and cap, brings the rambling old farm horse to the river to drink. 31

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The Awakener. JUNE IVICKEE, '15. As I stood on the White River bridge one morning last May, I felt that surely before me was as beautiful a picture as one could find in miles around. The strokes of the town clock told me it was the early hour of five. Always I had longed to be near the river when the sun arose--how amply repaid I was for my early rising! Looking south, I saw the outlines of the distant hills, nestled against the sky and wrapt in mist. To the top of one of the hills stretched a ribbon- like roadg here and there old rail fences straggled down to meet it. Sud- denly I glanced at the bank where I had caught a glimpse of something moving. A water-snake was just sliding into the water, where it disap- peared like ea flash. Farther down the river toward the west, the banks were covered with willow and syeamore trees. Closing my eyes to think of this picture, I found myself listening to the rippling of the water, as it tumbled over the rocksg the twittering of the birds, as they called the sun to riseg and the soft air rustling among the leaves. Presently I heard a train whistle. Far-off a watch-dog barkedg chanticleer answered chanti- cleer with lusty Growing. The world seemed to be awakening. Turning, I found the sun had tricked me-it was up, and its rosy face was growing brighter every moment. Its reflection in the water dazzled my eyes, contrasting beautifully with the trees and hills, which now had taken on a green tint. Looking to my right, I saw smoke rolling from the chimney of a farm- house, and heard the master calling the stock. A wagon and a rambling old horse, driven by a healthy-looking country boy, rattled over the bridge. In the back of the wagon was a coop of chickens, little did they know of the fate which awaited them in the neighboring town. Soon a lady and a boy passed. She was evidently going away on the train, for the boy lugged a suit-case, and I heard her warn him not to forget to feed the ducks and turkeys before going to school. The whistles now began to blow, calling the ment to their work. I turned for a last view from the bridge. The mist, which a little before had veiled the hills, was gone. Both nature and man were ready for the dayg the Awakener had not worked in vain. A Rogue. BLANCHE BROWN, '14. The wind blows o'er the meadowsfbleak And plays all kind of airy freaks, But when we ask for what it sneaks It creeps along the meadow creeks. 30

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T 1 C' The Wonderful Fountain Pen. A Symposium BY RUTH MELICK, '16. She sat gazing anxiously at the blank paper before her. The theme must be written, but about what? Her teacher had said that each pupil might choose his own subject, but she had also said that each of them would be due promptly the next morning. The girl picked up her fountain pen and slowly wrote a few words across the page. Then she crossed them out. They had been used before in one of her themes, and this one must be entirely original. She laid her head on her arm. Perhaps she could think better that way, she would not be attracted by other things. Suddenly her fountain pen that had been resting on the table jumped up. Mystery of mysteries! It began to move across the paper as if it were being guided by someone! The girl looked on in amazement. She read what was writ- ten on the page. It was a theme on a subject that had never been even suggested before in class. Her eyes brightened. Already she saw the A on her paper. The pen, as if by magic, kept on until it reached the bottom of the page. Then it stopped and laid itself on the table. The girl could hardly believe that the difficult theme had been written, so she looked again. To her astonishment she saw that the words were slowly fading from the page, until they had entirely disappeared. She rubbed her eyes. Oh! she exclaimed. I have been asleep-but I have my themelu So she wrote the story that in her dream, the pen had written. i BY LILLIAN HARRIS, '16. 0ne morning a little boy, named Zirphil, sat at his desk in a small school-room. He was poring over a book, and trying to memorize its con- tents. He could not concentrate his mind on the subject, his thoughts were on the fairy stories his grandmother had told him the night before. How nice it would be, he thought, to visit Fairy Land, and see all the Wonder- ful things I All of a sudden a bright light shone before him, almost blind- ing him at first with its radiance. He supposed the school-room would be in great confusion, but everything, to his surprise, was quiet. N0 one seemed to notice it but himself. In the center of this brilliance sat the tiniest creature imaginable. She spoke to Zirpilg he marvelled that any one so small could speak. Her voice was silvery, he thought, and just like music. She said, Zirphil, on every planet one little boy is presented with something magic by the Queen of the Fairies, with which he can benefit the world. I was appointed by Her Majesty to deliver this magic Fountain Pen to you. Make well of it, and not disappoint the Queen. With a wave of the tiny wand she carried in her hand, the light 'swallowed her up and 32 i