Oakwood Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Toronto Ontario, Canada)

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I think I must have fallen asleep, for I remember waking with a pricking sensation in my scalp. I had heard strange sounds above my head, a stealthy step, followed by a cry, and then a crash! The blood froze in my veins. Now I remem- bered that old Mr. Welsh had said, The Place is haunted, it is said, but you will give no credence to that tale, of course. I rose from the couch, trembling in every limb. rather ashamed of myself for doing so, too, but unable to control it. I raised my eyes to the ceiling, where the candle's light shone, and saw that there was a crack in it. As I gazed, a dark red drop slowly detached itself from it, and dropped beside me. Fascinated by horror, I touched it, and my finger-tip was red. With this sight, all my fear left me. I was ne1'ved to find out the meaning of it all, and my old training as a soldier aided me to brace myself to help, if help were needed, in that room above me. THE OAKWOOD 0l!ACl,.E Turning on my flash light, I dashed into the hall and up the staircase. Reaching the room above the Library I turned the handle and flung open the door. Facing me was a young woman in a dressing-gown. She dropped a curtsy, and said, Be you the new master, sir 7 I said I was, and ask- ed her what was the meaning of the shriek I had heard and the red drops I had seen fall from the Li- brary ceiling. She said she had spilt a bottle of red dye, with which she was coloring her best shawl, and it had dropped on the floor. She was very contrite, and called her father from the loft. Together they got me some warm food, and made me comfortable for the night. In the morning I explored Kelton Court, and found it beautiful. Margot, the little maid, grew old in my service, but she always im- agines that I don't like red shawls. Perhaps she is right. Adelaide E. R. Sternberg, IIIA. 3Bu55Ie-- jfinh the line Get into line there! This rapidly vibrating air-column frequently smites the tender mem- brane of my ears as I pass a cer- tain door on the third floor. At each such crisis, I glance hastily around in search of the familiar faces of my class-mates, find them not, and finally, panic-sticken, van- ish into a neighbouring cloak-room until the hawk-eyed one has gone to refresh himself with fair water at the other end of the hall. Then I venture forth into an atmosphere still trembling with the volume of that oft' repeated sound. After long experience, I have found this remedy the best. It is useless to declare that the line has vanished utterly and unaccountab- ly into space. The line should not have been left so long alone that it could find opportunity to disappear. It is equally vain to assert that the pad has gone with its bearer. The pad can then be found and its cus- todian relieved of his burden, These things I have tried and thus have I been answered. Now I conceal my- self as before mentioned and await a more favourable opportunity to continue my journey. This quest-for the line seems endless. I leave the room at the end of a class firmly ensconced in a central position in the straggling line. As we reach the door of the next class-room, it belches forth a horde of wreckers, who pass through the line and leave me stranded in a whirl of first-formers, second formers, third formers, fifth forn'1ers, in short every for n in the school but the right one. Far off in the c1'owd I glimpse a fami- liar hair cut and valiantly struggle Page fVl.llf'ff'Cll

