Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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20 THE QUIVER DUCK HUNTING Duck hunting is an annual event with my father, Russel and me. We are always ready to go any time after the first of (fctober, and the tir t week-end possible finds us in the little Dodge roadster, headed for Russel’s camp. The camp is about fifteen miles from the outskirts of Kingston, on the shore of a large inland pond. The ledge itself is a good-sized shelter and has in it a real fireplace, large enough to keep the entire building warm and tempting enough to make you want to stay up at nigh, to read, when you should be getting sleep for the early start of the next day. This fall at the camp, 1 was aroused from a deep sleep, about four o’clock in the morning, by a cold, clammy touch on my face. With a bound 1 was out of bed. but 1 quickly collected the bed-clothes again and jumped back. It was only Hilly. Russel's old bird bog. that was notifying me that it was time to get up. But oh! it was cold! Hearing my father and Russel downstairs, 1 slid out of bed and into my hunting togs and made a mad dash downstairs to get near the fire. How good it all seemed—the light and the warmth and. best of all. the appetizing odors of broiling porterhouse steak and boiling coffee. After breakfast, we bundled ourselves into the rest of our hunting clothes, and, seizing the guns, duck calls, and whatever else was necessary, sallied forth eagerly. The boat, which furnished the easiest and quickest way of reaching the feeding beds, was at hand. W e threw into it all of our equipment, persuaded the motor to chug, and started up the pond. The feed beds were at the other end. at a distance which was easily a mile in warm weather and seemed at least two in the cold. When we reached the right location, we tied the boat to an old tree and waded out to the blind, which was made of flags and eel grass and situated in the midst of the slough. It looked bad enough to scare any flock of ducks that should happen near. After considerable splashing and squashing around in the mud and water, we all became quiet, for a short time, at least. We could hear the ducks in spite of the heavy fog that clung to the pond’s surface. As the sun rose, the fog slowly lifted: down the wind channels the ducks were plying low. Swinging in fast, right, left and head on, the Blacks and Mallards came whizzing by. All of us fired fast. There is an old saying among hunters, however, that “To hit is history: to miss is mystery.” and mystery surely prevaded the blind that October morning. After the ducks were through playing with us, they left for their dailv jaunt to the “Big Slough, which is a part of the one near the j ond. yet farther back in the hills. Picking up the dead and crippled was not a hard proposition for us; our luck had l een poor.

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THE QUIVER 19 when an important event like the Senior Dance was so near? Taking from his pocket a small black memorandum. Jack ran his finger down the list of names, to find out just which of the young ladies there listed should have the privilege of going to the dance with him. “Ah! the very one.” he murmured with a smile, and indolently reached for the telephone. “L'niori lt 02. he replied to the o| erator’s sweet-voiced quez, Xumlter. please.” A short silence and then. '‘Hello, Helen? You'll go to the dance with me tomorrow night, will you not? What’s that? You have promised to i-.it your cousin? Can’t you jjossihly break that engagement—say that ou're sick or something? One little disap|x intment won’t hurt your cousin, while I—I—well, my evening will be entirely spoiled liecause 1 have planned so much on your going with me that 1 certainly will not ask any one else. 1 shall not go at all. Oh. yes. 1 know you’re sorry and all that. So am I. Good-bye.” With these words, Jack slammed down the receiver, and began to whistle with great feeling the owning bars of the song, “All Alone, his particular favorite when he was discouraged. ()nce more he looked into the little black l ook and again he reached for the telephone. “Heavens!” he ejaculated half aloud. “1 hope no one has asked Hetty yet.” Hut Betty had already been invited, as Jack discovered when he talked with her. Once more Jack declared that his evening would l e ruined since he was unwilling to ask anyone else. He hung up the receiver. He was through with “silly girls. The next day. as Jack was getting ready for baseball practise, the telephone bell rang. Hetty was calling him. “Jack, she said, “Rudy sprained his ankle and can’t go to the dance. Do you still want to take me?” “Delighted, Hetty! Whistling gaily, he was alxnit to leave the house when the hell rang again. He found that it was Helen this time—her cousin had broken the engagement! “Have you asked anyone else? “Why, Helen. I told you 1 wouldn’t go with anyone else. was the reply. “What a punishment for not l eing straightforward. groaned Jack ; and. deep in thought, he went off to practise. Accidents do help, however. Jack was “spiked” and had to Ik carried from the field. Two hours later, his mother telephoned the same message to each of the two girls—Jack would not Ik able to go to the dance. He had found a way out. Howard Durham. ‘26.

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THE QUIVER 21 'e went back to the camp faster than we had come from it—we always eat again after our exertions and contortions in the blind. After we bad f eached the l oat. we strung the ducks in a line across our piazza, grasped a gun apiece, and lined up; the dogs lay at our feet, each with a duck in his mouth. Then, with everyljody looking happy, the camera did Us work. In years to come we shall probably look at the picture and tell the story again. Perhaps we shall exaggerate it; but who will know—or care ? Carl Cornell. '26. LOVELY THINGS I (With aj)ologies to Mr. Richard Le (iallienne) A lovely thing in this whole wide world Is Mother. The maple tree with its leaves unfurled Is another. Rose buds coming out in the spring. ( trioles when they perch and sing These, I think, are lovely things— The frolicking brooks dancing with the wind. And God are all that 1 include in my list of lovely things. Martha Mowky. '26. II There are more lovely Than ugly things in the world. There is the stone wall Ituilt low and grown with ferns. ( r covered with trailing vines. And the stones- aren’t they softened I»v grass, or perhaps a nestling violet? The tree stump that you see Has a family of pink toad-stools growing near. And the dead birch has a fungus on it. All these things aren't seen easily like a sinking sun; Put still they’re there. For you and me to see, it we learn how To look for and love the “ugly things. Frkd Hendrick. '26.