Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Weeks went by; it was May and I had issued invitations for a class-party.  Revenge was in order: Miss Richards secretly went to all the seniors and said that they ought not to go because I had refused to help the class of debt.  When the party came off, all but a few Richardites came; the next morning at school they talked to Miss Richards about the good time they had.  It was a grand triumph.

 “Charles Burchfield!”

It was like a shot.  I was being called on for Latin recitation and didn’t know the place!  King whispered to me “37” so loud that Miss Laird heard him and everyone laughed.  Now how absurd my dream seemed.

At noon as we were coming down Main St. a sudden terrified yelping came from the opposite side of the street, and we saw a tiny dog go up the street like a streak, with a toy tied to his tail.  Some low down cowards had probably tied it so tight that it frightened him; at any rate, the poor little creature was yelping frantically, and soon disappeared up the street.

Soon I had the little dog in my arms, and while Miss Tate and Miss Canfield looked on, I cut the string.  The little dog was pitifully grateful.  As I got up, a high school “sport” came up