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THE OAKWOOD ORACLE nothing new. Suddenly, in the Agony Column, the Personals, my eye caught my own name, Somerset Maughanf' This is what I read: If Somerset Maugh- an, son of the late Urban Maughan, of Montaign Hall, Hailyton, Her- fordshire, will send his present ad- dress to Welsh and Welsh, Inner Temple, London, he will hear of something to his advantage. I was greatly surprised and also a trifle amused. As far as I knew, my elder brothers had absorbed whatever property and money there had been in the family. Per- haps it was debts I had inherited. It could scarcely be anything else. But the spirit of adventure claimed me, as it always did, and I sent my address to Welsh and Welsh the following morning. Promptly came a request to visit their office, and promptly I went there. Two dear, old gentlemen, the brothers Welsh. informed me that by the will of an old aunt of my mother's, tbless me, I had quite forgotten dear old Aunt Carolinel, I had fallen heir to an old property, Kelton Court, in Dor- setshire, on the edge of the moors. I signed the necessary papers, and left with the keys of the property in my pocket and explicit directions as to its whereabouts in my mind. I was told that the house had been unoccupied for some time. I decid- ed to go down to see it at once, and left London next morning. All day I drove through drizzling rain, hoping to reach Kelton Court before dark. I met a peasant in a quaint smock, and he informed me that Kelton do be just a moil and half o' that around the bend. So around the bend I went, when sud- denly my wheels went down in mud, hopelessly mired. I tried hard to extricate my car, but in vain. It was pelting rain by this time, and almost pitch dark. I couldn't go back. I must go for- ward. Accordingly, on foot I Page IfIfjllfl'I'll struggled and splashed for a moil and half of that, carrying my bag, and lighting my way with a power- ful flash-light which I had in my car. Iflventually, I reached my destin- ation. An iron paling with an iron gate set in it, with Helton Court in brass letters above it, enclosed the place. I took out my keys and opened the gate. Passing through I set my foot in what seemed deso- lation itself. Overgrown with weeds, the garden was a dreary spot, even in the light of my flash I looked towards the house. No sign of life greeted me. The windows were shuttered fast, and the whole aspect of the place was dark and forbidding in the ex- treme. The thought of fear never enter- ed my mind. Physically I was strong, and I didn't know the mean- ing of nerves, or I thought I didn't. I ran up the steps and set my key in the lock of the door. Hust- ily and grudgingly, the wards drew back under my strong pressure, and I stood in a fine, lofty, dim old hall. Walking into a room on the 1'ight, I found myself in a library. I was by this time, very tired. A heavy thunderstorm was raging without, so I decided to wait till morning to explore my new possession further. I flung off my heavy raincoat and looked around for candles. There was one, half burned down, in a silver candlestick on the mantel- piece. I lighted it, and sat down in a great green leather chair, glad to rest, even in these strange sur- roundings. The storm increased in fury, and I could not stay still. I was uneasy, perhaps because I waw so utterly weary. Not a sound but the rolling o the thunder assailed my ears, and after a while I threw myself on a couch and drew up a dark woollen afghan, which was folded at the foot of it. Cn

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THE UAKWOOD ORACLE to reach it. It is useless, I must drift along at the slow pace set by my neighbours. In this state I round the corner and hear. above the chatter of the lower orders, the majestic height of that familiar voice: Do you want a detention 'F Then get into line. Suddenly I feel weak and feeble. That sudden shock is becoming too much for me. Again I look vague- ly around for my form as those piercing eyes light on me. I wait in trembling expectancy and my faith is rewa1'ded. Get into line, there! My dignity must be sacrificed. Quickly I step into the midst of a first form line and pass, quaking, before the death-dealing scowl. I have tried this remedy once or twice in place of the rapid-vanish- ing. I do not consider it quite as satisfactory, but something must be done. The line is never where any national line might be expected to be, and one is never sure just where it is irrationally. No amount of search will reveal its whereabouts, no degree of imagina- tion excuse it's absence. In fact, it is almost pure suicide to venture to the third floor at all. The second, and even the first floor is much more humane. They, at least, realise that those who have reached the dignity of fourth form cannot always be concentrating their tremendous brain-power on such a trivial matter as a demater- ialized line. We have been taught that a straight line is the shortest dis- tance between two points. Never- theless, if we venture to walk in such manner-in a straight line- we are usually conscious of vehem- ent protests from all sides. It seems that we are expected to travel in a straight line, but not in a straight line. Strange! Alas, it is too much for my poor weary brain. Besides, there's the bell, and I must get out in the hall and try and find that line. IVI.C.IV Q Moonlight Sonata The hour ol' midnight rang out high and clear, The strokes clanged through the silence one by one: The student raised his weary head and sighed, And opened up his dry, parched lips to groan. IIC brushed the tangled hair from off his brow Where beads of moisture rolled like cascades down, 1 IIis face was lined with care, his eyes were dim, He bore the traces of a constant frown. IIis book was open in his trembling hands, Its words were whirling wildly 'neath his eyesg Ilis weary brain was dull and took not in The knowledge that it was his wont to prize. Ilis ehatt'ring teeth, like castanets, met, to part, llis eye was wild, a flush his cheek 0'G1'SD1'0ZtdQ Ilis work was done, but so was he, alas, And bent and old he tottered off to bed. lhlfjl Tru lily M. C., IV.