Weber State University - Acorn Yearbook (Ogden, UT)

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Cfje Scorn of tfje 2ftleber £ tabe Scabemp tnti Sftsf We cannot tell what effect the little things we do every day will have upon those with wnom we come in contact. This truth was impressed very forcibly upon my mind many years ago when I heard one of the old men of our town relate the following incident: “In the summer of fifty seven, while making one of my trips between Salt Lake City and Carson City, Nevada, I happened to meet an old Indian and his four grown sons at a place called Resting Springs in the Great American Desert. They had evidently come to the springs for a supply of water, as near by stood their horses loaded with two five gallon barrels each. The old Indian and his boys seemed inclined to be friends with us and so we treated them as kind as we could. During the short stay of the Indians, (for they soon left after we got there) I gave the old Indian a plug of tobacco, for which he seemed to be very grateful.” “About three months later I had to make this trip again, but some way, unaccountable to me, I got off the road, or rather the trail which is indicated on the government map as the best and safest route to California. I wandered about for three whole days. Just after sundown on the third day I rounded the point of a mountain, along which I had been traveling since morning. Right there, beside a little spring, I happened to meet the same old Indian and his four grown sons whom I had met on my former trip. When the Indian saw me, he ran up to me and asked as well as he could, how in the world I had ever reached that spot, for he said that his whole tribe had lately gone on the war path and a strict look out was kept for any white men who might pass.” “I then told him that I was lost, and had been for the past three days. As I noticed that these five Indians were alone in their sequestered dwelling, I asked where the other members of the tribe were. I was told that they were about 10 miles south of there in a very narrow gorge, called Cedar Canyon, [13

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£fje gcorn of tfje fleeter g tafee gcatontp life's iHotto I say, old man. at the end of the race. Would you mind stoppin' a minute or two. An lookin’ a feller square in the face An’ answering’ a question straight an' true? You've climbed an' climbed 'til you’ve reached the top. An’ soon you’ll cross to the other side; An’ that’s the reason I want you to stay. An’ give me some truth I may use as my guide. I’ll try to remember just what you say. If you tell me the thing I want most to know: What course in life is the best to pay— What's best to do for both high and low? What’s the easiest for one to win out In this race of life we’re all runnin’ in— For the man that has brains and the man that’s without. For we’ve all made a start, an’ we’re all in to win.” The old man looked down on the shaggy youth Standing there at the foot of life’s hill; Then he lifted his eyes to the source of all truth. And sought from this fountain, the boy’s soul to fill. When he spoke, there were tears in his eyes of blue. And his white head was bowed on a throbbing breast. There’s no easy way for them or for you: Only in Christ will you find true rest. But there's one truth I value above them all; It has been my light and ’twill guide you through; ’Twill help when success comes, 'twill help when you fall. ’Tis this: To thine innermost self be true.” Slowly and sadly the boy turned away. But the look in his eye was not one of despair; His heart was aflame with a light that would stay. His soul was awake as he breathed his first prayer. -J. I. M

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Sfje iUcorn of tfje fllleber fetafee cabemp through which the government trail passed, lying in wait to kill any whites who should pass that way. I was surprised, as well as thoroughly frightened to learn this. I asked why he and his sons were not with their tribesmen. The old Indian hunted around in his bundle of rags for a few minutes and then brought out a small piece of tobacco; the last of the plug that had been given him three months before. He held the piece of tobacco out in his hand and said that as long as that lasted, he could never help kill the whites, one of whom had given it to him.” “After this friendly explanation they asked me to camp with them that night, which I did. The next morning the old Indian and his four sons acted as guides and guards to show me my way and protect me from attack. By noon that day they told me I was within ten miles of the government road and that by riding straight ahead I would be sure to find it, which I did, and three more days of travel saw me safely in Carson.” How many of us, as we travel along life’s desert road, do little acts of kindness that, in after years, may serve as an ex- cuse for some one to do us a kindness ten thousand times more valuable than the act we did for them. —Briant Jacobs, ’07. Stuftinfttoe tonsf of tfjc Cfjtlb Certain activities, peculiar to children, have been carefully observed by psychologists and classed as instinctive. One of the most important manifestations of this instinctive action is the curiosity that all children show. This instinct is generally annoying to order-loving adults, as it sometimes becomes de- structive. We are much put out when Johnny takes his watch to pieces, or smashes his sister’s doll. But to him, it is almost a necessity to find out the cause of the ticking of the watch or the rolling of those glassy eyes. This tendency was formerly regarded as an expression of his evil nature, which was gradu- ally outgrown as he came to manhood. But we are beginning 14]