Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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12 THE QUIVER jumped with lightning grace, when once an unruly spark flew out into the middle of the room. Bob liked so much to watch the ever-changing mystery of a fire. Her whole attention was wrapped up in one huge, blazing log that threatened to topple off from its crumbling support any second. Her eyes widened in anticipation of the quick flare of sparks when the log should fall. Scratch!! What was that? Like a flash she had noiselessly bounded into the corner. She turned and confronted the door, rifle poised, and alertness stamped on every line of her body. Her smoldering eyes showed no fear. Scratch ! Scratch !—Then silence. Her sharp ears caught the sound of metal rubbing. What could it be? For five minutes she held her poise and listened to those faint scratches. Finally she drew a deep breath and relaxed. Probably some furry night prowler seeking warmth had disturbed her. She smiled when she saw the heavily bolted door that protected her from intruders. She had turned to lay down her rifle when a terrible thought struck her. Her father! Suppose it was he, hurt, too weak to call out. She again grasped the gun and with determination written on her young face, moved slow-y towards the door. Stealthily she unbolted it and stopped to listen. A faint scratch reached her ears. Cautiously she poked the muzzle of her rifle through the small opening and peeped out into the blackness. She could make out the sharp outline of the spruce trees against the sky, and farther off the glitter of the lake. Seeing nothing, she flung open the door and took one step out. Nothing there! How queer! She certainly had heard scratching. With a disgusted grunt ,she turned to go back. Something soft and furry brushed against her moccasined feet. And there, wearily crawling across the threshold, was a tiny black bear, one foot caught in a trap. Bob’s indignation suddenly melted into pity for this wee. unfortunate cub. She knelt down and took account of her visitor. The little cub had evidently dragged himself some way. He was exhausted and nearly dead from loss of blood. Too small to fear her, he simply kept his beady black eyes fixed on her face, trusting that she would help him. And help him she did. Staying up most of the night, she set and bound his broken leg and cared for him as if he were a baby. With his stomach full of warm milk and maple syrup, which he loved, he curled up and went to sleep. She called him “Hippy” because of his queer little broken-legged gait; and the mysterious visitor from the night turned out to be a family pet. HELEN DAVIS, ’21.

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THE QUIVER 11 Then row round him and make such faces That his heart will burst its iron braces, This timid old Wiffen-Woof. And, if your face will do its worst, He’ll be scared to death, and the heart will burst Within old Wiffen-Woof. Then we’ll crunch the bones In spite of the groans Of the wicked old Wiffen-Woof. Thus did Dad tell me, Though I never did see That he captured a Wiffen-Woof! But I mean some day To be able to say That I’ve captured a Wiffen-Woof. HELEN CARD, 21. A VISITOR FROM THE NIGHT She was alone in the wilderness of northern Maine forests, but fearless, strong, hardened to the ways of nature, and undaunted by her solitude. She was in a tiny log cabin, warm and comfortable. Her father had gone on one of his monthly visits to the Big City for supplies. It would take him two days and nights to make the weary journey through the dense woods. Although her “Sunday-go-to-meeting” name was Barbara, she had always affectionately been called “Bob.” She was rather short, tanned, and rosy-cheeked. She lay in front of the big roaring fire which afforded the only light in the camp, but showed the deer and bear skins on the walls and floor, and the rifles and shot guns that ornamented the room. Bob lay staring into the fire, dreaming. The silence would have been oppressive to one not used to it. The crackling of the logs and the sizzling of the fresh.sap were the only sounds that reached her ears. The girl smile know and then as she gazed at the mound of cured furs and skins in the corner, that was going to provide them with money to buy winter supplies. She gave a low chuckle when an owl hooted weirdly from a tree nearby. Her brown eyes snapped, and she

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THE QUIVER TO THE RESCUE 13 One morning as I was on my way to Woonsocket with Frank, our red horse, my attention was drawn by the horse to the incident I am about to narrate. Following his gaze. I soon discovered, ahead of r,i m tlie road, a line of vehicles of various descriptions, ranging from lumber-wagons to limousines. Upon arriving at the scene, I hitched my horse to the fence and joined die crowd. I learned, upon inquiry, that it was a case of beauty in distress. The joys of a beautiful young girl, accompanied by her aunt, had been cut short when the machine that she was driving had become unmanageable and. leaving the road, had stopped only when all four wheels were fast in the mud. 1 stood on the edge of the crowd and watched, while each person in turn came to offer his services, some with tow ropes, and others with jacks and mud-hooks, but with no success. The girl was fast losing courage when the hero appeared in the form of an old steel gray-horse. In some time past he had been wounded, like Achilles, in his heel, which gave him a noticeable limp. His driver was clothed in a pair of dirty overhalls and a soiled shirt, and had a coating of dirt on his face and hands. In spite of his unattractive appearance and the crippled condition of his horse, he quickly, in a business-like way. attached a chain from the rear end of his wagon to the front axle of the machine, and speaking a few- encouraging words to his horse, he soon had the machine landed safely in the road again. The girl rewarded him with a two-dollar bill, and the excitement was over. JOHN HARRIS. 23. Mr. Carroll: “Miss Logan, what is a crankshaft.'” Ik Logan: “The same thing as a spark plug.” Mr. Rodgers: “Now we will take up Samoa.” Voice: “Some more! Gee. haven’t we had enough.' Pupil: “Is cocoa butter good to eat'” Mr. Rodgers: “No, but it is used for many things, such as in salve, on chapped hands, and—but you know I m not selling cocoa butter. Class.”