Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER 21 but both thought that they would come home for supper, or before if they should get hungry. However, Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Wales became anxious when neither of their young sons appeared at six o’clock. The long hours dragged by and at ten o’clock, Mrs. Brown thought that it was time to notify the police that her son had disappeared. There was a policeman who lived near by, so she went to him to find out what she should do. While she was there, Buster returned. His father after hearing the sad story, remembered that he had been a little boy once and ordered Buster to get to bed before his mother returned. Buster was under the sheets sooner than can be said, and when his mother came home he was sound asleep. The next morning he confessed that he had been in such a hurry to get to sleep that he forgot to say his prayers and had gone to bed with his shoes on. When the two youngsters discussed their escapade later, Billie affirmed that he was only told not to do it again and that his parents were “real good sports.” CATHERINE CONNOR, ’20 WINTER The winter’s nigh over; the spring’s drawing near ; And you ask someone’s thoughts of the winter this year. One person will tell you “The winter’s all wrong. It’s terribly cold, and it’s dreary and long; My fingers are frozen, my poor ears feel dead.” And he passes you by with a shake of his head. The next man w'ill say, wdth a good-natured grin, “The winter’s a wonderful time to live in. All’s a beautiful sight; and its mantle of white Makes the whole world look cheerful and healthful and bright Pshaw, I don’t mind the cold; weather’s only a bluff. You can get heated up if you walk fast enough. Oh! there’s no time like winter, when all’s done and said.” He, smiling, swings by with a nod of his head. The first makes you gloomy; the second one, bright; But the strangest of all is that both men are right. EDITH GOLDFINE, ’21

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20 THE QUIVER THE ESCAPADE OF A TEN-YEAR-OLD The grocery wagon bumped merrily on its way, and two small boys on the front seat had a great laugh every time the bump was extra big. These two little boys were no other than our heroes, Buster Brown and his friend and accomplice, Billie Wales, a mischievous little rascal, who thought of everything naughty which his friend might forget. On this particular day it was Billie who was the culprit. It was a Saturday in October, when witches and goblins are more in evidence than ever to tempt little boys, that Billie was seized with the idea that a ride on the grocery wagon would be “perfectly great.” It did not take much persuading to make Buster think the same, and, consequently, about one o’clock, two young gentlemen who were watching for the grocer stood guard at the gate. They did not have long to wait because he generally came around after dinner. They received his permission and very happily started on their ride. It entered neither of their young heads to ask their mothers’ permission. They were grown up now (Billie was eleven and Buster, ten) and it was not in accordance with their ideas of young men to ask one’s mother if he might do every little thing. They certainly had a day of it. The grocer must have had rather an easy time, judging from the amount of work that Buster and Billie claimed to have done, but they said that he was a good “scout” because he treated them to an ice cream soda, a large one, too. About four o’clock the grocer returned to the store and found that he had to make a trip to a village about seven miles distant. II they had made the right time they would have been back before six o’clock, but it must have been a case of another wicked goblin’s interfering, because it was nearer eleven o’clock when they returned. It happened that in getting out of the way of an automobile the wagon went too far to one side of the road and was tipped into a ditch, which was hidden by trees. Fortunately no one was hurt, but the rear wheel of the wagon was badly smashed. It was late before a place was found where they could have the damage repaired. All this took time and it was after nine o’clock when they were on the road for home. In the meantime there were many anxious hearts in the two households. Buster’s mother had thought that Buster was at Billie’s home, and Billie’s mother had thought that Billie was at Buster’s;

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22 THE QUIVER RIP VAN WINKLE’S AWAKENING IN 1920 As I was reading Irving’s story of Rip Van Winkle, I wondered how old Rip would feel and look, if, having gone to sleep when he did, he had awakened in January, 1920. This is what I think would probably have happened: Poor Rip stretched his legs and whistled for his dog, Wolf, but no Wolf answered. Rip thought he had strayed away and would retuin in a few moments. B-r-r, it was cold! The air must have changed since last evening. It had been warm then. Rip yawned, stretched, and decided to go home. He got to his feet slowly, and was surprised to find that he felt stiff. Poor Rip! His rheumatism must have returned. Again he whistled for his dog, but no dog was visible. Rip decided to go home. He looked around for the path which he had come up the night before; but was he bewitched? Why, the very ground looked different. It must have been that wicked flagon of wine! He went down a path and found himself in a street. He did not know which way to turn. Soon he saw something walking toward him. It had a person’s face, but it was different. What was it? That wine must have been drugged. The figure came nearer, and Van Winkle saw that it was a man; but how different! His clothes were so queer and strange. The person looked at Rip, then stared, finally smiled, and walked off. Soon Rip began to look around him. What was that on either side of him? Great, big, tall red things. Rip looked. Why, they must be houses! In great confusion, he began to walk. He tried to detain people and ask them the way to his home, but they would not stop. Why were they busy? It seemed queer for them to be in so great a hurry. He walked and walked until he was interrupted by a shrill whistle. Something passed him, and Rip nearly dropped in his tracks. Surely he had died and been sent below by the Almighty God. Oh, this was terrible. His conception of the lower regions had been vastly different from what he was seeing. There was Rip, an old sorry-looking man, his clothes in rags, an old gun on his shoulder, standing utterly bewildered in the middle of a great street in a great town. Oh, if he could only meet some of his friends! He knew that they all could not have gone to Heaven. Soon a crowd began to collect around the unfortunate man. They looked at him, stroked their chins, made remarks about in-