Elmwood School - Samara Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

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26 SAMARA reward you. At dawn to-day go to the Old Yew Tree in the heart of the forest, dig under the largest root; there you will find a small box; in it will be the hair of a bald eagle, gold piece of a Scotsman and accent of an English- man. Do not open it, for if you do they will escape and all our work will be undone. And now, I must go, but first here is something for yoii . . . Goodbye Sean . But before the voice died away Sean demanded, But who are you? She replied, I am the ghost of happi- ness, Sean; because you made them happy they have remembered you . . . It died away, but there on the moss lay a tiny gleaming sham- rock, with Generosity, Faith and Contentment inscribed on the leaves . . . Well, Do-Good, heh, heh, didn ' t expect you back — er — but here ' s your emblem, young man, and don ' t lose it. This from the Senior Supervisor who received Sean and his tasks on the sunny morning of the tenth day. Never had the little leprechaun been so happy as he contentedly fingered his emblem (a Shellalagh) and tiny Shamrock. Yes, he said, pinning them on his new brilliant green tunic, It ' s the little things that count! Vicky Brain, V C Nightingale The Mind When some are alone They think of many things; Of poverty And wealth, riches and kings; Some think of their lives, Of one so well spent; Others think of their wives. Or how to pay the rent. All in all, the mind Travels far and wide O ' er land, sea and sky, Over oceans deep And mountains high. Until the thoughts have Reached above, and touched Our Creator with simple love. Lambie Steven, V A Fry Said the Frog to the Snail Many years ago there lived a king who kept as pets a frog and a snail. The frog had been given the very best education possible. Although his few brains were crammed full and his etiquette was the very best, he was a dull character. Whenever the king was in difficulties he turned to the frog for aid. The snail, on the other hand, was altogether different. He had never had the chance to be educated and he never stopped to think over throwing a crude remark at the frog. When- ever the king was feeling downhearted he turned to the snail for enjoyment. Now it happened that the frog and the snail lived together in the same little house. The snail, being a very stupid fellow, always did everything wrong and never failed to leave the rooms in a mess. The frog, who was very lazy, thought it below him to clean up the mess left by the snail and thus the little house was never tidy. One day the frog decided to give the snail a lecture. All night he sat pulling big words from the dictionary which he kept at his side. When the first rays of sun filled the room the frog moved to the lecture room. Making sure his dictionary was beside him, he began to practice his lecture for the snail. When the snail awoke he said aloud, To- day is the day of the big lecture . Then he added quietly to himself — What an odd character that frog is — always talking about something that I can ' t understand. Last night he scolded me for telling him his wig was crooked. Ah well! What can you do with a person such as he. ' Moments later the frog bustled into the snail ' s room crying — Hurry up, hurry up, vou are wasting all my precious time. I must give you my lecture now for I have my beauty rest to attend to . The snail looked at him. You dull character, he said, can ' t you see that you are about to waste my precious time with a lot of oversized words from that dictionary of yours . Come along, I have no more time to waste, replied the frog.

