St Peters Academy - Veritas Yearbook (Saratoga Springs, NY)

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HYou catch the rabbits and put 'em in that box outside the gate while I go get the seed and the tools, directed Kit. Rowland. Bunky had just finished placing a board over the top of the box of rabbits, when on the still air he heard the court house ClOCk striking eleven.Bunky got all hot inside as he suddenly remembered that he was to have driven to the fair at that hour in his Uncle Jerryis car. Now he hadn't the faint- est idea of how he was going to get his rabbits to the fair. After all, he couldnlt very well run out on the farmer after all the destruction his pets had caused. Even after he had finished planting the turnips, he'd have to scrub the stick creek mud off the fuzzy fur of his two rabbits. If only he had fixed that broken down fence the day before, he wouldn't be having all this trouble. He had just piled the spoiled lettuce at the end of the row when on the road at the foot of the wheat laden hill he heard the heavy rumble of a wagon and the tramp of horses. It was the glorious carnival show, cutting across from the railroad yards to the fair grounds. How the freckled face beamed and how his heart longed to be a part of this touring caravan! But if he expected to get through with the work and get his rabbits there before the entries were closed, he couldn't stop work for a minute. e ' During the two hours that Bunky toiled on the turnip patch, he endured torments of longing. From the road at the foot of the hill came the constant sound of men calling to their horses and the rumble of wagons. With intense determination he stuck to his task. He had spread the last hit of earth over the seed when the farmerls voice hailed him noisily. HCome on and cat a snack of dinner, he called hospitably. uYou can 'hnish up afterwards, if you arenlt through. Havenlt time, replied Bunky gloomily, as he leaned the hoe and rake against the tree. Got to get In rabbits out to the fair. I'll have to 0 ti ht home and wash em up and try to get some- Y E g one to take me out to the grounds. lIWell, why don't you come along with me, invited the farmer. ITm entering two of my best hogs and there'll be room in the wagon for you and your rabbits. I,m expecting to go as soon as I finish my dinner. Would you really let me go with you! exclaimed Bunky gaily. And could I wash up my rabbits out there at your well? uCertainly. A fellow that can work as hard as you did this morning to save his rabbits ought to be allowed to get ,em in the fair. Bunky had telephoned his mother before he began work on the turnips. He called again to tell her he was going out to the fair with Farmer Rowland. As he stood at the telephone, the delicious scent of the country dinner made him realize how hungry he really was. When they had eaten to complete content, the farmer pushed back his chair and said, Well son, I think we'll hitch up and get on out to the grounds. Bunky slid from the chair he occupied at the table and disappeared through the copper screened door. He skipped across the garden being extra careful not to step on the plants and found his way to the box where Amos and Andy were being held captives. Bunky earefullyltook the lid off the box and the farmer heard him sigh, Well honest lnjun - jumpinl grasshopper. Guess I'll have to change Andy's name. Seems as though I got more rabbits than what I started out with. There, snuggled in the bottom of the grass tilled box were three tiny white, pink eyed rabbits. Bunky strode up over the field with the box tucked under his arm, and Farmer Rowland could faint- ly make out these words, Wee whillakers Andy, all you bring me is trouble, trouble, and more trou- ble. '

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loose between the hutch and the vacant lot behind. Frantically, Bunky squeezed through the gate. One glance through the door of the little house indicated that it was empty. Without hesitating a moment he tore away the loose plank and struggled through to the vacant lot. The nibbled peaks of grass showed that they had strolled through there, but now they weren't anywhere in sight. After ten minutes of tiresome searching for tracks, he sat down dejectedly on an old mossy tree stump. How many steps had he taken to feed those rabbits? Now they had decided to play a trick on him at the last minute. He had always pulled against work and argued that it didn't pay, and now he was sure of it. He propped his elbows on his boney knee and cupped his chin in his hands, gazing with utter discouragement before him. Then he started suddenly, for his glance had fallen on a rabbit track imprinted neatly in the muddy road. A heavy rain having fallen the night before, Bunky had no difhculty now in tracing the tracks down the bumpy, marshmallowy road. The tracks revealed that the rabbits had skillfully turned otlj into Farmer Rowlandls corn field. Seating himself again he gloomily watched a number of crows filling their stomachs with the far- merls prize crop of corn. He couldnit bother to frighten them away. The old farmer ought to have gathered his corn long ago if he hadn't wanted it eaten! Then suddenly a thought came to Bunky that gave him an uncomfortable pang. What was the difference in his neglecting his fence and the farmerls leaving his corn there for the crows to eat? For the first time he began to realize that the rabbits were not to blame for their escape but that it was all his own fault. 'Gradually, Bunky saw things from the rabbits, point of view. Then he became still more thoughtful; if he had escaped where would he desire to go? Standing up he surveyed the surrounding plot of the farmerls field. Back of him was the town; in front and to the right of him was Mr. Rowlandls farm, and to the left, the woods and the creek. It was only then that he remembered that he had failed to give the rabbits any fresh water the day before. Naturally theyld be thirsty and head for the creek. Hastening down the rows of rustling, brown corn to the creek he searched in the soft oozing mud for tracks that might indicate their whereabouts. Before his eyes he found some tiny prints that led for some distance down the creek, then back across the field toward the farmefs garden. Bunky didnlt stop for tracks now, but ran on toward the garden. One sickening glance within showed him xthe rrabbits, feasting with gluttony on Farmer Rowland,s fall lettuce. He succeeded in finding the hole through which they had most likely entered, and stopped it up with wadded newspaper before he attempted catching them. He had just seized one by its big, floppy ears when suddenly a loud, angry voice hailed him from the garden gate. . llHey, what you doing there, you young upstart? yelled Farmer Rowland, brandishing a hoe threateningly at the frightened boy. i In his sudden fright Bunky let the rabbit escape. Cat catching my rabbits! They got out on me! The farmer peered over the gate, hunting out the destruction the rabbits had done be- fore he replied. IlWell, you needn,t bother to catch 'em, he said, coming into the garden. 1,11 catch em and eat Iem to pay for ruining my good lettuce. Bunky turned suddenly sick at heart. Would the farmer be so cruel as to take his prize rab- bits to pay -for the old lettuce? Was all his labor over them to be in vain? Stunned, he stood on the edge of the lettuce row while with loud yells and a waving hoe lVIr. Rowland frightened the ra Hhits to a far end of the garden and into a secluded,shady corner. ler. Rowland, please don't take my rabbits, pleaded Bunky when the old man came grum- bling back to look at the destruction. uI was going to put them in the fair e I'm sure theyld get a prize. They slipped out through a loose plank at the back of the hutch. HBut where do I come in ?'1 growled the farmer, his voice a little moderated, however. lVIy let- tuce is ruined, and I was intending to take it tomarket next week. uBut I couldnlt help - I meaneerf floundered Bunky, as he suddenly recalled that he could have prevented it had he mended the fence. uI'll tell you what 111 .do, bargained the farmer. Ill'll let you keep your rabbits if youlll re- plant the row they ruined. Itls too late for newlettuce now, but you can put in turnips insteadfl Glad of anything that would save his rabbit s, Bunky said, H0k sir - itls a bargain!

