YUBA COUNTY  Nuggets

Yuba Delta

June, 1908

FAREWELL TO 1908.

HER COUNTRY BEAU

            Clara Van Evers brushed her dark curls carelessly back, placed her hat on the lawn beside her, while she sat down amidst a group of merry laughing girls.

            “Clara Van, you are simply foolish,” exclaimed Susie Peters with a decided shake of the head, which sent her “merry widow” crashing against her neighbor.  The idea of saying you have nothing, don’t enjoy living, have no friends, and so on. Why, can’t you see, that you have more than any other girl in this town?  There’s Annabel Jones, has had the same hat trimmed over for two summers and that dress she had on at the party the other day, was so old-fashioned, I think it must have been her grandmother’s when she was a girl,” continued her majesty, Miss Peters, completely unconscious of the fact that Annabel Jones was her best friend.

            “And to say no one cares for you.  Clara, you are cruel.  You know every one thinks you are just right.  And what do you think Mr. Hamilton said this morning?  Well, he said Mr. Van Evers should be the proudest man in Brooklin, Clara is such a jewel,” chimed in another.

            “And to think you don’t appreciate Ned’s attention.  Why every other girl in this town would think she were so very important, if that Honorable Mr. Ned Hamilton would spend an evening with her,” interrupted a fourth.

            “Girls you should know that it takes more than luxury and young men’s attention to make happiness,” answered Clara thoughtfully.

            “There he is now,” exclaimed several voices as a tall young man halted in front of the group of girls and asked with a longing look in his eyes, “Girls, can’t I come in for a little while?”

            “Why certainly,” they all answered with the exception of Clara, and then each began to make room and leave a limited space between each young lady, hoping Ned would take the most honored seat.  To their great disgust he simply ignored the large and small spaces, as the fact was, and took a comfortable seat by Clara, who laughed and chattered on in her usual way.

            Several hours passed, but Mr. Ned made no movement to go, perfectly contented to let the little while grow as it wished.  After the girls departed he remained a few moments to speak of what he called special business.

            “Say, Clara, since you can’t change your mind and give me the answer I want, I am going away for awhile and see if the old saying, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ won’t have an effect on you.  O shucks!  I hate to do it,” he exclaimed when he saw what a small effect those chosen words had on his listener, for he expected she would do as they do in stories which he had read; fall upon her knees and implore him to stay, and then they would both be happy and would move to the new home his father had just bought.  Instead, she remained standing where she was and gazed attentively across the yard.

            “O, Ned!  I thought you had resolved to be your old self again, and not act like this.  I am glad you are going away for then you will forget this little bit of foolishness and be the same Ned Hamilton as before.  I expect,” she hurried on, seeing he was about to speak,” to go myself on my summer vacation before long and I have planned to have a very fine time.  Of course you know I wish you all the pleasure which I know it is your nature to have.  When we both return and have seen more of the world, I hope your opinions will have changed, for I think it is time for you to think more of the general affairs of the world instead of a few personal matters.”

            Just then Clara’s father came up the walk and Ned took his departure, thinking in the depths of his soul, that when he grew to be an old man, he would never come in at the wrong time and spoil every thing as Mr. Van Evers had just done.

            In a few days Ned, to the greatest surprise of his father, asked permission to take the position as overseer at once of his cattle ranches up in the mountains.  His father readily consented, hoping his son would not spoil the new page he had just turned over, as the did most of them.

            The next day Ned left Brooklin with a bitter longing in his heart for the city and Clara’s society.  Things had turned out different from what he would have had them so the tall young man rode away from his home determined to make a great change and think of a few worldly matters before he returned.  When he reached the ranch he dressed himself in a cowboy suit and slouch hat.  Then he went out to learn all he could from his own observation, for he was very proud and did not wish his employees to find so soon how green he was of the affairs of a farm, completely unconscious of the fact that his hands were as soft and white as a lady’s.

