Wilson Central School - Crest Yearbook (Wilson, NY)

Page 17 text:

“Being lonesome don't make everybody cross. ’Cause mother’s lonesome without farver, and she’s lovely. And she says everybody's lonesome, and that’s what makes so many lovely people, trying not to let the others be lonesome. You’re not cross. I like you. You’n me’ve had a lovely time, didn’t we?” It was such a heart warming, strange sensation. For the first time in all one’s life to have someone say “I like you. You’n me’ve had a lovely time together, didn’t we?” To feel a dear child’s hand opening the door so barred and bolted by one’s own timidity that one had lost hope of finding even one’s real, human self; of ever winning anyone to say I like you.” The glow had gone out of the sky. It was still clear and fresh, but cooler, and somehow everything seemed gayer, less full of color and light. She pressed the little hand so trustingly laid in hers. Yes, we have had a lovely time together, haven’t we? And weren’t the daisies beautiful?” “Yes’m. And they’ll be there tomorrow, too. There’s always daisies and lovely things, aren’t there, everywhere?” “Yes, dear, there are.” O you dear delightful notebooks. How I dearly love you all! For I can’t have fun till you are all done. So I sit home at night, just to write you and write. But you never are quite finished. No, I never am quite thru; And I long for the day, when to you I can say, “O farewell you old notebooks, I’m done with yop.” “CHURCH REVERIES OF A SENIOR.” I have a new bonnet; I’ll go up to church To hear the new preacher, young Mr. Ueetch: He’s simple and handsome, but they say he’s so shy That his sermons are long and dreadfully dry; But, being a bachelor, I’ll try for his sake, To look interested and keep wide awake. What a congregation! I’m glad that I came: That face is familiar, but what is her name? Ah, yes! at the social she sang through her nose: I wonder if Harry Nesbit will ever propose? The choir has finished its opening hymn. The preacher is too pale and awfully prim.

Page 16 text:

of the other girls’ mothers do, even Ellen’s. Of course,” politely, Mothers are Jes’ as nice even if their hair is straight.” This little old lady was tired and discouraged and lonely. Perhaps this was the reason why she tripped unseeingly over a big stone in the road, and why her voice sounded so low. “Yes, my mother used to have curls, too; black curls, with black eyes, and the lovingest smile. And she used to rock me to sleep every night.” Are you too big now?” But the lady didn’t seem to hear the question. “Don’t you think that if we sat down here under this nice apple tree, you could eat one of the sandwiches they gave me at the hotel this morning.” Don t cry, I loves you,” the soft baby voice was anxiously sympathetic. Is you sorry 'bout something? Maggie will help you,” climbing half up into her lap, stretching the short arms consolingly about her. “Don’t cry,” with comforting concern. “Thank you, darling. There, now, the sun’s come out.” Oh, I'm glad. Was it because you wanted my sandwich?” The sun almost went under again at the remembrance of the unwholesome morsel, and of all the homelessness it, and the never-ending chain of just such untempting lunches for which it stood. But she straightened up bravely. “Oh, no! I’m going right back to the hotel, and I can get some more if I want them for supper. But, dear, it’s going to be your supper time pretty soon. How much farther do you live?” “Let’s go on a little bit farver, shan’t we?” “Farther? Why, where do you live? Back the way we came?” “Uh-m’ yes’m. But it’s such a nice day. S’pose we take a nice little walk.” “Why, child, you must tell me just where you live. Does your mother know where you are?” “I— don’t b’lieve so. She wasn’t home when I came away. She’s home now, though. I guess maybe p’raps, we’d better go see her.” “Is it far, dear? I’ll take you part way. What do you thing your mother will say to you, because you ran off?” Lm I don’t know. Aunt Lizzie’s there, and she’s cross, awful. My mother knows.” “We must hurry, dear.” “I don’t fink my mother’ll care, do you? Does being lonesome make you cross?” “Why, what do you mean?”

Page 18 text:

His prayers I think tedious, prosy and long; They say that he thinks even dancing is wrong. What beautiful gowns that Beatrice Carver does wear! I wonder if she really does bleach her hair. She dresses awfully stylish and has a front pew. They say that she is as rich as a Jew. Ah! there goes his sermon. I must listen with care: Oh! hasn’t Winifred Seeley beautiful hair? I must catch if I can the drift of his text, I wonder what beau Verna Dyer will have next? Ah, me! how I wish the choir would sing. I’d give anything for a new diamond ring. Oh, why don’t the preachers all preach to the point? I have sat here until every bone is out of joint. I’ve a crick in my neck and a pain in my back. I declare, Marion Evans has on a new sack. And all lined through with the finest of fur. I never could see what folks fancied in her. Well, the sermon is progressing, I must listen and learn. How I wish he would warm up and not look so stern. Ruth Albright is in mourning, I wonder who is dead. She’d look well in black if her hair was red: In the pew right behind me is old Deacon Hunter. I don’t mind his sleeping, but Oh, such a grunter! Just hear that cross baby; I know Mr. Leetch Must hate so to have it disturbing the church. And how can he preach and pray through it all? They say Ruth Diez was the “belle of the ball,” That her dress was just lovely and dancing divine. But I won’t believe it was better than mine. The sermon is finished. The Bible is closed. The collection has wakened the deacon that dozed. I must feel in my pocket and get out my dime. Those boys in the gallery are having some time. Why there is Irene Fillingham. What a beautiful hat! She’d look more like Ada if she wasn’t so fat. And now we will have a tune from the choir. I think that their singing lacks feeling and fire. I wonder if Kenneth Jeffry will be in the hall, Or if he won’t join Ethel Middleton at all. She is so proud of her eyes with their sleepy lids. I do wish I had some new tan kids. “Old Hundred” is finished and I’ll get my muff. I think for one day I’ve had preaching enough. The aisle is so crowded we’ll have to go slow.