Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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Cris. Jest do as I tell you, an’ let that soft heart of yourn melt cl ean away.” Nervously they seated themselves about the cheery kitchen to wait for Molly while Dave dozed off peacefully in the big comfortable bed. Martha and Capt’n Cris found their cour¬ age ebbing when at last Molly’s knock sounded at the door, but Chester drew himself up his full 13-year-old height as he .flung open the door. There stood his mouther, a picture of fury with her ragged garments dripping, her bare arms and legs red and purple from the cold, hair hanging in limp strings, her whole figure tense and her eyes ablaze. Slowly she opened her lips, “Get David and hurry up.” But Chester did not move a fraction of an inch, or even so much as bat an eye. “Well, you Martha and Cris, you think your’re pretty smart, don’t you; but if you’ll be so kind as to show me where Dave is we’ll not be bothering you any longer. “Dave,” she called, “Dave,” and Dave thus rudely awakened called in a querulous voice, “Chester, Chester, it’s mother. Quick, she’s after us—she’ll ketch us and then she’ll beat us,” and the piti¬ ful little voice ended in a long wailing cry. Suddenly a mask seemed to drop from Martha’s face, leaving it free of all its hard lines, and with a pitiful catch in her voice she brushed past Chester into the bedroom. Long they heard her low voice crooning and comforting, and with misty eyes Martha and Captain Cris slipped out of the door and left Molly alone with her boys and Jim’s! The little hut still stands among the rocks and the break¬ ers beat and foam against the cliffs calling, calling us ever, but there is no answer from the hut.

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with fog ,and perspiration when she reached the road and started doggedly tramping to the bay. Early that afternoon a sturdy lad with brown eyes had tramped that road, weighted down with a big bundle wrapped in a worn old blanket. Not once did he stop to rest, and often he looked behind him as if fearing some pursuer. “We can ' t stop now, Dave, he said. “See, we’re almost ter ther bay; we kin stop at Mis Carlson’s there a little, maybe.” No answer came from the bundle but a weary moan. Anxiously Chester bent and peered down at the flushed little face. The eyes were closed and the mouth was drawn in pain. “Yer a goin’ ter have er doctor, Dave, n’mother can’t get yer neither, and we ain’t a cornin’ back. Then I guess she’ll be sorry.” It was nearly two hours later when he knocked at the cheerful little home of Martha Carlson. A big lamp stood in the middle of the table and he could see “Mis Carlson” get¬ ting supper, cheerily singing all the time, her white hair bound in a firm knot at the back of her neck. Her song came to an abrupt end as she opened the door. “Well, my land, if it ain’t Chester. What’s the matter? Molly send you up for somethin’? What’s that you got in there—fish? Land, what a way ter carry them! Come in; come in, the kitchen’s all a coolin’ off.” “No, mum, mother never sent me, an’ this ain’t fish; it’s Dave. He’s awful sick n’mother won’t have no doctor, so I’m a takin’ him away,” and he looked at her in sullen defiance. “Well, land, and you toted that little kid all the way up here all by yourself! Lord, won’t Molly have a tanterum! Well, this is one time when we’re goin’ ter put one over on Molly, Chester, me n’you. Here, give me that poor criture. Land, he don’t weigh more n’ounce, does he? Now, while I fix up a little you run down an’ tell Capt’n Cris I want him— quick, see? Now run.” But when they came back, Chester and Captain Cris, Martha had put in her big dressing sack and he was greedily eating from a big bowl of bread and milk. “Wasn’t nothin’ in the world the matter with him ’cept bein’ starved and neglected; now Capt’n Cris, I think we’re a goin’ ter need yer help if Molly comes down in one of her tanter- ums, an’ I for one ain’t goin’ ter let these kids go back ter that half crazed woman. Now don’t yer argue with me, Capt’n Page 19

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' Clje Molten Crescent By JENESSE KING [THIRD AWARD] I CHOY, son of Lee Foo, raised liis heavy eyes to Lo Hun, keeper of the Incense Boom. Softly he spoke, but clearly. “To enter the room-death. Should I return to my Yuen brothers without the Crescent, Death! To you, O Lo Hun, I offer the jewels of our king—sapphires, diamonds, rubies, pearls, gold-.” Lo Hun stopped Ai Choy by a movement of his hand. “The Golden Crescent,” he said slowly, “is not for the Yuen tong. Well I know of the Crescent’s magical worth, besides its great beauty and moneyed value. No mem¬ ber of the Yuen tong may enter the Incense Room of its rival tong, the Hop You. Nor can jewels or gold tempt its keeper, Lo Hun. Death it means to you to enter the room, Ai Choy. Death it means should you return without the Crescent to your Yuen brothers. 0, Ai Clioy, kneel to Buddha and pray for thy life, for Ai Choy does not enter the Incense Room.” A smile tipped the corners of Lo Hun’s mouth upwards as he thrust the heavy bolt thru the iron door in Ai Choy’s face. Many years gone by, Lee Foo, president of the Yuen tong, had won from Kangste, the devil’s robber, the Golden Cres¬ cent. Kangste had come from the bowels of China, and with him had come the Golden Crescent. The history of the Cres¬ cent was a tale of robbery and murder, for its magic had been a story of wonder since Eye Sing, the mighty ruler of the Em¬ pire. Lee Foo, president of the great Yuen tong, had won the Crescent. Kangste had disappeared. Now the Yuen tong had kept the Crescent for half a century, for it was always well guarded. Ai Choy, son of Lee Foo, was the youngest guard that had ever watched over the treasure. Then Lee Foo, who was old and weak, was taken ill, ,and as he lay on his pallet, the Golden Crescent was stolen by the Hop You tong. Page 21