Castilleja School - Indian Paintbrush Yearbook (Palo Alto, CA)

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Stick 's 5' HERE is a certain haunt of collegians, who wear too voluminous cords or unneeded tortoise-shell glasses, and of would-be's, which is also frequented by the ever famished inmates of Castilleja. Each Saturday afternoon, as inevitably as doom, they descend upon this fa- mous palace to fill all the little booths and send the waitresses scurrying after their sumptuous orders. After many whines and furious complaints directed at the slowness of the service, the girls see a waitress staggering towards them with a tray probably laden with the favorite Toasted Swiss, that delectable creation-the College Sundae, or the still more sensational concoction of saccharine viscidity - the Fairmont. IVhen the strictest of diets has been all too successfully broken, the girls swamp the candy counter. VVith eyes shining and fixed, each one carefully chooses her thirty-live cents worth of beautiful confection to carry triumphantly home. HELEN STINE. of-415511399--lu A Rhyme This started out to be an essay On the pricelessness of time, But the meter of it caught me And I couldn't resist the rhyme. This turns out so very often To be the way I workg My mind is turned to something else Though I do not mean to shirk. I leave my studies, duties, lessons, To ride, or drive, or walk, And my mind is oft diverted By frivolity of talk. . I postpone my next day's studies- I shudder to relateg I plan to do them on the morrow, And then it is too late. So let this poem be a lesson To those who waste their timeg This might have been an essay- It's just a silly rhyme. HEATH HAMILTON. Twenty-seven

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o Bells CHOOL becomes a habit after awhile. We go placidly along, thinking of little except our work. Wie hear a bell, we then proceed to rack our brains as to what in the world comes next in our day's program. 'We finally remem- ber and rush off to a class or to luncheon. The lovely musical' jangling of these bells comes to be an inseparable part of us. VVhen we go home for a week-end we invariably have strained expressions on our faces, which often worry fond families exceedingly, but we are merely listening in vain for bells. N o bells! A bomb has been dropped in our midst! Such a terrible sugges- tion very nearly shakes the foundation of our lives. When we are in such a placid, contented state, it is cruel to shock us so. The idea is put before the council, and the members, after a few misgivings, see the real sense of it. 'I' he plan is then suggested to the rest of the girls and.-is received with surprise, to put it mildly, but the objections are overruled. . x - Once again we are leading the peaceful, undisturbed life ofka boarding school. But-there are no bells! Alarm clocks and Ingersolls are invested in wholesale, and we start out with fear and trembling on our program of lgwbellsh. The plan has been in operation only a short while, but, surprisingly enofefrh, it has been quite successful so far. We realize that our lives are really peaceful now and that the ipievious horrible clatter of the incessantly ringing bells gbt, on our nerves terribly. Of course, we are not all utterly punctual yet, but time will bring improvement, we hope! Our lives have resumed their former serenity, but-there is a degree of intelligence on our faces now as we look at a trusty Ingersoll and say: Time to go to our next class. ' LOUISE FOVVLE. The Storm AST stretches of uneven gray plain--nothing else. The sun is shining with- out enthusiasm and is speedily being totally obscured by lowering clouds. Momentarily the sky becomes leaden, heavy, oppressive. The atmosphere is tense and nervous. Expectancy hangs brooding over the scene. Then, in the north, far away, is seen a heavy, black, cone-shaped mass whirling madly over the plain. Swiftly it approaches and envelops the place in darkness and screech- ing winds. The ground heaves and sways, and, with each motion, groans seem to issue from the bowels of the earth. The chaos is overwhelming! Terrible! Suddenly the turmoil ceases. The wind dies down, and the great clouds roll away. The light of the sun once more Hoods the plain. Peace is restored, for I have solved my algebra problem, and I give my poor brain a rest. HELEN MONTGOMERY. Twenty-six

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A Perfect School Day FTER the lights had been turned off and quiet once more reigned over the corridors of the residence, my roommate and I held, as usual, a long con- versation. If, in some supernatural way, you were allowed to have just one wish, for what would you wish? asked my roommate. To have the school routine go on as I pictured it when I was a youngster, I answered sleepily, turning over. VVhen I opened my eyes to find Mrs. Vaughan bending over me, I thought I had been asleep for only a few minutes. She was saying queer things. Because I was not wide-awake, the words seemed entirely devoid of sense. I was being told that I need not get up for morning drill if I preferred to sleep. At last I realized that I was now quite awake and that Mrs. Vaughan was speak- ing to me in all seriousness. It is often true that, when a person finally gets what she most desires, she no longer wants it. I immediately got up, donned my clothes, and appeared on time for morning drill, which consisted of strenuously bending each finger on both hands five times. Breakfast followed the drill, and everyone had all the coffee-cake and very strong coffee she wanted. Upon arriving at my first morning class, I found that Miss Criss and Doctor True, my teachers of the first and second periods respectively, had decided that we should go on a bicycle picnic. It was a great success. After cycling over to the Stanford campus, singing our Castilleja Song in front of the Adminis- tration Building, and accepting, with fitting blushes of modesty, the orchid bou- quets thrown at us by the many students and professors, we returned just in time for Assembly. Cn entering, we found, to our great surprise, Miss Lockey in a gorgeous red evening gown, assisted by Miss Smith, Miss Tyng, and Mrs. Stearns, giving a large tea in honor of all the resident girls. After leaving the tea, I rushed through the corridors, knocking down and trampling upon Mademoiselle Petitdidier. Not having time to stop and offer first aid to the injured, I continued on my wild scurry to arrive at Miss Sin1pson's class on time. The brutal thing I had done to Mademoiselle had been the only unpleasant happening in this so-far perfect day. Reaching my destination at last, I opened the door to Hnd Miss Simpson sitting on her desk, idly kicking the sides of it with her heels, and reading to an hilarious class selections from Life, This last was too much for ine. Everything turned black before my eyes. I stumbled and fell-out of bed. Realizing that I had only dreamed of a too per- fect day, I quickly dressed and came to the conclusion that I was glad to find my- self confronted by a school day of the regular routine, with serious business be- fore nie-better by far than my version of a perfect day which was all pleasure and no work. LILIAN MCNEVIN. Twenty-eight l 1 4.1