St Rose Academy - Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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' '-1 4S'fGOLD AND WH1Ti3f34-,---lTT- Twenty-six Fire- Fly By MARGOT LORENZEN A marshy meadow-a quiet pond, A lonely road and a hill beyond. In a muddy marsh below the hill On moonlit nights when the air is still W'here rushes and reeds grow green and high, There goes, sparkling, a Ere-fly. W'e see the gleam of his lantern bright Flitting about in the quiet night. He balances on the tall weed tops. Then to the reeds he quickly drops, And reeds to the marsh will softly cry, Here comes, sparkling, a Ere-fly. it Love By BERNICE O'CONNELL There is a dark and gloomy cloud above That fills the soul of every man with dread And hangs an omen upon countless heads. lt casts a shadow on the sweetest love And battles to o'ercome the peaceful dove. Beneath its presence have lain thousands, dead, Drenched in a horrible pool of blood, deep red. Distrust-suspicion--hate, is it made of. But through its dismal thickness a light gleams Sent to the world by some unearthly hand To comfort those who seek its heavenly beams. lt whispers soft as in its warmth they stand, God knows this stage and misses not a scene. He gives you Love, a light to the promised land. Q , To a Picture By GERTRUDE FITZPATRICK Colonial Lady, pictured on the wall. Whom I admired when so very small, Your glamor I no longer feel Why, you're painted, and I'm real! -

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BIT of silk, a bit of lace A flowing skirt, a pretty face. Two folded hands, two downcast eyes Two slippered feet of dainty size. Those cheeks of pink, those lips of red Those auburn curls on that tiny head. A'sitting there so straight and trim But in your dreams were you quite so prim? BERNICE OYCONNELL. Twenty-five

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GoLD AND WHITE 1f,-D--- l- A Summer at Shorelake By MARY BARBARA L1Ns T is almost two summers ago now that the whole affair happened, yet somehow or other Shorelake people have not forgotten, perhaps because they are still curious to find out all the details. If they knew them I believe that the affair would have died a natural death, for what people know to be the truth they never talk about but what they don't know they are always discussing. They will never get Allan to tell and of course Geraldine won't for Allan doesn't want her to, and therefore that leaves only me-but I am getting ahead of my story. Do you remember that summer when we had that terrible Storm and it rained continuously for four days? Everyone hated everyone else when the sun finally did come out, and the only nice thing about the storm was that I won fifteen dollars playing bridge. Well, it was that year that Allan's father, that's my brother Jack, sent Allan to me to keep for the summer. I hadn't seen them since that winter about eleven years ago when I went out west to visit the ranch. Allan was about twelve then, a merry youngster, exactly like his father, with the happy faculty of never being still. I had been contemplating a quiet summer when I received a letter from Jack. I had no idea what it might contain, for Jack writes me about twice a year and then only tells me that it is either raining or very warm. This was a longer letter than usual and read something like this: Dear Martha--It seems that every time I write, I have a favor to ask of you. Now if you're going to do anything important this summer don't bother reading the rest of this letter. CIsn't that just like a man, getting your curiosity all worked up? Even if I had been doing anything that summer nothing in the world could have prevented me from reading the rest of his letter, so I continuedj I pre- sume if you are still reading this, you are not going away, so now to the business part of my proposition. Could you possibly take Allan this summer? The fool boy started to ride one of those broncos and hurt his leg quite badly. The doctor says no riding, tennis or dancing, so of course Allan mopes around the house like a wet hen. I think the best thing to do is to send him east. The boy is crazy to go, so if it won't inconvenience you to have him please let me know. Love, Jack. I telegraphed back: When Allan's the only nephew I have, why ask foolish questions? Love, Martha. So that is how Allan came with me to Shorelake that summer. We arrived Saturday afternoon bag and baggage to find the house all ready and Mammy Lou, housekeeper, cook and everything else combined, standing in the doorway, all smiles and laughter. Ah's got everythin' ready for you'se, Missus Carrin'ton. You'se jest put your things right here. Ah's ain't goin' have you'se doin' a thing this summer. Is this Masser Allan? Ah's sure glad to see you'se. And with that we found ourselves ushered upstairs. Shorelake is not like any other summer camp, for it is very conservative and quiet. The same families come year after year and other vacationists are severely discouraged. I was therefore not much surprised when about half an hour later the telephone rang and on answering I heard Geraldine Barret's Twenty-seven