Winthrop High School - Winthrop Winner Yearbook (Winthrop, ME)

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XVINTI-IROP HIGH SCHOOL 'J Brave Little Peter Once upon a time there was a family who lived in a little red house on the top of a hill. There was Mamma and Papa Rabbit and their four children Topsy, Mopsy, Pussy, and Peter, Now Topsy, Mopsy, and Pussy were all sisters so Peter was the only son. He was a good little boy and liked to help his father. One very cold morning Papa Rabbit woke up and found there was no wood left and the house was cold. Pretty soon Mama Rabbit got out of bed and started to get some breakfast. She hunted through all the cupboards but alas, she could hnd nothing to eat. The children were up now and now the sisters were crying because they were cold and hungry. Now, the store was way, way, way down in the valley and Papa Rabbit could not go down to buy any wood or food because he had a broken leg which pained him very much. VVell, Peter instead of crying walked straight up to his Papa and said, as he stood straight and tall, I'll go down to the store if you wish. So Peter started off with his mothers big basket under his left arm, his fathers big, warm coat tucked around his little body and T opsyis little, red mittens on his furry hands. Mamma Rabbit was afraid to let little Peter go all alone in in the dark, dark woods to the store. But Peter said, I'm not afraid to go. I will not let my family starve. And away he ran down, down the big, steep hill till Papa Rabbit could see him no longer. His little sisters watched through the window while big drops of water streamed down their hungry faces. Do not cryfl said their mother, H Peter will soon be back with some nice red carrotsfl Now, wasn't Peter a brave son? Margaret Jones, ,38 Books as Magic Carpets ,Xfter a busy day spent in traveling from one noisy place to another, tending to my daily tasks, it is restful to return in the evening to my quiet, pleasant, old- fashioned library' with its good,,wlell- used books and a bright fire. I know of no greater joy than that. My books carry me to far off lands, from Alaska to New Zealand. Every page is an introduction to some new people or race. Their customs, habits, costumes and occupations are disclosed to me. I get acquainted personally with their musicians, statesmen, painters and writers. I Often times I stop in the midst of my reading and ponder over the things I have been studying, and imagine myself in those distant, far-away countries. Now I am in Holland wandering among fields of tulips, now I am visiting the Eskimos. NVhy, now I am riding on an elephants back in India. Tomorrow night I may be back in our own hemisphere and our own United States traveling in California, visiting the movie actors in Hollywood. XV ho knows what the next day will bring? It's ever so much more fun to travel over the globe my way, while sitting at home in an easy chair before a roaringfire than journeying on a dusty, dirty train for hours to unknown destinations. I Travel is by no means the only thing to be derived from books. Knowledge about any subject can be found in them. Some people have the idea that any book is dull and uninteresting reading but it is far from that. Books can be your most valued possession and your life-long com- panions if you will only let them be. VVhy not get as much enjoyment out of life as you can? Buy or borrow a book C not a dime-novell and spend one eve- ning at home reading. This one evening of enjoyment is sure to lead to many others in your lifetime. Florence . Stinchfield, '38

