Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

Page 20 text:

1 THE Ql'IVEH A STORY FOR CHILDREN One day several years ago, while I was in a field of puinj kins, 1 was startled to see an old woman on a broom, coming toward me. 1 was very much surprised and tried to run away, but the old woman called me back. She told me to get her some sand from the Sahara Desert for a sand pudding. Just as she finished speaking, she stamped her foot. Immediately, an airship was seen coming towards us. It was a beautiful airship, having a cabin with a deck around it. It seemed to be driven bv something invisible, for no mechanism, or pilot, was to he seen. The old woman told me to go where the airship would take me and get her a bag of sand from the Sahara. Even before 1 knew it, I was inside the cabin, it was a luxuriously furnished cabin, i lure was a bookcase full of books, including even “The Arrow,” edited by English i B of the Woonsocket High School. 1 felt myself suddenly rising and knew that the journey had begun. I looked out of the cabin window. Below me were housetops no larger, it seemed to me, than building-blocks. 1 suddenly began to feel hungry. Immediately the airship stopped flying and 1 found myself in the dining room. After eating dinner, 1 was again conducted to the library by an invisible pilot. At last we reached the Sahara. A sand-storm was raging and it was with little difficulty that 1 collected enough for the old woman’s pudding. In a short time after we left the Sahara, the airship again alighted in the pumpkin-field. The old woman thanked me for the'sand and promised me the use of her airship for the service rendered. In a short time I was h me. I had left home for the field at half-past eleven, and just as 1 reached home, the clock struck twelve. In reality I had been gone half an hour, although it seemed much longer. SIMON SCHLANSKY, '20. The class was reciting upon the history of Rome after the kings. Freshman: “If anyone even said lie favored a return to the mon- archy, he would be shot.” Voice from rear: “Shot at sunrise.” Query: “Did the ancient Romans use guns? H. P-----e, Tj: “It seems just like Christmas. It’s as warm out as summer.” Latin 4 translation: “Fleet oh wretched flea.”

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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.

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THE QUIVER 17 FORWARD MARCH! In the hall of the High School building, some two hundred eager students sat on the edge of their seats, anxiously, impatiently awaiting the order to form the line which was to show the school’s appreciation and admiration of the fine work that the football team had done. If there were any in the city who had not heard of the wonderful victory. they were not going to be allowed to remain in a state of such deplorable ignorance. Woonsocket High School was out to tell them of it in a memorable fashion. Torches blazed, drums beat triumphantly, a band played. At Depot Square, the line of enthusiastic students halted to raise a mighty shout for city and school, while interested citizens watched from the sidewalks. Up Main Street to Market Square they went, and once more was heard the victorious yell. Then, still enthusiastic, singing and cheering, the paraders marched through the Social district, where children and grown-ups alike stepped their work or their play to watch the long line of excited young people. At length, weary, footsore, hoarse, but unfailingly joyful, they came to the Park Theatre. The generous manager of the theatre had placed the house at their disposal, and for the first half hour or more the crowd sang and cheered for the heroes of the day. The enthusiasm was especially great when pictures of the coach, team, and “Tech” game—pictures taken and given to the school by Mr. Joseph Brown — were shown on the screen. By this time, the crowd was almost exhausted, and so, when the photoplay appeared, nearly everyone leaned back with a contented sigh. A few of the more enterprising at first made comments on the actors and the plot, but even they were tired and soon subsided. When the program was over, a band of smiling, weary students, teachers, and friends of the school turned their steps homeward, and not one of the student body, at any rate, but must certainly have felt, with a little thrill of pride, “ ‘This is my own, my native land,’ my city, and my school.” RUTH SCHLIVEK, ’18.