s if she heard this plea from her master, Dixie
bent lower. Then, her black nose thrust ahead, more than a length in
advance of Vixen, she flashed under the wire, bringing "honah" to the
purple and white.

NANCY STEVENSON, '26.

MY BUREAU DRAWERS

My bureau drawers,--I wonder what their contents could tell! Whenever
I go through them with the firm resolve to clear out everything that I
do not actually use, I always end by saving some things just for the
sake of the memories connected with them.

Take that pink satin hair ribbon, for instance. I wore it for the
first time with a new pink dress at a party in California. It brings
back all the thought of California as I first saw it in nineteen
twenty, memories of stately and haughty poinsettias, of date palms
from which one could pick and eat fresh dates, of a dancing ocean with
its myriads of lovely sea creatures, and its gaily-colored beach
equipment, of an amusement park with the roller coaster on which I
nearly had heart failure.

Then, in another corner, lies a string of green beads. What could
better recall to my mind the night of my graduation from the grade
school? The recollection makes me want to be in grade school once
more. I well remember how one of my classmates forgot to bring the
music to the class song which was to have been one of the attractions
of the program. Disaster marked that evening farther when a tall
Danish boy, looking the picture of selfconsciousness and misery, arose
to give the farewell address. As nearly as I can remember, it ran
thus:

"Ladies and gentlemen, on the evening of our graduation ve vish to
tank de teachers and also de principal for de vork"--a long awkward
pause--"ve vish to tank de teachers and also de principal for de
vork"--a still longer pause, interspersed with rising giggles from the
graduating class--"Ladies and gentlemen, ve vish to tank de teachers
and also de principal for de vork vich they have done in getting us
trough."

Then, there at the back of the drawer, is a black satin sash. It
brings to my mind an entirely different kind of memory. It is one
thing that I have left from the dress I wore at my grandfather's
funeral. I remember all the tragedy of the occasion, lightened by one
spot of comedy, my grandmother's losing her petticoat.

I dare say that some day I shall throw away these things that others
consider rubbish, but I shall never part with the memories for which
they stand.