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24 WINTHRO P WINNER to the big cemetery where they climbed over the iron gate. I watched them go among the grave stonesf' Here jerry paused and shuddered. Mrs. Cruncher: Go on jerry. Pretty soon they hauled up some- thing from the ground and it was a coffin. He again paused and shuddered. And then I -I turned and ran and -and the thing chased me down the streetfl . Here Jerry completely broke down with fright. Mrs. Cruncher comforted him: Bosh Jerry. That was just your imagina- tion getting the best of you. But Jerry was still unconvinced. I tell you it chased me, I saw it. Mrs. Cruncher: lVell drop the mat- ter entirely Jerry, Pause of a fewseconds. 6' XVhen your father comes home don't let on you know anything about his honest trade. I think it would be better that way. Jerry: Yes, mother, perhaps it woul d. Floyd Smith, '40 Torment The wind is howling, howling, howling Right outside my cottage door, .-Xnd the water's pounding, pounding, pounding Klercilessly upon the shore. M y heart is beating, beating, beating Noisely within my breast .Xnd I am crying, crying, crying For a soul that knows no rest. Neala yvhimey, was Freshman's Idea of Blank Verse Roses are red, Violets are blue, Marigolds are' yellow Lilies are white. Town Gossip Around the stovev in the small town's general store was gathered an unusual array of characters discussing heatedly the never failing topic, politics. The air was filled with the aroma of tobacco. Directly behind the large, dilapidated Round Gak sits no one other than the personage known as Tom, assistant tire chief, on the now empty cranberry crate. Tom, an old bach, who lived in the local inn, is short and stout and dressed in sawdust laden khaki pants, gray Han- nel shirt with a blue bandanna handker- chief knotted about his neck. Beneath kind, friendly eyes rests a gray, neatly trimmed moustache while in the corner of his mouth is found that never failing cigar. Tall of stature and thin, Sam is seen leaning against the candy show- case expounding one of the stories from his never exhaustible supply about his ex- periences as a garageman to his adven- tures at Forty-Mile. He is wearing the regular woodsman costume, heavy red plaid shirt, dark pants with high leather top, laced boots and a two-days growth of whiskers encircles his lean, ruddy face. Beside him tipped back against the medi- cine counter in a small chair of many colors left recently by a paint salesman is jim, the rupted now tomer who the banana storekeeper, and then by requires his box sit two who is inter- some late cus- attention. On youngsters ab- sorbing all that is said by their elders. The night was still young and many others young and old would soon appear to listen and add to the general conversa- tion. But promptly at nine the assembly must disperse and the store be locked up for the night. Florence Stinchlield, 38

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26 VVINTHROP WINNER The Wilderness Trail It was ten days since Sergeant Davis had left Fort jackson on the trail of Bill Reed wanted for the shooting of a man back .in the states. Yesterday he left the river and picking up the law-breakerls trail continued on with snowshoes. It was winter, but this particular day the sun was out, shining from a cloudless sky. As Sergeant Davis pushed on thru the brush his thoughts went back to his boyhood and presently came back to the present and the fugitive. He loved his work but not this kindg going out after a man and bringing him back, sort of a cat and mouse affair. For once the H Mounties 'I were on the trail the man had but a slim chance to escape. Ouch! he exclaimed suddenly. A branch across the trail stung him across his face and brought him back in his senses again. Guess I better look where I'm going, he said. Wfowl Look at those clouds. Un- less I'm mighty mistaken therels going to be one sweet storm. A bank of black, menacing clouds had come up and it was to these that he glanced for a moment. 'K I'd better hurry up or the storm will cover up his tracksf' VVith this he fastened his snowshoes on more secure and hurried on. A while back he had come upon some warm ashes, remnants of a fire and he knew his man wasn't far off. For an hour or so he kept up a terrinc pace. Meanwhile the clouds had shut out the sun and already the wind began to blow through the tree tops. In a few minutes thin flakes of snow began to fall. Davis knew he wouldnlt be able to catch up with the man ahead and so he began to look for a place to shelter him from the storm. 1 Suddenly he felt himself sinking and before he could attempt to save himself he was waist deep in water. He felt his snowshoe straps snap in his plunge and thus his legs were free. Desperately he clutched to the thin ice surrounding him. I-Ie had learned many things while in training school and he was mighty thank- ful now. In a second he freed his pack straps and heard everything slide into the water. Breaking the thin ice, he pulled him- self ashore and clambered up the bank. The blast of the storm struck his wet figure with hurricane force and freezing temperature. I've got to find shelter quickf' he muttered through chattering teeth. K' I'm freezing to death. Continuing along the trail without snowshoes, he felt his strength waning after a few hundred yards. K' I can't keep this up any longer, he whispered. K' Things are turning black, but I've got to keep going, I've got to. Saying this he sank to the ground un- conscious. How long ago this happened, he knew not, for when he awoke he felt the warmth of a fire and apparently the storm was over. I wonder where I am? How is it that Ilm living? H All these and many other questions filled his troubled mind as he lay in a crude shelter. At that moment a man entered. You awake FU he inquired. Feeling any better? U i'Yes, I am, Davis replied. And you're the one who saved my life, I believe. Aw, thatls all right, forget itf, 'K Not me, I only hope I can repay you somehow somedayf, By the way I'm Sergeant Davis of the R. N. M. P., what is yours ? Bill Reed, replied the man non- chalantly. It's -'I Bill Reed, gasped the Sergeant. I-Iere let me take a good look at you. Yeh, I guess you are,', he said slowly remembering the picture at headquarters.