            The plans did not work very well for just as he left the house, Dick, the chore boy came up and asked, “What do you want here?  We don’t allow no fellers a’ hangin around this here farm.  Everybody that stays here has to earn every bit of salt that goes into his bread.  Maybe you think I don’t see those white hands o’ yours, and can’t guess that you are here for no good.  There’s the gate and now yous’ can go, cause we don’t want any lady fingers, I’s told you before.  Now go I say,” he exclaimed with a decided shake of the head as he saw a broad grin covering the visitor’s face.

            “Look here, old boy,” exclaimed Ned, slapping him on the back, “you don’t want to fire your boss do you?  Yes, I’ve come down to have a general good time and I want you boys to do the same,” he continued as Dick gazed at him with open eyes and mouth, as if he were some god that had been sent down from the heavens.  Now if you boys will just join in and show me a few things about how the work goes, and so on, we will have a jolly good time and no boss either, but if not, I’ll have to send word to my father and he will send a real boss next time,” said Ned, thinking to himself, ‘confound it,’ now I’ve done it.  Just the same as told him I didn’t know a thing and that they could run me if they wished.  I don’t wonder now, why Clara wouldn’t have me, but then I’ll try to learn a little of worlding matters before I return, just for her sake, you know.”

            A week slipped away before Ned knew it.  He and the cowboys had become great friends, since he was naturally very jolly and suited the taste of the boys to perfection.  He took a place in the corrals with them, soon learned to ride and before long his hands were as brown and his clothes were as dirty as any of theirs.  He tried to interpret for himself the meaning of a few worldly matters.  He often wondered what Clara would say if she would walk in and see him riding at breakneck speed across the fields with a bunch of cowboys, yelling at the top of their voices, jumping ditches and stopping only for the very steepest hills.  Would she cry out as most women do, “Be careful, Ned?”

            One, two, three and now four months had gone by and he hadn’t seen his father or mother or – or Clara.  The next day was Sunday and he would go home, just to see his parents and then come back the next day.  He arose early in the morning, dressed himself in the suit he had worn from home, for the first time since he had been in the mountains, and mounted his horse to ride to a near-by station, just as the sun was sending its rays of bright light up from behind a distant hill.

            When he arrived home of course his parents were very glad to see him and hated to see their son go back, but since he looked so well and strong they consented to let him go.  He was anxious himself because he had learned that Clara had decided to spend the winter with an Aunt, who was very old and needed someone like Clara to cheer her up, so he was willing to try it longer and learn a little more of worldly affairs, wondering if Clara would notice any change in him; as much as his mother and father had.

            A few days after he reached the ranch, he walked out over a low hill, where a small fountain sparkled and played among the many tiny pebbles.  As he neared his accustomed place he saw that the seat, which he had been used to using, was occupied by a lady engaged in reading a book.  When she heard his footsteps she looked towards the thicket behind which he had stepped.  His heart gave a leap when he beheld her face for he recognized no other than that of Clara Van Evers.

            “Where had she come from?  How did she get in that far off place.  Did her Aunt live near there?”  These were the questions which slipped through his mind unanswered.  At first he thought of going to where she was but then he concluded he was not ready to see her – not until he had changed a great deal more.  But then he had changed a great deal in looks and maybe she wouldn’t know him.  He resolved to try his best to find some plan which would enable him to speak to her.  He thought of every thing he had ever heard of.  If she would only drop her book in the water or something, he didn’t care what.  Suddenly she laid the book down, glanced at the sun and rose quickly to go.  Ned’s heart gave another leap.  She would have to cross the brook and of course it would be very gentlemanly to assist her.  He made one leap and was across the stream.  She glanced at him closely from head to foot – made no sign of recognition.

            “Good evening, can I assist you across the water?”  Ned asked this in a low voice, looking much surprised to find her there.  She thanked him kindly, and said she needed no assistance to his greatest disappointment.  “That’s just like Clara, she certainly hasn’t changed at all.  Where can she have come from?  She can’t live very far from here.  Well, such luck; she left her book.  I wonder what she is reading about?  Do you suppose it would interest me?”  As he lifted the book the front cover fell back and he read,’ Mrs. Alice Dover.”  “Well, I’ll be sworn-hoggled!  That old lady her aunt?  Well auntie’s a pretty good friend of mine, and I’ll make it a point to call on her tomorrow.  The first piece of luck I’ve had.  If only she don’t find out who I am, but then Mrs. Dover don’t know, so she can’t tell her.  I’ll make the boys wise and give my name as Dick Brown.  Then I’ll meet Clara and of course she’ll like me, since she always did care more for men of worldly affairs.  I’ll have to be careful though, or I’ll let the mouse out of the trap.  If she finds out who I am, she will always be finding fault, so I’ll just work a scheme and fool her for once.”

