Wethersfield High School - Elm Yearbook (Wethersfield, CT)

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she moved a littleg the next time he looked, he saw two dark eyes re- garding him gravely. He Put down his brushes. She sat up. Jaques! He caught her to him, laughing at her eager face. Were you frightened when you opened your eyes and found me, Collette? No, Jaques, I had been dreaming of you. It seemed right that you should be here when I opened my eyesf' she explained with difficulty. Suddenly she stopped smiling. She stared at his forehead-the scar. Someday, I shall tell you, Collette, that is a reminder that I have lived and found a soul to give to you, when I put you there, Collettef, He pointed to the canvas. A great picture must have a soul.', A great picture?', she queried dreamily. We shall start again-together. I-Ie frowned boyishly as he saw two drops, rain-bow colored in the sun, forcing their way beneath her closed lids. He picked up something white that lay beside her to wipe away the tears-it was a little crumpled duster. Then he picked her up and carried her off down the stairs fjust like thatj. -Virginia Becker, '30. FLIGHT Through the grim, dark night came a steady hum, The roar of a motor like the roll of a drum. The roar increased, I strained my eyes For a glimpse of this messenger of the skies. I waited and Watched on the sodden trail- Watched for the plane with her treasure of mail. Over the World her lights gleamed bright, Speeding their way through the hush of night. Swiftly they flashed on my Held of sight, Slashing the sky like daggers of light. My thoughts turned back to the days of old, When Apollo rode in his chariot of gold. It is useless to dream of days gone by, When men were brave and their ladies shy. I will seek adventure, elusive and rare, Where Romance still lingers: up in the air. I --G. Y., '30.

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rocky river Qhe touched the white scar on his foreheadjg he had fallen. He remembered falling, he had seemed to fall for hours, rolling over and over on hot irons: the rocks on the bank of that little river were beautiful -and cruel. Some one had found him there, the blood from the gash on his head staining the white flowers that were growing all about. When they had brought him to M. Garreaux' home nearby, he had held a single white flower still clenched tightly in his hand. For a time after that, everything had been vague. But this being in M. Garreaux' studio was very real. He looked about him reverently. I should like to have you stay with me. We could work together, you and I. Jaques stared at the old man intently. M. Garreauxf' he said evenly, you have been very, very kind to me. I think also that you understand me. Yes, Jaques. When one has seen people and lived as I have done, one learns to know a man. Then, monsieur, you will understand what I mean when I say that I must go home. M. Garreaux was silent. I have a home, Monsieur, there is work for me there. I understandf' said M. Garreaux. Madame Madeline stood in the middle of the kitchen and stared at the figure in the doorway. She held a little blue bowl in her hand. Jaques! The little blue bowl fell at her feet in a thousand pieces. Jaques took the little woman into his arms and stroked her gray head. Jaques-oh, Jaques, she said again and again. Neither of them could speak. Together they bent to pick up the pieces of the blue bowl. It was not until they had cleared it all away that they found their voices. Then they talked a long time, Jaques had to stop every little while- his throat was so dry. He was very much excited. Presently he stood up. Is it the same up there, my room?', f'Yes, the same, go up, Jaques. A moment later he stood before the big chair in his room looking down eagerly at the little sleeping figure curled up so small. Collette!,' he whispered, gently bending and touching with his white fingers the dark head shining in the sunlight. He stared hard at the pale, tear-stained face, something was thereg the little childish lines were different, there was a great deal more in that face than he had ever seen before. His own face was like that. He straightened quickly and looked about him. He moved his easel from its corner, he found a piece of canvas already stretched. Everything was just as he had left it. By and by he was working. He did not bother to sketch in an outline, he painted right in, eagerly. Once when he glanced at Collette,

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A LITTLE DUTCH GARDEN The hot California sun was pouring into the bare, white, clean- smelling hospital porch. On the high, narrow bed lay the calm figure of a young man. At first glance one would say that he was not a very good-looking young man, his cheeks were so pinched and pale and his half-open eyes had such a lifeless expression, but when one looked again, one knew that if he were strong and well he would be Very handsome. He had been at the hospital about a week, after having been found by a motorist who had seen him lying in a deserted road, more dead than alive. For the past two or three days he had been conscious, but, owing to a severe blow on the head, he was suffering from amnesia. The hospital officials could not learn who he was or where he was from, since he had nothing identifying on him, they were waiting for something that would bring his memory back. On this particular day, he was feeling much betterg and, as it was such a beautiful, sunny afternoon, they had wheeled him out into the sun-porch of the hospital that overlooked the blue Pacific. The radio was turned ong as the young man was brought into the bright enclosure, a golden soprano voice was pouring forth from the loud speaker. It was a beautiful voice, the kind that would cause anyone to stop and listen, but on this unknown man it had a startling effect. He leaned forward with a rapt expression on his face and uttered a low cryg then he leaned back and closed his eyes. The song evidently brought memories ...... On a cold, winter day, several years ago, two children, a little girl and a little boy, were walking toward a small New England school- house. It was yet early in the morning and as the children trudged through the snow, their breath floated in fantastic shapes about their heads. Hurry up, Petey, the little girl said, or we'll be late. I am hurryin', Polly, Petey answered, and, besides, I'm goin' just as fast as you are. They arrived at the school quite out of breath and hurried to take off their hats and coats. Petey's dark, curly hair was rough and tumbled and his eyes were very blue and shining, while Polly had smooth, blond hair and serious, brown eyes. Both the children were about eight years old. The school day started with a singing lesson, and the first song was A Little Dutch Garden, a favorite with all the children. I passed by a garden, A little Dutch garden, Where roses and hollyhocks grew? They sang this song with all their might and especially Polly and Petey, whose voices could be heard above all the others. They put such effort into their singing that the teacher wrote good marks in her book for Polly Lawrence and Peter Barton. And so this childhood romance continued and the years went by. Polly and Peter completed their time at the little country school and then