Westbrook High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Westbrook, ME)

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I8 But you failed because the true life is expressed in that which comes from the soul of God, the great world of nature. In shutting from your life this world of beauty and sunshine, you shut out the Story Beautiful. Cummings opened his eyes and blinked at a thrush in the tree above him, who seemed intent upon bursting his throat with the weight of his song. The brook and waterfall beside him still purled merrily along. while the anemones on the bank nodded cheerfully. What a queer dream, exclaimed the man, and how happy I feel. I believe I could write now l With a glad shout he raced to the cabin, grasped his writing materials and hurried back to the waterfall, where he began to write. For hours his hand moved back and forth, registering easily and without effort the beautiful thoughts that had so long been securely locked in the far recesses of his brain. It was not until the Sun God was flaunting his colored banners in the West, making the snow- capped mountains blush rosily as he beamed upon them, that john Cummings ceased to write. Then, after sitting lost in thought for some time. he arose to return to the cabin. Turning his face to the skyqwhere already the myriad stars were blazing, he murmured softly, 'The forget-me- nots of the angels' Ah, indeed you are the 'Story Beautifulf you and all the rest of God's great world and neither I nor any other mortal can do you justice with mere words. E. G. H., '25. INSANE WISDOM A dapper, citified young man, wearing a straw hat banded in bright blue and carrying a cane, briskly approached the blacksmith shop, and ad- dressed himself to the Smith who labored within. I'm the new county Marshall, he announced, and I've come to Dunn you l The Smith laid down the long pointed knife which he had been sharpening on an Emery wheel, and slowly lifted his head. What say ? he drawled. I'm the new county .Marshall, repeated the visitor impatiently. I've come to collect the n The Blue E-r White payment due on the land you bought from John Robinson of Boston. Oh, hev ye? inquired the Smith. Did he send you? Well, not exactly. He instructed his attor- neys, Goff and Gayton, 1925 Del Court, Boston, to collect the payment and they deemed it advis- able to have me settle the matter. VVell! Well ! muttered the Smith. He arose from his seat and going to the forge, which glowed dimly in the corner, threw more coal on it, then turned abruptly. Set down, why don't ye? he demanded sav- agely. The Marshall placed an empty box conven- iently near the door and gingerly seated himself upon it. The Smith picked up the pointed knife from the Brackett on which he had placed it and re- sumed his seat by the Emery wheel. Belong in town ? he asked genially. No, I came over from Brown-ville. Hum-m. Thought I'd never seen you around here before. What kind of Craft did ye come over in P I didn't come in any kind of Craft. I walked over. Quite a little jaunt, ain't it ? Yes, but I'm a fast Walker, so it didn't take me long. Well, ye ought to learn to fly, said the Smith mournfully, his voice trailing -into a whisper. The Marshall sat straighter, and summoning his courage determined to make a firm demand for his money that he might betake himself from this weird presence. Before he could Find the right words, the Smith spoke again. How's your ma ? he asked. The Marshall stared. My mother is dead, he answered with dignity. Well, how's your Pa, then ? My father isn't living, either. 4'Too bad, too bad. I-Iaven't any parents at all? My own parents died when I was a child. I was brought up by Foster parents. But come! This is beside the question. Are you or aren't you going to pay me that money ? The Smith ran his finger over the sharp edge

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Westbrook High School I7 CW -A - 'rfb -s H 1 L I T E R A R Y Q 31 ' 7 5 THE STORY BEAUTIFUL High up on a sunny slope of the Alps stood a small log cabin. It was here that john Cummings lived. A shorttime before he had been one of the most promising authors of the day, whose books were widely read and admired. But rather would lx have had the criticisms than praises of the people, for he felt great dissatisfaction with the quality of his worky For years he had been seeking material to write his greatest work, his masterpiece. He was an idealist, and a firm believer in the beauty and pureness of the soul of man. But altho he made many attempts, the 'lStory Beautiful, as he had planned to name it, was still locked in his brain and would not unfold. At last his unrest and dissatisfaction turned to bitterness at his own helplessness, so he left the city and buried himself in the Swiss Mountains, still seeking that elusive quality, inspiration. Here far from the noise and clamour he spent long hours in thought and finally came to the con- clusion that he was at fault, that his own soul was too narrow and unenlightened to write such a story. Relieved at having found the trouble he procured ponderous volumes on the human soul and long essays on religion and the ideal life, seeking to enrich his mind with deeper knowledge. So engrossed did he become in his task that he rarely left the cabin, save when necessity de- manded. 'He forgot the glories of the sunrise and the beauty of the nature world around him, that he had so loved. Even the bright sunlight stream- ing thru the window interrupted his train of thought and so annoyed him that he turned his chair away. At last feeling sure that the story in his brain was ready to form itself into words, he seized pen and paper, preparing to write. Feverishly his pen traveled across the white sheet several times,- then stopped. With a jerk he recalled his mind which had strayed far from the thoughts on which he wanted to concentrate. In despair he threw down his pen. He was a failure! It was plain to him now that the literature-loving world would never read the Story Beautiful, for he could not reach the standard he had set for himself and combine the right thoughts to make it. Angrily he strode to the door and flinging it open, went into the forest. After walking along the shady path for some distance he seated himself discon- solately beside a joyous, splashing waterfall. But he only scowled at the noisy water for breaking the silence and impatiently uprooted a delicate blue wood-anemone, which seemed to smile gayly at him. Thru his brooding he suddenly became con- scious that the forest had grown curiously still. All things seemed hushed. As this thought came to him he heard a strain of sweet rnusic, consisting of a mixture of liquid bird notes and the laughter of brooks. Idly he wondered if some great violin- ist had wandered into the forest. But before he could hardly comment upon this amazing music it stopped as quickly as it had begun, and a clear rebuking voice nearby made him jump nervously. Turning he saw nothing until his gaze rested on the brook, which flowed from the waterfall. There reflected in the clear water was a blue anemone. Strangely, the center resembled the features of a fair maiden. As he gazed wonder- ingly, the voice again spoke. I am the Story Beautiful, it said, I and all the rest of this great forest. You sought for facts in your books that would give you inspiration to show to others the depth and beauty of a soul.