            That evening one of Mrs. Dover’s horses got into Ned’s pasture and of course he thought it would be needed before the next day.  When he reached her farm, after leaving the horse at the stable, he thought it necessary to inform Mrs. Dover that he had brought her horse home.  When he knocked at the door, Clara opened it and asked him in, as he said he wished to speak to Mrs. Dover.  That dear old lady invited him to remain for supper, so he accepted the invitation, although he word his cowboy suit, which by this time was very dirty.  During the evening the conversation drifted to Brooklin, and she asked him if he had ever met the Hamiltons of that place.  She said she thought they were very nice, and that he reminded her a great deal of Ned Hamilton.  When she spoke those words he laughed to himself thinking, “she hasn’t missed the mark very far.”

            Did she know and was just trying him, or had she only thought he resembled Ned and mentioned it?

            The next day he went to the brook and so on, day after day.  It became the accustomed meeting place and many a conversation was held there between Clara and her country beau, as she called Ned, but never again was the name of Ned Hamilton mentioned.

            He sometimes felt hurt to think she treated this cowboy so kindly and praised him for everything that he did, completely unconscious of the fact, that there ever existed a person by the name of Ned.  Several times he resolved to try and find out if she really ever did think of him.

            One day they were seated by the brook; she was reading and he was playing with the soft grass at her feet, when a page of a letter dropped from the book she was reading.  Ned reached after it to keep the gentle breeze from carrying it away, when his eyes met the name of Ned Hamilton.

            “Hum!” he said to himself, “and what has this sly maiden to do with that name, is she trying to deceive Dick Brown?  Well she won’t care if I tell her after I have read it.”  He glanced at the top of the page and read: - Annabel Jones I feel so very grateful to you.  Do you know what you have done?  Well you have cleared a mystery for me, which has been gathering thicker and thicker, day after day.  I have neglected answering your letter, until I was sure.  This cowboy, this country beau, who I spoke of, is no other than Ned Hamilton.  When I read your letter I laughed to myself to think how very mistaken you were to think Ned, as proud as he was, would dress in a cowboy suit and slouch hat, and go as an overseer to a mountain farm, far away from society or gayety.

            He is my country beau, or at least that’s what he calls himself, and gave me, the sly fox, his name as Dick Brown.

            “Why, what are you doing?  You reading my letter?  Ned I thought – O, Dick I mean –"  She stopped blushing and he handed her the letter saying in a low voice, “I beg your pardon Clara, I didn’t mean to do it, but when I saw that name how could I help it?”

            The next summer Ned visited the same spot by the brook, where he had found his seat occupied by Clara, not quite a year ago.  This time he did not come alone, nor was his girl friend seated on the rock, but the companion he had chosen for life.  On her arm was a gold band, on which was engraved the name, “Clara Hamilton.”

--FRANCIS OSTROM, ‘09

THE CLASS OF ‘08

AS THEY WILL APPEAR IN 1950

I seated myself by the fireside,

I was old and stiff at the knees,

And I sank back onto the cushions

And soon was resting with ease,

‘Twas in the year nineteen fifty,

And deep in my old heart’s core,

I knew I was not so thrifty

As at fifty years before.

I looked at the fire and sighed

Ah!  What would I give for a  chance

To see the friends of my girlhood,

If only to get a glance.

The fire died down quite slowly,

The coals began to glow,

My eyelids began to grow heavy –

Is that someone I know?

I seemed to be on a street corner,

In front of a bakery shop,

When a little lean old woman

In front of the window did stop.

