Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER 23 aunt, who was supposed to be waiting for us; but to our great surprise and disappointment, we did not find anybody. We learned later that she had accepted a position in Chicago a week before and had gone without knowing anything of our arrival. By luck, we met an agent of a French hotel, to which we were taken and where arrangements were made for our going to Lawrence. When we arrived at the South Station, Boston, we were greatly embarrassed, for we did not know where to go; but we knew that we i.ad to get to the North Station. How we happened to find our way is still a mystery to me. When we got on the elevated car, it was so full that 1 had to stand; and when it started, it gave such a jerk that I fell on the floor. Just think how you would have felt, a foreigner, not dressed like the others, not able to talk English, and having everybody looking and laughing at you! When we reached the North Station, we were greatly surprised, because we thought at first that we were in the same station as before—they look so much alike. My father then took his railroad ticket and showed the name of the city to which we wanted to go to one of the employees. Then, my father, taking out his watch, gave it to him. We were fortunate enough to have met a man of good-will, who understood what we wanted. He turned the hands of the watch to the time that the train was to start. We got on the train and arrived in Lawrence at eleven o’clock at night. Misfortune surely followed 11s to the last minute, for another of my aunts, who lived in that city, was not there. We showed the address to which we wanted to go to a taxi-man, who took us there. At the door, we found the telegram we had sent from New York. My aunt was in bed. hen she got up and we entered the house, we sighed, for at last, after all our misfortunes, we were safe and sound in this so-much-desired country. You, Reader, will probably find this a queer story and perhaps humorous; but it is true, and for us. at that time, it was 110 laughing matter, for we wondered if we should ever get here safely. ANDRE A. BRUYERE. '23. “THE QUIVER” The Quiver is a jolly book. It draws from you a second look. Buy one every single year. And own a library of good cheer. VALMA GILPIN, ’23.

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22 THE QUIVER A LOST CHILD When I was two years old, we lived on a farm in Uxbridge. One afternoon, about two o’clock, I had been out of sight for several minutes when Mother missed me. She went outdoors, looked for me, called me. but got no reply. Horrified, she ran to Father and told him that I was nowhere to be found. There were six men working on the farm. Dad called them together and assigned a different direction to each one, telling them they must look for the lost child. All the family joined. The hired men searched the woods, while Father and Mother inquired at the neighbors’. At four o’clock, Mother was so tired and worried that she was forced to go home. Before entering the house, she decided to pick up a comforter which had been spread on the law n for an airing before being stored away for the summer. Accordingly, she lifted one corner. To her great surprise, she espied two little shoes. It took but another second to pull up the comforter. There I lay— peacefully sleeping! The men, by this time, had grown tired of searching in vain. It was a great relief to them when Dad told them, “The lost is found.” LAURETTE E. TRINQUE, ’23. MY COMING TO AMERICA. My parents and I lived in Northern France. For a number of years, my father had dreamed of the land of America, the land of wonders, the land of riches, as everybody said. Finally, in 1913, he decided to join one of my aunts, who had already been here for a few years. We reached Le Havre, the city where we w'ere to embark; and when I saw the huge ship, I wondered how it could float. Such a weight! As I got on the ship, I felt happy and gay; but when I heard the engine and saw that we were getting away from the land, I felt an emotion seize me, something I could not explain, and although I was but seven years old. every detail will remain engraved upon my memory all my life. The first day on board was pleasant; but from the second on, my father and I were seasick and had to stay on deck all the time. My mother alone could go to the dining room. All my father and I had was air, and all we could see was waves, waves, waves! The scenery was not very beautiful, although not so lonesome as one would think. At last, after six days and a half of such a sight, we perceived the Statue of Liberty. As we landed, we looked around anxiously for my

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24 THE QUIVER AT MRS. FORRESTER’S APARTMENT I looked up at the friezes on the walls and the carvings on the dome high above me and tried to imagine myself a carefree marble figure regarding the plodding students below. “Widener Library is such a beautiful place!” I was thinking. Resolutely I brought myself back to the large reading room, with its rows of smooth tables and chairs, with backs which cause one to straighten up, slide down, and nearly stand on one's head, in the effort to secure comfort, the shelves of reserved books against the walls, the wide, open French windows. Such an expanse of space and coolness! Wearily I turned hack to the volumes of Milton, Browne, Cowley, and the rest. Usually 1 enjoye:l my reading, but this was the day before “exams,” and I had about ten v ulmes to read. (I had time to read the introductions of the ten books!) I was deeply buried in an introduction, when a voice said, “Miss Randall, I’m having several students at my apartment tonight to discuss the exam. Won’t you come, too?” The voice belonged to Mrs. Forrester, a student in my “Comp” class. She went home then, and I was to follow an hour later. Fashionably late. I found the apartment and joined the company. There were five of us in all, and such a company of oddly assorted people is not picked every day. Mrs. Forrester, our hostess, is an English-woman about fifty, I should think, although her hair is a lovely golden and her skin still girlish. Mr. McIntyre is a tall, fat man about thirty-five. He is principal of a Massachusetts high school and reminded me a great deal of former Superintendent Mowry. Mr. Gainer, a law student at the University of Pennsylvania, is good-natured. but uglv-looking, somewhat like a Boston bulldog. He uses very bad grammar and slang which savors of ranches and cowboys. Eleanor Lewis, a tall, stout girl with a suspicion of a moustache, is a little older than I. She is interesting, wore a blue suit, which made her look fatter than ever, the entire six weeks, has a sense of humor “disgustingly well developed, as she styles it. and wrote the best themes in the class. We were there for work, as Mr. McIntyre had frequently to remind some one of us. Using “Woody’s” text-book, Mr. McIntyre, going around in a circle, asked us questions, the most foolish ones sometimes, true schoolmaster style! My companions amused me almost to tears by their flattery. They had a misplaced faith, rightly deserved by Miss Lewis, in my literary powers. She had a delightful way of narrating the most trivial incidents so that they appeared funny and important. After we had finished reviewing, we were invited to the quaint dining-room, which had gray painted furniture