Wells High School - Crimson and Gray Yearbook (Southbridge, MA)

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THE CRIMSON AND GRAY 13 was watch ' ng Bruce a few yards away. With a very decided shalce of his head, Bruce started on, not looking back. He wasn ' t going to fool with cubs whose mother might be near. He had had experience enough not to. He arrived at the cabin and went to his step again, wishing he had never gotten up In Ihe first place. Well.of all things ! That bear had follow- ed him all the way ! Yes, there he sat, looking at Bruce with the saddest expression, as if to say, Can ' t I stay with you? Bruce was be- ginning to get worried for fear Master Jackie would come out and see him having anything to do with a bear, so he gave a sharp bark of warning to the cub. The cub just looked at Bruce, and then started right for him! Another look came into Bruce ' s face as the cub came on. He cocked his head on one side and wagged his tail ! He got up and went to meet the cub. He lapped its head and lay down beside it. The cub snuggled down beside Bruce and went to sleep with a contented little sigh. Jackie came out and was met by a growl of warning from Bruce. Jackie looked dum- founded at the queer spectacle, and then said, All right, old man. I won ' t disturb you. After that, Bruce and the cub were insep- arable. When the cub grew up, he saved Bruce ' s life many times in the forest, as Bruce had saved his when he was a cub. Margaret Walker.

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12 THE CRIMSON AND GRAY you how I spent my time in this great building of knowledge. In the daytime I must hide my good looks, for the students nearly hypnotize me with their eyes. So I hasten through the corridors ever so quietly, passing through Miss Prim ' s Latin Class, to my music Hall. Sh! I hear that click,-click of the Typing Room. Under the radiator, I listen to it. Click, Click, tick- tick; a-n-d space, shift! R-r-ring! I sit there all day for I hate the other classes. The students seem to pick me right out. Queer, isn ' t it, that they can do so many things at once? Well, humans will be humans! In the afternoon, I usually make my meal downstairs where more than enough crumbs are left and even cheese sometimes. The day makes me a prisoner, so I wait until all are gone. In one desk I made a bed of scrap paper. All would be well if the paper did not tickle and irritate my skin. You know your- self how delicate I am. I am getting to be quite a reader now, must be the school atmosphere, and, in fact, most of my evening is spent in reading girls ' and boys ' notes. I can ' t get over the mushy stuff they write. Here ' s how one reads : — My Dearest Dolores : How about meeting me tonight at the corner of Prospect Street? Yours as ever : Now do you see any sense in that? The test papers are even worse. A good one was written in the five-week test— Shake- speare was born in the twentieth Century. That Count of Mont Crisco or Cristo is a great book, if you ask me; it contains over a thousand pages. Oh, dear! An explosion has just occurred in — Sincerely Mike Knowall P. S. Finish it some other time. Wanda Kwarciak, ' 31 ON BEARS Well ! If there isn ' t another of those dis- gusting old bears ! ! ! Woof ! Woof And its lazy old Patches at that! I ' ll teach him to nose around Master Mackid ' s store-house! Woof! Woof! Old Patches went lumbering off into the forest with complaining grunts and squeals when he heard the familiar bark of Bruce. All bears in that vicinity knew his bark and what it meant. They knew that if they didn ' t clear out of his territory, (which was his master ' s if it was anywhere near camp,) they would be minus a few inches of hide. Bruce thought bears were disgusting. Why, they were so lazy, they couldn ' t get their own food, but had to come nosing into Master Jackie ' s storehouse all the time. His job was to keep those huge bulks of nuis- ance away from the camp. Bruce was a huge Scotch collie. His long, wooly hair was a rich orange brown. He was white on his nose, all around his neck and on his great shaggy breast, on his legs and on the tip of his bushy tail. His little- velvety ears were usually pricked up, listening for the least little noise to inquire into, as Bruce was very inquisitive. Bruce took great pride in his tiny, silky, white front paws. Although small, they were very strong and were not easily tired on his long tramps in the forest. Bruce was staying with his mas- ter Jackie at a deserted lumber camp in Maine. Jackie and Bruce were great pals, and had many a tumbling match out on the grass together. One day as Bruce lay s prawled out before the cabin door, he was attracted by a queer little squealing noise which seemed to come from the forest. Bruce ' s curiosity was im- mediately aroused, and off he went. As he got deeper into the forest the noise became louder. Finally he came to a clearing. The noise seemed to come from a tree in the mid- dle of the clearing. On looking up, Bruce saw a little bear cub, whimpering and cry- ing on a branch. Heavens! Another of those bears! The ground all about the tree was mangled and torn. Bruce looked surprised and rather disgusted that he had come all this way just to see one of those bears. He turned around and trotted for home. But after a few steps he stopped and looked back with uncertainty. What! Did that beast actually have the nerve to follow him! He cocked his head to one side and seemed quite undecided what to do. The little cub had stopped squealing and

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JOHN BROWN ' S BODY John Brown ' s Body by Stephen Vincent Benet, is a most interesting account of the Civil War. Although it is not a history, it gives the events of that terrible crisis in the history of our nation. Benet gives us more than pure facts; he gives us the feelings of the North, the South and the West, and the actions of men going to battle. The slave trader could not console him- self with the Bible ' s words that the sons of Ham should be bond-servants. He was haunted by the mass of praying, moaning blacks, who were crowded into the cabin of his ship, which was bound for America. The first step to enlighten these negroes was made by John Brown and his followers. It did not take long for this little band to be defeated and the men put to death, but John Brown, in his little escapade, had aroused the spirit in the heart of every northerner to fight against slavery. In the South, the negroes, lolling, at even- tide around the fire, tried to vision freedom — some, however, were too much afraid to even think of it. The men of the South left their planta- tions, wives and sweethearts to meet the men of the North, who had left their farms, factories and their wives at the hearth of their homes. The West sent pioneers, who, having killed animals, could not fathom the thought of shooting men. So the war raged on, the South continually gaining victories, but the spirit of John Brown drove the Nor- therners on, until they were victorious. What was the good of the Civil War? Among other things, its purpose was to free the slaves, but the question has often arisen and probably always will, whether or not the negroes ' position was bettered. In Spade, ' we have an example of the negro slave. He fled from the South of bond- age, in search of the land of liberty, told of in wonderous tales of the beautiful North. He crossed the river and in a little town so near his south, that he could hardly find food or shelter. When he gained his strength, he was put to work to build roads. Truly, he was paid, but half his pay went to buy his tools, for which he was made to pay twice their worth. To attempt to escape meant beatings more cruel than any southern slave owner ever dared to give. When the war was over. Spade reached the North a broken, tired, hungry old man, who had to plead with his deliverers to get work to pay for his living — a necessity entirely new in his life. The war went on until both sides grew tired of it and the eventf ul day of Lee ' s sur- render came. The negroes had been freed to a life, harder than they had ever known ; the South had gone from wealth to poverty and the