Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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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.

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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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‘Father, father,’ I panted, ‘there’s a bear — by our house — and m-mother’s — afraid it ' ll get in the house. She’s at it — with a broom — and wants you to g-go help her kill it.’ “He went before I had finished this speech, and I followed as closely as I could. I was just in time to see my father take aim at the bear. It rolled over stone dead. “Mother, although she knew baby was safe, ran into the house to pick him up in her arms and hug him, thanking God for his deliverance and mine.” As grandma finished, she looked over at us. We had been inter- ested in the story, but were ready to retire. Just then the clock struck “Bedtime! Bedtime! Bedtime!” and we obeyed it. We called back out thanks to grandma for helping us pass the evening pleasantly. Then we went to bed to dream of bears, pigs and numerous other things. MARGARET LAMB. A Letter New Hope, Louisiana Territory, August 14, 1810. Dear Mother: We had many trying times coming across the country. Notwith- standing the hardships, we wish you were here with us; but with the dangers and hardships of the journey we do not want you to start. The country is all woodlands and we are cutting the tall trees down and building our log houses before winter sets in. It was not an easy matter to cross the Appalachian Mountains and the Mississippi River. We had to bind willows on the sides of the wagons to make them float and we lost some of our cattle. We were attacked by a straggling band of Indians and lost a few of our men but outside of that we had little trouble with them. The Red River overflows its banks and the land is damp and rich but our cabins are on a hill and the water doesn’t get to them. We planted a garden and we are going to clear our place better and plant corn. The leaves of the trees have fallen year after year and are rotting where they lay. This is responsible for the rich land, not scratched before with a plow. The three families already here have helped us in many ways. They came when the country was first thrown open to settlers and are most willing to show us how to avoid some serious mistakes which they made. Write soon. Your son. PAUL WITTICH.