A sweet and gentle old lady,

With hair as white as sand,

And a pair of pretty grand-children,

One at either hand.

She took them into the bakery,

And when they came out again

I got a nice long glimpse

Of this sweet and gentle old dame.

There was something in her blue eyes,

As she looked at the child with the bun,

Something in her face, figure and otherwise,

That made me to inquire,

Could this be Nellie Folsom?

I followed her with my eyes,

‘Till blackness shut all from my sight,

And up the walk came an old man,

In tight-fitting clothes, very bright.

His hoary head held he up high,

Under his stove-pipe hat.

At first glance you clearly espy,

The man was unusually fat.

With his cane twirled high in the air,

His speech was rather blunt,

And his greeting to each passer-by

Was only a squeaky grunt.

His appearance was rather quaint

From his hat to his queer watch-fob,

And something in his appearance

Made me ask could this be Rob?

I followed him down on the pavement

At last I came to a sign,

“Ice cream soda for sale here,

A glass-ful only a dime.”

I sat me down at the counter,

And soon was sipping my straw,

While across was a gentle, old woman,

The fattest I ever saw.

A dimple she had in her elbow,

And a dear little double chin

And the hair about her temples,

Was growing a little bit thin.

A nice fat, jolly old lady,

With smiles and nods galore,

Which brought me back to my school-mate

Dear little Vivienne Moors.

My hungry eyes ne’er left her,

‘Till someone opened the door,

And a tall and elegant lady

Walked down the polished floor.

A tall and slender old woman,

In a lavender dress so nifty,

And you wouldn’t think to see her,

That she was more than fifty,

She turned and gazed at me squarely,

On her cheek the roses still bloomed,

It would be hard to reckon fairly

How much time her life consumed.

I laughed to myself in gladness,

The old one is quite a feigner,

And this thought my brain quickly grasped,

This must be Margaret Trayner.

I went from the counter smiling,

And wearily walked up the street,

Till beside a low glass window

I rested my weary feet.

I pressed my face to the window

Curiosity made me look in,

When I hear a sound of merriment

Indeed, there was quite a din,

For five or six small children,

Were ‘round their grandmother’s knee,

And were using their best endeavor,

To learn their A. B. C.

The woman’s face was smiling

And patience was in her face

While her neck and wrists so wrinkled,

Were swathed in rare, old lace.

‘Twas a beautiful sight to see them

And I silently thanked the Lord,

That the dear old woman was happy,

My schoolmate, Grace Stafford.

I gazed at the vision before me,

Till another took it’s place,

And who should I see in her stead,

But another familiar face.

His gray beard was down past his shoulder,

His face was rather thin

His pipe was beginning to smoulder,

As I gazed in the room at him.

His hand was on his forehead,

And he seemed to be trying to think

While the flies were using his head

As if t’were a skating rink.

I could tell by the stoop of his shoulder

And his squeaky voice so dear,

That this was another school-mate,

My good, old friend, Will Shearer.

At last I left the window

And sauntered down the street,

Till I heard the dear, old church-bell,

Saw a dear old church so neat.

I walked in at the doorway,

In the front row took a seat,

The preacher stood in the pulpit,

Was just beginning to preach

You wouldn’t think such an old man

Would have such a powerful screech.

He gestured about him wildly,

And talked as loud as he could,

And though I listened intently,

Not a word was understood.

His hair though heavy was hoary,

His eyes still sparkled with fun,

And I knew the minute I saw him,

‘Twas jolly, old Charles Sheldon.

At last the service was over,

And I paused just by the door,

For who was that old woman,

Who went out just before?

Her shoulders were held up proudly,

Her head was held erect,

Her black hair was curly and shining

With gray was beginning to fleck;

Her eyes though faded were merry,

I could tell by their lustrous shine,

That this stern and proud old woman,

Was none but Lois Kline.

I followed her down the pavement,

On a rock I stubbed my toe,

Though my ankle turned but slightly,

It made me cry out, “Oh!”

To my feet I quickly scrambled,

To look down at the floor,

And saw the old, old fire-place

Smouldering just as before.

