Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

 - Class of 1917

Page 6 of 48

 

Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1917 Edition, Page 6 of 48
Page 6 of 48



Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1917 Edition, Page 5
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Page 6 text:

4 THE TARGET Vanity! One night while we were sitting around the fire, everyone was speech- less until someone said, “Grandma, can’t you tell us a story?” As usual, grandmother had one ready, as she had crossed the plains when she was little. She hesitated a moment and then started. “We had crossed the river, marking the completion of about half of our jour- ney, and we had experienced no trouble Avith Indians. But ahead of us was a large forest in which many trains had been plundered and manj people killed. We stopped for the night on the outskirts of the wood so Ave might go through it by daylight. When, morning came I asked fwe of the girls to visit me. While Ave Avere talking I looked up, as if draAvn by some unseen force, just in time to see a dark face peer- ing through the trees. I said nothing of it to the girls and, as it did not appear for some time, I ceased to Avorry. “After a Avhile, however, I looked up and this time he Avas standing straight as an arroAV, looking into our Avagon. I screamed but he dis- appeared and nothing more of him A T as seen that day. We reached the other side of the forest and the order to corral Avas given, Avhich meant for all to bring their AA r agons in a circle in case of an attack. That night Avhen all Avas quiet A r e heard, ‘To arms!’ Everyone was there in a moment but no trace of the enemy Avas found, though a crackle of the leaves and a stealthy stride had been heard. One by one they all AA " ent to bed. “When we had left home, in my vanity I took a mirror, Avhich I hung on one side of our Avagon. The next morning, while preparing to continue our trip, I Avas combing my hair hair Avhen I felt a touch on my shoulder and Imard some grunts. To my horror, reflected in the glass Avas the face of the Indian. Those eyes! I Avas speechless, but my fear left me as I saAv him smile. He pointed to the mirror, from it to himself, from himself to six horses tied to a tree in the forest and then to me. It Avas clear to me that he Avanted my mirror. I gave it to him and made him understand that I did not AA ' ant his horses. Then I Avatched the cause of my terror glide into the woods, apparently A " ery Avell pleased A T ith the picture that met his vieAV as he gazed into the face of his new trinket.” MARION COWEN. A STREAM . The graceful drooping a u11oaa t s trailed their leaves in the rippling Avaters. Speckled trout darted here and there in the cool depths. The AA r ind fanned the surface into little ripples. The stream bubbled over the smooth slippery stones that lined the bottom. The SAAurling Avaters formed little eddies where tiny boats of leaves were A r recked. A feAv shy forget-me-nots peeped out along the bank. And the sunlight flickered through the leaves, mak- ing little bright spots on the Avater. MARION SMITH. Vivian Thaxter, hearing Edith Wieland stamp her foot on the floor: “She has pep in her heels.”

Page 5 text:

THE TARGET 3 A Modem Rose of the Alhambra For sometime the court of Spain had been at the Alhambra. One day Ruyz de Alcaron, one of the queen’s pages, was flying in his aeroplane, when the wing of his machine caught on the tower of the Infantas, once the home of the three beautiful Moor- ish Princesses. This was quite a predicament for the young page, and in his excitement he hurriedly blew his horn, as if crying for help. Presently his eyes were dazzled with the wondrous sight that ap- peared before him. He found him- self gazing into two of the most beautiful blue eyes in the world. They were wide with terror and seemed to hold great wells of sur- prise, for never had those big blue eyes seen such a great big bird. Where had this monster come from? What should she do? Quickly the owner of those marvelous eyes with- drew from the window. “Goodness what a beauty. I must see her again,” sighed young Ruyz. Loud and clear rang out the chal- lenge of his horn. Then shyly but with much less terror and surprise, the demure Jacinta reappeared. Off came Ruyz’s cap and, with pleasing voice, he begged Jacinta to allow him to go through the tower in search for help. She hesitated but finally granted the desired permission. Ruyz and Jacinta met several times after the accident. Their dream was soon interrupted, however, when the king decided to leave the Alhambra. When Ruyz left Jacinta, he told her he would come back for her. Ja- cinta cried so much when he left, that he felt he must give her some- thing to remember him by, so he presented her with one of the queen’s most precious perculators. Many years had passed, and Ruyz had not come for her. Jacinta mourned for him day and night. One night she was making coffee in her treasured perculator, when the steam made a rattling noise, and from the spout shot a black machine. Ja- cinta was very much frightened, but after she had overcome her terror, she looked on the front of it, and saw the name “Ford.” Then a deep voice way down in the bottom of the perculator said, “Wherever you go with this, you will make people happy.” About this time the king of Spain, who was a curious person, and occasionally had peculiar notions, decided that he was dead. He made the courtiers dress in black, and had himself put on a funeral bier in a room lined with black. When the queen heard of Jacinta and her wonderful machine, she sent for her. When Jacinta arrived, they put the king in the back seat with one of his courtiers. As they were riding on the boulevard, the attendant leaned forward and asked, “Are you not the little Rose of the Alhambra?” Jacinta turned and to her surprise, she saw her lover Ruyz de Alcaron, the page. Jacinta drove the machine in front of the palace. The king, who was thoroughly well by this time, jumped from the tonneau. Suddenly the page opened the throttle ,and Jacinta and he rode through life together. LILLIAN ST. JOHN.



Page 7 text:

THE TARGET Mr. Tracy’s Hobby It was a hobby of Mr. Tracy, a wealthy cotton mill owner, that it was better to have the children of the city tenements and hovels work in his mill, than to stay in their mis- erable homes, or play in the dirty narrow streets. Even though at times he admitted that the children were poorly paid and underfed, he stuck to his hobby, and accordingly he was opposed to the child labor law. But with his own beautiful daugh- ter, Janice, whom he loved very dearly, it was different. She was of the age of six, and lived in a beautiful home, just outside of the crowded city, surrounded with every luxury. One day while Janice was playing in the lovely park surrounding her home, she was kidnapped, and though the father searched frantically, it was in vain; he could not find her. Now, Mr. Tracy’s mill was better than many, but still the children that worked in it had a hard time and were very thin and worn. But Mr. Tracy knew that if the children did not work for him he would have to hire men and pay them better wages. So when the child labor ques- tion came up again, one year and a half after his child had been stolen, he was still opposed to it and riding his hobby, not only because of having to give higher wages, but because the kidnapping of his daughter had em- bittered him to the world. So he did all he could to prevent the law from passing. After a while the lawyers that were against child labor, persuaded Mr. Tracy to go through some of the worst mills, hoping to open his eyes. The last mill they visited was one of the very worst. Even Mr. Tracy’s embittered heart softened at the sight of the long rows of stunted, coughing, stooping little ones. “This is bad, very bad,” he said to the young lawyer next to him. They came to the end of a long row, when fleecy pieces of lint filled the air like a snow storm, and Mr. Tracy noticed with a pang the small- esth girl he had yet seen stooping over a loom. She was ragged and unkempt, and while he watched her she burst into a fit of coughing. Pity- ingly he put out his hand and touched her shoulder. She turned her face and lifted her dull reddened eyes. Mr. Tracy stared back, and then with a cry caught her in his arms; it was his daughter. Soon after this the child labor law- passed, finding Mr. Tracy highly in favor of it; and thus he lost his hobby. MARJORIE GIRVIN. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. Crack! The sound of a gun broke the stillness that had reigned over the farm all morning. Looking in the direction of the sound, I saw a chicken hawk falling to the ground. As it fell, something dropped from its claws. Running to see what it was, I found a little chick about four days old. As it was a peculiar kind, 1 realized it belonged to no one near but had been carried from some distance. At first, the gardener, Mr. Wyett, and I, thought the chicken was dead but we discovered it was simply suffering from a broken leg and fright.

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