Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

Page 18 text:

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.

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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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THK IJI IV Eli 15 , A WORM DOORSTEP Why is it that I feel so dull to-day? I am worn and tired; but ionic memories which come back to me should help me to bear this dull hour in my life. 1 was a part of a huge old oak. which grew in the woods of Maine. The f w happy years 1 spent there I can remember well. One day the tree of which 1 was a part was cut down. Then I was split, shaped mto a doorstep, and placed in front of this large house. The noise of the hammers and the talk of the men as they passed were the only sounds that greeted me at first; but in a few days I heard a carriage stop at the door. Then came the sound of children's voices and the pleasant replies of the elders. There were four children—beautiful c hildr n with cheerful voices and contented laughter. T1 e next few years I lived a life brimful ’of happiness, until one day tl ere was a hush, which seemed to affect the trees, the wind, and cvvn the birds. In a few days a little coffin was carried over me, and . (.n • dear little child was laid to sleep. For several weeks the children play d indifferently, whispering ;.b«.,ut the absent one. Years passed. Then the oldest, a beautiful girl, was married. Ah, how we missed her! And now there were only two left—two young men. One night I was awakened by the sound of unsteady footsteps on the walk. This happened many times—they were the footsteps of the youngest boy. ()nc night—I shall never forget it—there came a crash, a scream, and an oath. The next morning the youngest boy. the black sheep of the fatvi’y, went away, leaving the mother a shaken woman. Then came the call to arms. The last of the four heard the call and. with the mother’s blessing, left with his regiment. We never saw him alive again. He was brought home covered with a flag; but, when it was lifted, there lay two boys instead of one. “The black sheep had served his country and had died an honorable death. They were laid beside the sweet-faced child of long ago. Many other little children with merry voices and childish laughter have come my way in the years since then. Childhood and old age have passed over me; but now I am left alone in my old age, a worn out doorstep. GERTRUDE O’BRYAN, ’20.