I put my hand to my eye-lids,

And silently ‘gan to weep,

My visions were disenchanting,

For I’d only been asleep.

--‘09

A LEAP YEAR EPISODE

“Now just think, here I’ve been spendin’ all these years, havin’ no companion but this cat and canary.  I think it’s time for me to be havin’ a man on this place.

            “There’s Squire Gordon just ‘round the corner.  I know he’d be glad to have me come to think about it.  I’ve seen him makin’ eyes at me in church, but I never thought anything about it at the time.  I’m so modest like you know.  One time when I was out pickin’ wild flowers I got lost and he brought me home and I don’t think I ever saw a man happier.  He’s just the man I want and I’m sure I can get him.

            “Oh yes, I forgot it’s Leap Year and I’ve always heard it was fittin’ and proper for women to propose at such a time.  In fact I think it’s more of a woman’s business than it is a man’s.  I don’t see any earthly reason why a woman can’t ask for the man she wants, especially when she knows it’s as clear sealin’ as it is between Squire Gordon and myself.

            “Strange I haven’t seen how he’s been longin’ to say the word to me, but I remember he is sort of bashful like of late and I suppose he never dreamed he could get me.  I’ve always held by head so high and looked down on the male creation so.  I’ll just take a walk by his place this evening as he is usually strollin’ in the garden about that time, and I’ll lead up to this Leap Year proposition kind of gradual like, but then I don’t have an idea I’ll have to say much.  He’ll only be too glad for a chance to unburden his heart.”

            So acting upon this resolve, Euphemia Fogg donned her most attractive attire and made her way toward Squire Gordon’s.  As she neared the place her heart beat violently and she kept conning over in her mind how she should word this important proposal.

            After Euphemia had gotten out of sight of the house she gave vent to her feelings:

            “Well, the gardener said the Squire would be home in about six weeks and I’ll lose no time in getting’ my weddin’ outfit ready, for I am sure the result will be satisfactory.  I’ll just get me a weddin’ dress that will surpass even that of the doctor’s daughter who was married last week, and it shall be white too and few people will suspect that I was forty-five on my last birthday.  I am not so young as I might be but I’ve got money and that counts for a great deal in this world.”  The next few weeks were very busy ones for Euphemia Fogg.  The best dress makers were consulted and the finest and richest materials made up.  Finally all was finished and Euphemia sank back into her easy chair, ejaculating, “Thank goodness, everything for the weddin’ is complete.  The Squire will be home tomorrow and there will be nothing to hinder us from bein’ married on next Sunday.”

            While Euphemia was congratulating herself on her future prospects she heard music in the street and stepped to the window.  Looking out she exclaimed, “Why it’s a bridal procession!  I wonder whose it can be?  The reminds me of what mine will look like next Sunday.”

            Just then the door-bell rang and one of her fashionable friends was admitted.  “Oh, Miss Fogg, did you notice Squire Gordon’s bridal procession going by?  He’s just returned from Europe with his bride.”

            Mrs. Taylor stopped talking as she noticed Euphemia turn white and drop senseless into her chair.  The servants were called in, and after having a cloth saturated with vinegar tied about her head and camphor held to her nose she was finally restored to consciousness.  Then she exclaimed:  “Dear!  Dear!  Who’d ever thought that Squire Gordon would have deceived a person like that!  But you never can depend on a man.”

-Nyda Douglas, ’11.

SCHOOL SPIRIT

Oh, thou saintly guardian spirit,

Hovering o’er our school so dear,

Keep not at so great a distance,

Come thou nearer, be thou near!

Lest Perchance we should forget thee,

Hovering at so great height;

Forget that we can prosper only

By thy guidance and they might.

Close allied to patriotism,

In thy strength, we nothing fear,

Thou canst surmount all difficulties,

Make our hearts less selfish here.

Our own wishes often rule us,

We neglect the duties then,

Of the school that tries to make us,

Noble women and strong men.

So thou Saintly Guardian Spirit,

Rouse us by thy silvery call,

Goad us on to high endeavors,

So our school may stand o’er all.

-- I., ’09.

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