| Author: | James R. Driscoll | ISBN: | 1230000134086 |
| Publisher: | Parnell Classics | Publication: | May 20, 2013 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | James R. Driscoll |
| ISBN: | 1230000134086 |
| Publisher: | Parnell Classics |
| Publication: | May 20, 2013 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
With the days that the poet has termed the rarest, the longest, sunniest days of the year, there had come to Brighton at once sad and happy days.
For it was that time in early June when to those who have been faithful is given the credit they so richly deserve for hard study and achievement; the time also of parting from loved classmates and companions in glory on the field of sport, of leaving behind for a time, or perhaps forever, the dear old school and the campus, the custodians of so many delightful associations.
Golden moments are those, indeed, even though shadows mar the perfect glow of youth and hope and aspirations. But shadows[Pg 10] there must be, for school is but a part of life's too brief journey taken through many unlighted places, as well as in the sunshine.
Herbert Whitcomb, over-tall and manly-looking for his seventeen years, strolled alone down the broad boardwalk that led from class-rooms to dormitories, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed in earnest thought. He turned off suddenly into one of the clusters of spruces that dotted the spacious grounds and finding a bench sank down dejectedly, his comely face, usually expressive of good humor, now showing only sorrow.
It was just after final examinations, and other students, singly, in pairs and in groups, were among the trees enjoying the restfulness of the out-of-doors. Two standing within a few yards could be heard talking.
"They have joined, but I don't know what regiment. Gosh! What a difference the war is going to make right here in good old Brighton Academy! There's Corwin and Joe Little and 'Fatty' Benson in the American flying squadron; and Jed Harris and a bunch of the fellows are in the navy."
With the days that the poet has termed the rarest, the longest, sunniest days of the year, there had come to Brighton at once sad and happy days.
For it was that time in early June when to those who have been faithful is given the credit they so richly deserve for hard study and achievement; the time also of parting from loved classmates and companions in glory on the field of sport, of leaving behind for a time, or perhaps forever, the dear old school and the campus, the custodians of so many delightful associations.
Golden moments are those, indeed, even though shadows mar the perfect glow of youth and hope and aspirations. But shadows[Pg 10] there must be, for school is but a part of life's too brief journey taken through many unlighted places, as well as in the sunshine.
Herbert Whitcomb, over-tall and manly-looking for his seventeen years, strolled alone down the broad boardwalk that led from class-rooms to dormitories, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed in earnest thought. He turned off suddenly into one of the clusters of spruces that dotted the spacious grounds and finding a bench sank down dejectedly, his comely face, usually expressive of good humor, now showing only sorrow.
It was just after final examinations, and other students, singly, in pairs and in groups, were among the trees enjoying the restfulness of the out-of-doors. Two standing within a few yards could be heard talking.
"They have joined, but I don't know what regiment. Gosh! What a difference the war is going to make right here in good old Brighton Academy! There's Corwin and Joe Little and 'Fatty' Benson in the American flying squadron; and Jed Harris and a bunch of the fellows are in the navy."
