Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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“Sure do,” said Bob. “C’mon then, but be careful.” Bob followed as though in a dream. Once inside the lion’s cage his legs shook. He glanced around him uneasily. The lion was in another section of the cage, that was true, but even then it was too near. “Now, should that door through which we entered close, the other one which keeps the beast from us would open, and that lion would make a substantial meal out of us.” This cheerful remark came from the trainer. “Marvelous,” grinned Bob, trying to look brave. They had no sooner turned their backs on the door than, with a snap, it closed and from the other door emerged the lion. The startled trainer, white of face, handed Bob the gun. Bob stared at it as though paralyzed. The lion encircled them, making darts now and then at the trainer. A whip was all the trainer had but he prepared to hold out as long as possible. If only help would come! Then the fatal spring came. The animal’s whole strength was in it. He caught the trainer squarely by the hip. Bob suddenly realized that the trainer’s life depended on his help. The gun! The very thing. He aimed for the lion’s head and bang! Down fell the king of the beasts. Was it luck or a plain miracle? No one can tell. However, the trainer is now convalescing. He will never walk again but it is to Bob he owes his life. BETTY HOUGHTON. A CHILD’S THOUGHT I wish I were a cool, green tree. That birds might nestle on my knee. That I might welcome to my breast The tired folks who want to rest, Who, wearied of the city’s noise. Find cooling shelter neath my boughs. The birds that tired the day has made Seek rest in the shadow’d woodland glade Where nothing can disturb their slumber Except a flash and then some thunder. NINA BANCROFT.

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T WAS Monday, the first day of school. It was also the first day of the circus. Of course the circus was a pleasanter subject to talk about than the school, so on many childish tongues the thrilling word “circus” burned hotly. Now the lot on which the circus was situated lay between the school and the homes of three chums. Bob, Dick and Harry. As it happened, these boys were the chief source of mischief in the fifth grade and they were ready for any unusual sort of plan that would furnish good results. On this particular morning they were passing by the circus when Bob noticed a cage in which was a lion, being drawn into the largest tent. “Say, that looks good!” grunted Bob. “Sure does,” agreed Dick. Harry was deep in thought. Such a wide-awake brain for nonsense and plans as Harry had! He was the smartest of the three. “Say, how’d you like to play hookey? Let’s go and see the circus?” he questioned slyly. “Fine idea if it will work,” assented Dick. “Sure it will, if you’ll do just what I say, ’ said Harry gaily. “Of course, your honor,” laughed Bob sarcastically. “Come on then,” grunted Harry, much pleased with himself. They entered the circus easily, for it had been banking day and each of the boys had a dollar to bank. “Let’s separate and meet here later,” cautiously suggested Bob. “Agreed,” assented Harry and Dick in one breath. Bob wandered among the cages, examining everything he could see. Finally he stopped in front of the before-mentioned lion’s cage. The trainer was polishing the bars. “What’s the lion’s name?” asked Bob. “Fury,” muttered the trainer. “Do you ever go into Fury’s cage, sir?” questioned inquisitive Bob. “Sure, lots of times. Going m now,” said the trainer calmly and briefly. “Do you ever — er — ever let anyone into Fury’s cage?” asked Bob eagerly. “Naw! Why? Do you want to go in?” he said smiling to him- self, wondering at the boy’s eagerness.

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Ye Bygone Days ' H • I €111 T WAS a cold day in February. We three children were sitting on a comfortable davenport in front of a cheery fire. Across from us sat our grandmother, knitting. All was still except for the steady click of the needles, for we had been playing all day and were resting “between the dark and the daylight.” Suddenly grandma broke the silence with: “Who wants to have grandma tell a story?” “I! I! I!” came the eager answer. “I think you really want me to, then,” said grandma, “so I will tell you of an exciting happening of my younger days.” We were always glad when she said that, for grandma had lived in Loyalist days in the wilds of Nova Scotia, and had many stories to tell of her life there. Amid a breathless silence she began: “I was only about eight years old when this happened, but I have a vivid recollection of it. Very few settlers lived in the part we did. My father and mother had built their log cabin themselves, and had not been there very long. In the family were my baby brother, aged ten months, and myself. Father used to go into the forest every day and cut down trees to be used for firewood and for building a barn. All the women at that time stayed home with a gun to protect their houses and children from marauding animals. “On this particular day mother was working in the house. Hearing the pigs squeal, she ran to the door to see what the matter was. The sight she saw was an unusual one even for those times. A hungry brown bear was approaching the pig pen. What could she do? Father had taken the gun with him that morning and she was all alone except for me, a child of eight. Grabbing the broom, she rushed out, calling to me. She had to save her winter meat. “I had been helping her, but on hearing my brother cry, had run to see if I could put him to sleep again. I suddenly heard mother call, ‘M ary, Mary, come quickly.’ I ran out to the door. My mother was standing between the pig pen and the bear. She was flourishing the broom and called, ‘Mary, run and tell your father to come as quickly as he can, for I’m afraid the bear will get to the pigs or baby.’ “My fear lent wings to my feet and I dashed through the woods, guided by the sound of my father’s axe. It seemed as if I would never reach him, but at last I came upon him.