Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER 15 thou hast as much as we,—we who found great hardships, starvation, and even death. But we found freedom, and are we not thankful. Brother, I ask you to thank God for ilis goodness.” The Pilgrim sank on his knees and folding his hands, bowed his head in prayer. The sculptor awoke. His face was shining. His old enthusiasm had returned. What a subject for a statue! Many years later, on another Thanksgiving Day, the same old sun shone in through the windows of the sculptor s studio. It was no longer poorly furnished and shabby. And the sculptor himself had changed completely. Although he looked older, the bitterness had gone from his face. He sat before another brightly-burning log-fire and smoked peacefully, while he read again those wonderful lines, “Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.” Finally, he finished the poem and walked to the window. Looking out between the trees, he gazed into the park of the Pilgrim Fathers. But where, years ago. had been a barren plot of land, there stood a majestic marbte figure. If one looked closely, one could discern a pilgrim kneeling in prayer. The sculptor seemed to hear the Pilgrim say again, “Brother. I ask you to give thanks to God.” This time the sculptor bowed his head in prayer. MADELEINE ROSWELL, ’22. JOYFUL DAYS The little flowers are waking, And birds begin to sing; With joyful hearts we’re bringing Bright greetings to the spring. Our lives are full of sunshine. Our hearts are full of praise ; ’Tis nearing graduation, The happiest of days! EDITH GOLDFINE. 21.

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14 THE QUIVER THE SCULPTOR It was Thanksgiving Day and the sun shone brightly on the large city. It looked into the churches and into the homes of both rich and poor. It shone on the great park dedicated to the Pilgrim Fathers. In all these places, it saw its own radiance reflected on every face. It looked into the windows of a sculptor’s studio and played over the statues, but it saw no radiance on the face of the sculptor. Instead, the sculptor sat before a small log-fire, his head in his hands. At last he glanced up and gazed bitterly around the studio, noting for perhaps the hundredth time that day, the shabbiness and the poor furnishings. Then his gaze travelled to his statues. Failures —every one of them ! Thanksgiving, indeed ! The fire had almost gone out, but the sculptor did not move to replenish it, for his glance had fallen beyond his statues on an enormous piece of marble. He had ordered and paid for it when he had first begun to feel the pangs of bitterness; but he would never use it now, for he would make only statues that would be failures,— statues at which all the world would laugh. He picked up the newspaper to read again the unfavorable criticism of one of his latest works. While hunting for the criticism, however, he came across the poem, “The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New England.” “Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.” As he read it, his thoughts returned to his youth. How proud he had been of his Pilgrim ancestors! What dreams he had had! He had believed firmly that with half a chance he could become famous. These thoughts quieted him. Gradually the worn face relaxed and he fell asleep. By the light one could see the deep lines of struggle in his face. And he dreamed! In his dream he found himself in the park dedicated to the Pilgrim Fathers. He sat on a bench; around him were groups of Pilgrims talking to one another. Finally one approached from a group near-by. “Brother,” he said to the sculptor, “thou seemst to be weary. Wilt thou tell thy troubles to me? “Sir”, replied the sculptor, “I am weary of life. It holds nothing for me.” “But, brother, thou art not thankful for what thou hast. Surely

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16 THE QUIVER THE LUNCH PERIOD AT W. H. S. During one -of my visits to Woonsocket, I was walking in the vicinity of the High School about noon. My companion suggested that we have our lunch at the school. I readily agreed to this on remembering my other delightful visit there. After we had our lunch, I walked about exploring the lunch rooms. I entered a small room in which I saw a girl about to open a door. As I stood watching her, I found that this door opened into a corridor on the boys’ side of the school. Two rolls of tickets and a money box were on a table which the girl placed at the open door. About the time she was seated, a bell sounded and behold! a mad rush of hungry boys came from the upper floors and formed in line for their lunch tickets. It was most fascinating to stand back unseen, and watch the different ones. Some thoughtful youths placed the correct change in the money box. One lad, in his haste, opened his hand and from a height of a foot and a half, deposited twenty-five pennies on the table and passed on. Others came to the rescue and gathered them together for the “ticket-girl.” I could distinguish the Freshmen from some of the upper class-men, as they came for their tickets with please and went away saying thank you. A Junior demanded his tickets by pounding his fists on the table. I could see the effect this had on the girl and I have wondered if he has tried it since. One very tall lad came up to the table. The “ticket-girl” looked up, the muscles in her neck strained to the utmost. It was with much difficulty that she got her head back to its former position. The gaze had to travel far and quickly to be back in time for the next in line. The end of this line finally came, and the boys stood about in groups, eating their lunches. I made my way to the table and asked the girl if her work was ended, but found that she was to remain there to give the boys a chance to get more tickets, should they so desire. I stayed at the table, watching one group of boys being entertained by a lad who was demonstrating different ways of eating soup. First he extracted the “noise” and then finished in a most lady-like fashion. There was no end to the fun among them. I saw one lad fix his gaze on the coat pocket of one of the pupils and, as a cat watches a mouse, he very quietly made his way toward that bulging pocket. Immediately the rest of the crowd noticed him. That box looked good to them and it was with much difficulty that the owner took the bundle from his pocket. He explained that if they