Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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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.

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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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22 THE QUIVER III The sunrise in the early morn. The birds awakening just at dawn. The yellow bird that sweetly sings. These, to my mind, are lovely things. The harvest moon in early fall. Rising toward the west like a great rci .all. The flowers sweet that summer brings. These, to my mind, are lovely things. Sibyl Searlk, '20. IV 1 love the trees where songbirds sing. 1 love the flowers spring doth bring ; Hut of pretty things 1 like the l est The three small eggs in a bluebird’s nest. Helen Archambault. '20. MY FIRST BUSINESS EFFORT When 1 was seven years old. a crowd of us went everywhere and did everything together. My back steps were always the headquarters of the “gang.” Father, tiring of our continual noise, built me a small house, about eight feet long and five feet wide, in the farthest corner of the hack yard. ()ur chief problem now was to use this house to the l est advantage, it was an admirable place to smoke our cornsilk and gra] evine leaves, but as the smoking made us rather sick, we did not long continue the practice. ()ne day we conceived a great idea. W e could have a store! ()f course, a real store should sell candy, and this meant financial backing. We hastened to our respective homes and managed to get one or two | ennies apiece. By pooling our capital we had the enormous sum of seventeen cents! A committee comprised of everyone went out to buy seventeen cents worth of penny candies. The more pieces we could get for a cent, the more highly elated we were. Then we returned to our own “store,” elected proprietors, clerks, drivers lor the so-called delivery wagons, and. last but not least, ‘'horses” to pull the wagons. We decided on a house-to-house canvass to sell our goods, so off we went to visit the neighbors and to disjx se of all our five for a cent” candy at our own price of “two for a cent.” We met with great