St Mary of the Springs High School - Siena Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

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answered Tommy. ,eff m Q , e e f i f if -:me . is-. is .args . if .1 3 2-f w i . -4 - .nl iff ,-2 -fi .iia fi' c i.. M -- at -'fe -ms iiiyig' lil-,Liii f TOMMY Tommy, Tom-me-e-! VVhere are you? called Mrs. Gray. Yes, Ma, I'm coming. Wait a minute. Soon's I win my marbles back, You come right in this minute, welre having company for dinner, and you must look nice. Gosh,', grumbled eight-year-old Tommy, that means I gotta wash my neck and ears clean and remember to say please when I want anything. Who's coming now? Your Uncle George and Aunt Jane and your sweet little cousin Ruthf, Sweet! Huh! I don't like girls! exclaimed the youngster, and you ean't fight with ,em either, because if you do, they always cry. Evening came and with it the sweet little cousin. A series of howlings and squealings emanating from the regions of the kitchen indicated that Tommy and Ruth were not on the most amiable terms. It was evident that these sundry squealings would not cease until Mr. Gray asserted his parental authority. Tommy! he roared, as fathers will. A Yessum, I mean yessir, here I am. I'm coming. Oh, Tom, can't you behave yourself just this oncein this from Mrs. Gray. Yes, Ma, only, she didn't have to bite my marbles! They're mine. I don't like g---D , Tommy, march right upstairs until that temper of yours wears off. So Tommy went. But he didn't mind. He had just had a bright idea. He would go up in the attic instead of his room. He could wear out his temper there, too, he reasoned, and he would have fun playing injun and generals 'n everything. I don't need anybody else, he spoke to himself, 'cause I'll play they were all shot by me. And Tommy enjoyed himself shooting imaginary injuns with all the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old youngster. After all his imaginary foes had been killed, he looked for other worlds to conquer. He rummaged through everything and came to a trunk full of hooks. These he ignored as unworthy of his consideration. They did not have any pic- tures in them and the words were too big for him to read any way. But there was one cover that caught his eye. This might be worth looking into. It was a small thin book, and on the front sheet was written, To Ruth from lvlother, December 25th, 1870. VVhy, Ruth was mother,s name, and she must have gotten this when she was a little girl. He was getting interested now, and the words were not grown-up words, so he read the story. It was the old but sweet story of the Christ Child in Bethlehem, but to the boy it was new, and the picture of Him lying in a manger appealed to his childish imagination, and he decided he would hunt for some straw too, to find out for himself how it felt. He found some excelsior in a corner, and reposing on it, his. thoughts gave way to idle dreaming and thinking. He would ask mother and dad more about this Infant Jesus in the morning. They would know. Grown-up people were so smart. Funny, that Ma kept this book in the attic. It was so nice, had such a nice cover. Poor Jesus had to lay on this straw--the stable was very cold-this attic was pretty cold, too. At last he fell asleep with the book clutched tightly in his arms. ' 113

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jlf'i'7i1'S fj5 -sz' :qv 2 I was born in the cold and wintry month of February, and though it seems many years' ago, it was just seventeen-to be exact. K In reviewing the network of incidents that form my past life, there are some that are indelibly stamped upon my mind. My early years were, for the most part, no different from those of the other average children. But there are a few experiences that stand out clearly--those that impressed me most at the time. I remember my first vacation in the country-it was all novel and exciting to me then, and though I was only four years old at the time, I had an adventure I will never forget. While coming home from the country we had to walk over a hurnt trestle, as it wasn't safe for the trains to cross. VVe were scarcely halfway over, when as I thought the journey was hecoming rather monotonous, I decided to look around. My foot slipped, I went through the trestle, and found myself hanging on with two hands, and gazing wide-eyed into the water helow me. I was finally dragged up again, and of course, after it was all over, I began to cry. My first Communion next recurs vividly to my mind. I can recollect the long procession of little white-clad figures, the ceremonies that went with it, the hand that led us into the Church, and above all, the solemnity with which we went to the altar to receive our Lord for the first time. This was my day of days. The graduating from the grammar grades and the starting of my highschool career came simultaneously. I think I was as proud of the diploma I received in the eighth grade as I will he of the one which will mark the termination of my high school days. I have enjoyed these four years of high school, with their joys and sorrows, and am now waiting eagerly to sec what june, with its graduation, has in store for me. HELEN FISCHER, '28. GOLD All the day was golden and now the golden sun Hung o'er head like rainbows ere the storm is done. Blue clouds, white clouds, and clouds of purest gold, Gave a touch of Heaven with its sayings old. Golden stairs, and golden gates, even golden streets, Make Heafven a sort of place -where peace alone one meets. On earth all dirt and dinge are fringed with depest gold, And the people while they can, the Midas touch enfold. ELEANOR FLAVIN, '28. ' 112 j , :Elm tit ,wif -z f is

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He was awakened by his mother's startled cry, Tommyl VVhat on earth-H 'Tm all right, Ma, I-I guess I fell asleep. Gosh, this straw is hard. It was such a nice story, Maf' He was not yet fully awake and Mrs. Gray could not know what he was talking about. This your book, Ma? I found it up here and I was reading the story. Let me see it. Oh-hln Ain't'cha glad I found it, Ma? Bet you forgot about it being way up here. VVhy, what's the matter, you're crying.', But Mrs. Gray did not answer. She had buried her face in her arms. Her shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobs, and in those tears was all the repentance and regret of the many years which she had spent away from the Church, from the Faith in which she had been reared in childhood and been taught to cherish as a great gift from God. Her memory sped back into the years. She saw herself as a child, leaning on her motherls knee, being instructed in Catechism. She remembered the rosaries around the Hreside in the evenings. Ahl she had been a good Catholic then. Girlhood-her mother's death-she had been dazed, stunned. She had begun a new chapter in her life. Then came her marriage to Dick Gray, a non-Catholic. She was happy and contented. She had forgotten most of the teachings of the Church and her little boy lying on that straw had stirred her heart. A fallen away Catholic was what she had become, but she would go back now. Tommy interrupted her thoughts. U 'Smatter, Ma? Tell me. Let's go down now, dear, his mother replied, Hand I will tell you all about this Jesus, and how good He is. And give me that book, I donlt Want to lose it ever. You were right, Tommy, I did forget about the book and all it meant to me, but I wonlt forget any more nowf' MARGARET SULLIVAN, '28. THE LONE TELEGRAPH OPERATOR Dave Carrol stood at the doorway of the small station. Four months pre- vious he had been sent to this out of the way place as telegraph operator. The only living things around were the birds and animals in the woods nearby and the large rats which infested the station. He had been sent there by the superintendent of the railroad who had given his position in the city to one of his friends. He told Dave that it would only be for a little while and then he would be transferred to a large city. Dave was disgusted and lonesome. For four months he had kept up hope and every time a train came roaring down the tracks he expected to see the super- intendent get off and assign him to a new post. As he was standing in the door- way he heard the signals and went in to answer them. After he had taken the message he again took his former position. In a week it would be Christmas and unless something happened before then he would have to spend Christmas in the small station by himself. As he was standing there the rain began to come down in torrents. Anything to make it more miserable for me, he mused as he shut the door and the one window of the station. The back part of the station was his living quarters and he retired to them. For four days the rain kept coming down faster and faster. The creeks and the large river nearby were swollen and were raging torrents filled with logs and missles which had been gathered from the banks of the streams. If this rain doesn't stop there'll be a Hood within forty-eight hours, he said 114