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SAMARA 25 remembered his mother once saying, It ' s the little things that count, Sean . So he sat down and played a lengthy game of marls with his new-found friend. When Sean returned much later to his camp with a meagre supply of wood he felt strangely happy, the feeling one gets when one has done something good or kind. The next day went normally with nothing happen- ing except the usual eating, sleeping and searching. This same kind of thing went on for three days and, just as the leprechaun was getting worried about his inactivity, he rode straight into the path of a dog-cart, containing a lovely young girl and a fabulous amount of all kinds of roots piled high around her. She looked rather preoccupied and Sean asked if he could help — to his surprise and dismay she replied, Yes , and explained that she had been ban- ished from her hamlet near at hand for prac- tising witchcraft and could only return if she brought with her five hundred tallow candles of which there was a great shortage there. (She had been given only the roots to work with.) This Sean realized was quite a dilemma. But he thought that if he boiled all the roots up with some scraps of ham fat he had in his wallet he could make a gooey enough sub- stance to wrap around string wicks and it would surely work. However there were many false starts and by the time the two boilers got their mixture to work properly, they had used up all Sean ' s shoe laces, string, and everything. Desperate, he sent the girl to collect some vines for wicks — and about three long weary days later Sean loaded five hun- dred thick tallow candles into the dog-cart. He could hardly help being bitter about it, because lately his tasks had been pressing on his mind — and the dreadful punishment that would ensue if he failed to get the things. Besides, he added dolefully to himself, She ' ll most likely not even thank me, after working myself to the bone for her. This was sadly true for she did not even acknow- ledge them until she was nearly out of sight and then only with a brief wave of her hand. Pah, he exclaimed disgusted, I ' m through with helping people, I spend time and . . . ooooh. He was even too disgruntled to finish what he was saying and instead he went sti ' aight to bed. The next morning Sean arose very late and set out to catch himself some breakfast, or, more Hkely, by this time, lunch. Quite a time later he returned with a large fish and a min- ute grouse, both of which had proved extreme- ly elusive. He cooked them both over a sparse fire of yew branches and had just sat down, when a tiny man, crooked of limb and with a huge frill beard appeared, demanding some- thing to eat in a thin reedy voice. By this time Sean was thoroughly out of temper and was about to refuse when again his mother ' s voice floated back to him, It ' s the little things that count . So he offered him a seat on the soft moss. Before the astounded little lepre- chaun could even bhnk, his whole meal of fish, grouse and nectar tea was gone! Sean couldn ' t believe his eyes — the man was so small, he just couldn ' t have done it! But there was no more food left and just as he opened his mouth to demand where his meal had gone, the dwarf arose, thanked him politely for the repast and abruptly disappeared. This was too much for even a magic-abiding leprechaun and he stormed around the camp in a thoroughly bad humour all day. When night time fell the exhausted creature rolled himself into his blanket without even bothering to eat . . . Suddenly, in the deep of night, a faraway voice called, Sean, Sean, are you there? The owner of the name awoke with a start (or so he thought later) and de- manded quickly what she wanted; he was remembering what time he had spent on people he did not know and soon, too soon, his ten days would be up and he wanted to get back to sleep. But the silvery voice continued — Because you have spent much of your precious time on other people, Sean, and have not procured your substances, the people whom you aided and made happy wish to

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S A A1 A R A 27 At these few words, the snail was off in dreamland. His thoughts were far from the dull old frog whose mouth opened and shut tr ' ing to use every word in the dictionary. For many hours the frog lectured on and at last came to a stop with these words — I hope that after this brief talk you have changed your attitude towards untidyness . The snail dragged himself to the lecture room. Upon reaching the room he went to the most comfortable chair and curled up. With a pillow under his head he prepared for a trip to dreamland. The frog took his place at the front of the room and began: Dear snail, due to your untidy attitude I have prepared this speech to cure you of your untidiness . The snail who had wakened to these words made his reply — Dear frog, I thank the dic- tionary for lending you all its words for that very dry speech. I have never had the chance before to take time off for such a nap. I am happy to say I have not changed one bit. I will have lunch now and retire for the after- noon as I am extremely tired . The frog looked startled at such a remark and said to himself, That is the last time I spend my precious time on him. Why, he isn ' t even thankful to have such a bright fellow as I to help him . He then gave the snail a nasty look and left. The snail curled back into his shell with a sigh of relief. The sun also must have heard the frog for it, too, was gradually sinking into the west. Carolyn Bruce, V C Keller Description She was a small, tired-looking, little woman with patient brown eyes and a dejected, col- orless mouth. Her mouse-colored hair, streaked with grey and brushed straight back from her face, was tied in a bun at the nape of her neck, which accentuated the tired lines around her mouth and eyes, and made her drab clothes more obvious than ever. She looked small and out of place as she huddled in the corner of her seat. The rest of the people on the crowded street-car had been Christmas shopping and were talking gaily to each other about the wonderful presents they had bought for rela- tives and friends, and the dejected little woman edged even further into her corner, as if to make herself as unobtrusive as possible. She had no parcels, only a thin worn purse which she fingered with bare hands as she gazed wistfully at everyone else ' s well-loaded shop- ping bags and bulging parcels. Nobody noticed her as she edged off the car, except the people who had to move to let her out, and she cut a lonely, pathetic, little figure as she stepped down into the snowy darkness. Bobby Bradshaw, V A Nightingale Last Words of the Dying Sinner I see a tiny flickering light; But through the thickness of the night, It fades away. I grope and stumble. Still cannot find that light, Fore ' er imprinted on my mind. Because the stronger breeze did cool The weakening rays of light. And yet again I ' ll stand i n darkness. Upon those weary feet, Ady soul once full of honour. Now filled with deceit. All hope denied, all life passed by, I close my eyes, Ue down and rest. Someday my sins will be forgiven. Where life is lasting, love long lived . . . Goodbye, dear World, forget Thy mighty hand has never wrought So pitiful a sinner. I ' ll leave thee now, and as I slowly sink into oblivion, Forgive, forgive . . . Marianne Lovink, VI M Fry