Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER ™ bed, with the other furniture, was drifting toward the window. If only the window sill would stop them! He did not dare jump, for there was no telling how deep the water was. Now there came a crash and a sudden plunge, and Paul found himself drifting across the lawn, through the meadow, following the brook, which was then so swollen by the day’s rain and Paul’s tears as to be scarcely recognizable. Of course it was night, and that made a difference. He could just see the ghostly appearance of the bank, but that did not help him, for he could not swim. It was growing darker, and he was drifting right into the thick forest which his daddy had said contained all sorts of wild animals. Paul crouched, with a groan, beneath his blankets, for he imagined a tiger was swimming out to devour him. After a while he poked his head out again and heard the water splashing against his iron bed with a faint s’sh, s’sh. He did not know what it was. but it was terribly creepy. Then a turtle jumped upon his bed with a thud, and a gust of wind came along at the same time, and drove Paul’s craft ashore. Another gust dashed it upon a rock, upset it. and scattered the fragments of the little bed about Paul as he lay unconscious on the shore. Day had come. Paul knew enough to know that. He also knew that someone was holding his bruised head, and whispering soothing words in his ear. The voice sounded like his mother’s. But how could she be there with him so far away from home? Yes. it was his “mommy,” and he was lying on the floor of his OWn room, with his head in her lap. Beside him were his blankets, and on the side of the wall was a little glowing lamp, which he had thought was daybreak. Paul lifted his head a little and made just one remark: “Guess I’ll let Tom grow up naughty if he wants to.” DOROTHY HENDRICK. ’21. Found in a Commercial Geography test: “Mt. Thomas is in Massachusetts.” First Pupil: “Did you put the lemon juice in the potatoes?” Second: “Why?” First: “For garnishing, of course.” Speaking of the French play, how is it that the devil was seen with the princess after the performance, whereas, during the play, a statement had been made that she was his “pire ennemi?”

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18 THE QUIVER ALL ON ACCOUNT OF “TOMMIE.' It had been a dreary Fourth for little Paul heeler, dreary both indoors and out. He had heard nothing but the steady drip of the rain, its pattering against the windows, and the continual scoldings of his father and mother; but now that he had been sent to bed, it had stopped raining, and the moon was shining. Paul, standing at the window of his room, reviewed the events of the day. Everything had gone wrong, the weather being a great cause, for if it had not rained, there would have been the picnic, with ice-cream, cake, and sandwiches; and then his family, including Baby Torn, would never have been so peevish. The little cry-baby,” however, was most to blame. Paul had tried hard enough today to stop Baby’s selfishness, but when he had tried to teach his brother by punishing him, his parents had punished him, too. “Not a bit fair,’ was his pouting comment. Could he help it if Tom had jogged his elbow, and made him spill his cocoa? Was that any reason why he should be lectured? Was it nice of Tom to keep saying every few minutes, “It’s still rainin’, Paulie.” And just because he had pushed the kid.” when told by his mother to play with Tom, he was sent to his room. “They’ll be sorry some day,” said Paul. Then he thought of his brother’s selfishness at supper, for Tom knew Paul liked that particular kind of cup cake; and when he saw Paul start to take the last one in the dish, he had said, “Muvver, please can I have that cake?” And of course “the baby” had to have it. But Paul had kicked Tom under the table, and that was some satisfaction, even though he djd have to go to his room for it. And now here he was, away up in his dark, old room all alone, and Father was telling stories down stairs. He threw himself across his bed and cried as though his little heart would break. “I don’t care,” he sobbed, “I’m jus’ cryin’ ’cause I’m mad.” And he certainly did cry—great tears splashed off his cheeks upon the counterpane, and left little “salt marshes” there. Paul lay still for a few minutes after this “cloud-burst,” and soon began to have a peculiar feeling, as if he were moving. He must be insane, he decided, and if he were. Tom was to blame. But was it insanity? His bed was moving slowly. Paul sat up with a start and rubbed his eyes hard, and still harder, for he did not recognize his own room. He could see a sheet of water where his carpet had been, and his bed and chairs were drifting about. “I didn’t think I’d cried so much. ’Spose I drown in my own tears!” But he had no time now for such thoughts, for he saw that his

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20 THE QUIVER OLIVER HAZARD PERRY’S BIRTHPLACE South Kingstown, although a little town, likes to boast of the fact that the great admiral and hero of the battle of Lake Erie, Oliver Hazard Perry, was a native of that place. His birthplace still stands in South Kingstown, a spot of historic interest to the traveler. From the roadside, you get a glimpse of the tall, red chimney,and one side of the slated roof, for a high stone wall, covered with tendrils of ivy and wild growth, such as barberry and woodbine, hides the rest of the little homestead from view. The house is some distance from the roadside, and the traveler enters by a large, creaking, iron gate, very much rusted, and in need of repair. A long stretch of sandy road, shaded by tall, straight poplars, leads up to the house. It is a two story wooden structure with a large veranda in front, which has a profusion of trumpet vines running over it. The old home is built upon a hill overlooking a salt pond. A huge, old-fashioned well, sadly in need of paint, stands in the back yard. A high stone wall, overrun with sumac and blackberry vines, separates the yard from a large pasture. This is a favorite retreat for wild rabbits and chipmunks, which burrow their homes beneath it. A large, neglected apple orchard stands in the distance, while scores of huckleberry bushes are seen here and there. If the traveler enters the house, he finds himself in a large, airy room facing the east. This must have been the Perrys’ kitchen. A huge brick fireplace, with a zinc hearth, is built into one end of the room. Beneath two large cupboards is an old-fashioned iron pump. The living room is as comfortable as the kitchen except that it is.not so light, for the large trumpet vines have entwined themselves around the bay windows. This room also has a brick fire-place, and the walls are painted a pale green. A narrow staircase leads to the second floor. There are four well lighted, but low studded rooms—so low, in fact, that if the traveler is tall, he has to take extreme precaution for fear of bumping his head. This is a memory picture of Oliver Hazard Perry’s birthplace, a modest little homestead, yet a place of remarkable historic interest. DOROTHY BROWNING. ’21. L. Warner: “Should you say a satting hen?” Engelbach : “I take manual straining.” H. Ford: “Four lines rhyming are a quadruped.”