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VVestbrook High School of the knife with evident relish, then lifted it and sighted along its keen length. The Marshall felt a shiver scamper along his spine as he saw the sharp blade pointing in his direction. He Ames that as if it were a gun, he thought. Wal, said the Smith, how do you know that I bought that there land? Maybe 'twas the Miller or the Taylor. Of course it was you, retorted the Marshall, I've got the records of the sale. Give me the money so I can get started for home. I have a long walk before me and it's nearly Sundown now. Yes, yes, of course, assented the Smith. Pretty lonely walk, too. Long stretch of woods to go thrufl He lowered his voice. You want to watch out for the wild Hawkes when you go thru them woods, he said. Wild Hawkes! exclaimed the Marshall, leaning forward in his interest. Why, what do you mean P The Smith glanced around cautiously. It isn't generally known, he said, but it's the truth that there's a flock of wild Hawkes in them woods. They've got gigantic wings, and great strong beaks. They swoop down, as black as night, on their victims and carry them off to the hills. They watch out especially for strangers. You'd better be careful. C-can't I do anything to protect myself ? asked the Marshall. Well, there's hay, of course. Hay! Yes, hay! There's Hayes of all kinds. Good hay, bad hay, dry hay, and wet hay. Wet hay is the best. Them Hawkes are scairt to death of wet hay. You get a lot of good wet hay and put it all over you-around your shoulders, in your pockets and everywhere, and I think you'll get by safe. The Marshall stood up. Be ye going now ? asked the Smith. Y-yes, I guess I'd better. Never mind the payment now. I'll send some one after it next week. Well, now, that's real Sweet of you. Better have a drink of that Moxcey before you go, in- vited the Smith hospitably, pointing to an old rusty harness which hung on the wall nearby. I9 This was the last Straw. Convinced that the great dark man who sat humped over the Emery wheel, his eyes agleam, his powerful hands sharp- ening and re-sharpening the long shining knife, was completely insane, the Marshall took to his heels and fied. As he disappeared the Smith tossed aside the knife and picking up some horseshoes, placed them on the forge. That's one way to get rid of bill collectors, he chuckled in amusement. ERNESTINE HANNA, '25, DOING HIS DUTY I cannot remain. I must go. They suspect me, but you, a boy of sixteen, will never arouse suspicion or cause the authorities any trouble. Will you come back soon, Father ? I do not know. Probably I shall be gone for a lo-ng time. The authorities and detectives will watch my every act, and to return would mean failure. Be brave and steadfast and do not fail to do your duty. Henry watched his father from the window till he disappeared around the corner of the street. Then he leaned against the wall and meditated on the duties and tasks thrust upon him by his father. I must do this, he thought, even tho discovery means death. Henry could ask no help from anyone, but must depend upon himself. He should have liked to have had someone to advise him, but no, he must work alone. Henry Gratton and his father were living in Germany at the opening of the war. Mr. Gratton was connected with American interests in Ger- many at this time and necessity demanded that he should be present there to protect them. For a while things had been calm enough but of late the elder Gratton had aroused suspicion and the government had put detectives and Secret Service men on his track, and so he had thought it wise to leave the village for a time and go elsewhere. This state of affairs had left Henry to continue his work. After thinking over this situation Henry wan- dered down to the kitchen where Bertha, the housekeeper, was preparing dinner. Is your father coming back? she asked.