Turlock High School - Alert Yearbook (Turlock, CA)

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Mrs. Emerson sat still, thinking. Yes, it must be. Oh, yes, the handsome young foreigner Theresa married was a Belgian. Her thoughts went back to the old home in England, and to the last time she had seen her sister, when her father had been so displeased by the marriage. Theresa had said she would not come back. She had kept her word. So they had gone to Belgium. W'ell, that was only natural after all. Had she not come to Mr. Emerson's country? She left the room, but soon returned with a photograph. Silently she held it out to the children. Both echoed the words, Ma mere- chere. Then Mrs. Emerson said, Don't you see, dears, your mere Theresa was my sister? Then you are my niece and nephew. Now won't you tell me about her-and your father? - Simply, Antoinette said, Father was one of the brave soldiers who died for Belgium. Ma mere-oh! Ma mere gave her life for Belgium, too. We saw her fall beneath a heavy beam during an air raid. A hard light came into the four little eyes. The boy struggled to sit up, but remembering the splints which made it impossible, he fell back on the pillow. The light in his eyes burned brighter as he said, They are both in heaven with the other Belgians the Germans killed. Some day God will send them down as angels to punish the Hun. I am sure of- it. I am sure that He will punish the German who cut off my hand so that I might never carry a gun-. Who said you could never carry a gun-or anything else? Mr. Emerson was at the door. I have just had a talk with Dr. Stevens, who is sure we can get you a new hand,-one that will move, too. Yes, it is strangeg but the great doctors do wonderful things, you know. Oh, Daddy! Uncle, Antoinette corrected. Yes, uncle, really: but I like Daddy better. Which do you like. ma tante, or Muzzie? A -DOROTHY ALQUIST, '19, 'iv

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There was silence in the room for a time. Happy laughter floated through the window into the room. The children were swing- ing each other in the new swing which hung in the shade of the vines. All at once the laughter ceased. Mrs. Emerson stopped rocking and listened. Then she went quickly to the window to see the cause of the sudden quiet where the children were playing. lVhat she saw was a little drama whose actors were not aware of being watched. Albert had fallen from the swing in such a way that his leg was bent beneath his body's weight. The results were very painful. His little face was drawn with suffering. For a time his eyes remained dry, and he uttered no sound, But we know that a nine-year-old boy, though very brave, and named for a king can hardly bear the suffering that a broken limb causes-for it was broken-without in some way showing pain. A pitiful groan escaped from his quivering lips. The lad could not help trying now. Then the watchers fMr. Emerson was now at the window with his wifej saw a strange thing. NVhen Antoinette had straightened the boy's body into the most comfortable position, she gently rebuked him for crying-for the tears were falling faster now. Petit frere, do not do that. I am sure, King Albert would not cry for physical pain. The spectators saw her hands go up to the locket at her throat. Ma chere mere would not be proud of her Albert now, I think. Instantly Albert dried the tears. He even suppressed the groans. That must take sand! Mr. Emerson ejaculated, as he hurried out to them. His wife sought the family doctor by telephone, The last strip of gauze had been wound about the leg that was now in splints. Mr. Emerson had gone down the stairs with the doctor. Mrs. Emerson and Antoinette stood beside the bed where Albert lay. The boy's hand crept up to the beautiful chain and locket. As his fingers closed over the golden case, he looked up to Antoinette and whispered, They are always with us, is it not so? Then she turned to Mrs. Emerson and explained, Ma, mere's picture and King Albert's symbol are heref, She pointed to the locket. We can not forget to be good and brave when we remember. For the first time the precious case was opened to Mrs. Emerson. She looked and uttered a piercing cry, Theresa! VVhat she saw was the picture of a pretty woman whom she recognized as her sister: opposite it was the Belgian flag. Theresa, Antoinette said it wonderingly. My name is Theresa- Theresa Antoinette. Ma mere's was the first: grandmere's Antoinette. Your mother was an English woman? Yes, Muzzief' 23

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In the Post Office QSuggested by In the Depot. j Folks--coming and going, Busy folks and glad folks and sad folks Rushing, hurrying with bundles and letters, Their footsteps thudding on the wooden floor. Painted girls, with highly scented powder, Sickening to the sensesg Freckled lads with carrot hairg Grinning youngsters, shy and awkward, Pale, thin women, with troubled faces, Laughing women, with stiff, starchy dressesg Men, brisk, neat in appearance Sorting out large enveloped letters and scanning the contents, Lank, hungry-looking men with hollow eyes, Staring, vacant-eyed men, Chewing gum folks with jaws of perpetual motion, Soldiers, sailors-whom all eyes follow, Cigarette-smoking boys with an air of importanceg Girls, self-conscious, and desirous of boys' eyesg Stout folks with bright, smiley eyes- Folks, rushing, hurrying, Their footsteps thud, thud on the wooden floor, These are the folks in the post office. ' -B. GOLLONG, '20, The Mascot QQ EAN! VVhen mother speaks in that tone of voice, I know it means busi- nessg so I sighed and scrambled off sister's dressing table where I was trying to fix up as she does. jean! the voice floated up the stairs, Hurry down and help me. Sir Guy is coming to take Isobel to the concert tonight, and he will be here to dinner. I hid some perfume and hastily set things in order so sister Isobel would not think I had been meddling. Sir Guy coming! I hate that long, lanky, glass-eyed Englishman that Isobel goes with. He is as sour as a crabapple and always looks at me over his glasses with a condescending glance, as if I were tiny and insignificant compared with him. I hate his languid air. He is not at all like jimmy Carter whom 25