Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE LAND WHERE LOST THINGS GO One evening not long ago, as I was trying to write a theme, my paper suddenly slipped from the desk and fluttered under the table, as I thought. I got down on my hands and knees to look for it. but to my surprise it was not there. All at once a little man popped up in front of me and said: “Now, look here, young lady, that piece of paper is the fourteenth article you have lost this week. I tell you, we cannot be storing away all of your things for you.’’ “Storing away my things for me!” I exclaimed. “Follow me,” the little man commanded, and all at once I felt myself sinking—sinking—sinking. At last my feet touched ground, and as I looked around, I saw many shelves. Among them were many more little men like my escort. We were in a room that seemed to be in the shape of a ball with a flat space at the bottom about large enough for one person to stand on. The shelves extended all over the inside of the ball so that it almost made one dizzy to look at them. They were divided into apartments, each one being labeled. The most curious looking apartment was one labeled “Lost Ideas.” On these shelves were some smoky-looking objects, some of which had very faint pictures in them. These were the most extraordinary ideas. All the others were dim. Another apartment, containing pencils, rulers, and pens, was labeled “Lost School Articles.” I was particularly interested in this one because I had lost so many pencils and erasers lately. On the first shelf I saw three erasers w'hich I knew were mine because of my initials on each one. When, however, I picked them up and was going to put them in my pocket, the dwarf exclaimed: “Stop! What are you doing? We cannot allow you to take those home from here. If you want them, you can look for them on the earth, where, if they.arc not completely lost, you will find them.” At this I was so dumbfounded that I did nothing but stare at the little man. Just then a small door at the top of the room opened and in fluttered my lost sheet of paper. The little man caught it, handed it to me, and said, “If you will promise to be very careful about losing things after this, I will send you home.” I promised and thanked him for his trouble in show ing me around ; but, to my surprise, I found myself smiling and talking to the ink bottle in a very sleepy manner. ALICE REDFERN, ’20.

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12 THE QUIVER (o the pitch which oozes out of the trees about that height, hut that was buried under many feet of snow and it was impossible to light a lire in the boughs of any of the small fir trees. Cassidy knew that they would not survive the night unless they kept moving. 1 hey began to wander in a circle, getting colder and more tired as the night wore on. Finally Smith dropped in the snow and refused to move. Cassidy knew that to remain there even a few minutes meant death. Frantically he ran to a tree somewhat shorter than the rest and broke off some branches. Returning with these, he jerked Smith to his feet, and telling him to walk, began to strike him. Smith, crying and begging to escape, was mercilessly beaten until dawn. Cassidy endured untold agonies, for by midnight all the feeling had left his feet and a deadly numbness had begun to creep up his legs. At last, however, the day dawned clear. After it had become sufficiently light, they looked about for Eagles Nest. Imagine their surprise when they found that they had been engaged in a game of tag around it all night, and at one time had passed within ten feet of a corner of the roof, which lay buried under the snow. They gained admission to the cabin through a door in the roof, and were made comfortable by their comrades, who did relief duty. Cassidy, however, having his legs frozen to the knees, never entirely recovered from the effects of that night; but he says that,he is content, for he saved his comrade’s name from being added to the long list of those already claimed by the Sierras. HAROLD A. COCKROFT. ’18. OUR LITTLE “LEW” As I am studying in my room with my mind intent on my lessons, two small hands are suddenly clasped over my eyes. This is quickly followed by the question, “Who’s this?” I unclasp the hands and look into the laughing face of my little brother. His large brown eyes twinkle merrily under his long eyelashes. His dark brown hair shades a fairly broad forehead. A smile is always playing on those little red lips, but his firm chin shows that he can be grave at times. He is just going to bed now, so he is barefoot. and is dressed in his night-clothes, which fit snugly round his well-shaped little body. In fact, he looks so attractive that I cannot help hugging him before I say good-night. HYMAN S. MAYERSON, 18.

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14 THE QUIVER THE CHARMING OLD LADY When I entered the room, I felt that I was facing a living picture. My hostess 1 conjectured to be the little, elderly lady who was sitting in the chair before the bright fire. As she looked up when we entered, her tranquil face had a welcoming smile. Her silvery hair was surmounted by a little lace cap. Her simple black dress was brightened by a lace fichu over her shoulders. Now her wrinkled hands were folded in her lap. but they had evidently been busy with the bit of knitting, which had been recently laid aside. A very much worn Bible lay on a table near her chair. When I looked at this charming bit of humanity, I thought what a fine grandmother this frail, little lady would make. IRENE M. LONG, ’18 SUNSET AND DUSK FROM MT. GRACE The day is slowly dying in the west, The pleasures of another day are o’er; The tired world with sleep will soon be blest, To dream of happy days that are no more. The dying rays cast shadows in the vale, The damp mists slowly from the river rise; While tints of purple, gold, and amber pale Lend beauty to the clouds in western skies. A flag is waving on the mountain side, A bugle’s notes steal sweetly on the air; Old Glory down its staff begins to glide And leaves the tall mast looking stark and bare. A gentle breeze creeps down the mountain side. The tall Cathedral Pines now slowly sway; The echoes of the bugle's notes have died Among the wooded mountains far away. The glow of sunset fades behind the hills, And darkness holds its sway o’er all the land; The starry sky the heart with reverence fills For One who guides us with His mighty hand. EDWARD HUMMEL, ’18.