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r r v r: e are t THE DRIER CATH ERIN E USCAVITCH Swiftly, Stan,s calloused hand swept down, and snatched a glass from the bar. Within a second, the glass was up to his lips, emptying itself of itsfoamy content. When the brew was gone, Stan smacked his lips with satisfaction, and slammed a dime on the bar. As he made his way to the door, he muffled a So long Joe, to the bartender. iNight, Stan, shouted Joe over the grile swinging door. There, thought Joe, goes a swell fellow. Of course, the town doesn't think hes much. But why should it? Hels always quarreling with the men, frightening the women with his loud talk and chasing the kids away. Heis nervous all-right. NIaybe the mines have something to do with it. I've ' seen a lot of steady fellows go down in those mines, and come up nervous wrecks. Oh well, nervous or not, I like him. llining is a job that takes guts. Plenty of guts! As Joe was attempting to psychoanalyse him, Stan was walking ,down the dim street of Lester- ville, the little town in Pennsylvania that feared and hated him. Passing under a lamp post, he stopped to light a cigarette. His brief pause, at this particular spot, put him in an angle for description. He was tall in stature, with shoulders slightly bent for- ward over his physique. His complexion was a soft grey, miner's grey. His features were clear and prominent. An aquiline nose protruded from his firm set cheek bones, and bushytblack eye- brows shadowed his dark, piercing eyes. His face had the distinct lines of a man who was a hard drinker. The ebony hair which trimmed his face was course and thick, and several grey hairs sat like a wave upon his head. Heiresumed his journey, and a few minutes later, was approaching his home, a beaten old shack on the outskirts of the town. 13:: it ever so humble, there is no place like home. Poverty, in some cases, would look like wealth compared to Stan's little old shack. The boards were loose and squeaky, the screen door, which was really more door than screen, slammed in rhythm with the squeaks, and the posts in the front of the house occasionally swayed the small porch. Such was the exterior of this place. How- ever, in spite of the outside appearance of the shack, the interior, bare except for a cot, stove and chair, was immaculate. It was in such a setting as this that Stan ate, slep and drank. The door was hardly shut behind him when he plunged into bed, clothes and all, for a few hours rest. Shortly after, a loud snore filled the room with its bizarre melody. The next morning was just like all other mornings in Lesterville-dark, damp and dreary. When Stan arrived at the mine a few minutes late, Charlie King, his boss, didnTt say a word to him. This was the first time that Stan had ever been late, which was a bit unusual for a man who habitually stayed up to all hours of the early morning drinking and arguing. The morning passed swiftly and the men were soon eating their lunch. The fellow that worked with Stan sat around an open fire, discussing everything from the popular subject of the weather, to the unpopular subject, Stan. Whenever iStan was the topic of conversation, the fellows were tense. Although he always ate by himself, yards away from his eo-workers, they still felt that he might pop up any minute. Guy, who had been working with Stan for almost five years, started the conversation with, uDid ya notice how clean Stan looked this morning? He even shaved' sdclhse' he cut himself. TlYa, and his overhauls were clean fer a change, added Jerry. Then, Guy spoke up again saying, uYa know fellas, mebbe hes got a girl. uBut she ain't down in these mines, joked lVIike, the foreman. HAnd if you expect to get any work done this afternoon, ya'd better get down there yourselves.