Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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‘Wait,’ he said to the circle of painted wild men, ‘I go get them.’ And making his way through the shouting crowd, he soon found his matches. Striking one and holding it over the barrel of gunpowder, he said: ‘Umph, umph, look, look — drop match — all go up!’ A single spark would have sent us up — or maybe down,” laughed Miss Marjorie, “who knows?” “The excited Indians realized the danger and hurried pell-mell from the store. Once outside they leaped on their horses and were gone. My father felt his scalp and breathed a sigh of relief. “After that we were never again troubled with Indians.” RUTH LYSER. My Favorite Hiding Place der. But look, do you see that branch that brushes against the telephone post? That is the secret. After climbing the post, which is as easy as walking up some stairs, it is a simple thing to grasp a branch and step lightly over on a strong bough. To one unaccustomed to the tree, it would seem a regular network of branches and so high as to make one dizzy. But it is like my own backyard to me. After running along a branch a few yards and climbing up a few feet more, I arrange myself comfortably and draw the branches snugly around me. When I hear the “Ella-ella-ellson-free”, I quickly drop from branch to branch, slide down the mam trunk, jump a few feet and land in the soft earth on all fours. It is a little easier than to go around by the post. After I run into the base, free, everyone wonders where my hiding place is. You see they don’t even suspect “my tree” at all. My tree is on the top of a slight hill and I can get a wonderful view from my little perch. Shrubbery grows all over the ground and I can pass in and out freely by hiding m the underbrush as I run along. At the bottom of the hill is a little brook that ends in a large pond. I can just see the glint of the sun shining on it away in the distance, from my look- out. Opposite the pond is an abandoned schoolhouse with a sagging roof, and an old, moss-covered well. Some windy night this old building is going to blow over and be just a pile of brushwood. OU should see my favorite hiding place. It is a snug little branch away up in a tall tree. No one ever suspects this could be so used because it seems impossible to climb the tree without a lad- ENID KEYES.

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Nearly Going Up — or Down H, PLEASE, please tell me a story,” begged Barbara, ‘‘a nice long one, about when you were a little girl.” Barbara and Miss Marjorie were seated under a drooping willow near a chuckling ittle stream, and with a plate of Belinda’s best cookies, they were whiling away a pleasant afternoon. “Well, let me think; what shall I tell you?” Miss Marjorie asked thoughtfully. “Anything, just anything, only make it nice and long,” Barbara answered. “All right.” So w ith a final cookie Miss Marjorie began: “A long, long time ago when I was a little girl, about four years old, my father, because of poor health, left Boston and moved to Texas. There, in order to make a living for his family, he kept a ‘general store’. About ten miles from us was a large Indian reservation. From there the Indians came to our store frequently for supplies. Tobacco and fire- water were greatly in demand; but my father knew better than to keep liquor, for if an Indian drank only a little, it always excited and crazed him until he was ready for the war path. Then, of course, he would destroy anything and everything without mercy. “One morning, my father having seated me upon the counter, I took great delight in watching my two little red shoes, which, only the day before had come from the East. Then suddenly, loud wa r whoops were heard. My father, standing behind the counter, saw through the win- dow a band of Indians in their war paint galloping toward the store. Louder and louder beat their horses’ hoofs. Nearer and nearer they drew. Jumping from their mounts they rushed into the store. Paint — feathers — Indians — confusion was everywhere. “Tobaccy, tobaccy, fire-water, fire-water,” they yelled. My father realized that any false move would be fatal, and scalping would be our fate. Two little red shoes tapping on wood reminded him of an open barrel of gunpowder which stood before the counter. A sud- den thought struck him. Being blown up would be kinder than death with slow torture. Desperately he hunted in his pockets for a match — first in his vest-pocket, then in his hip-pocket — but both were empty. Louder and louder clamored the excited, drunken Indians. Then father remembered he had left his matchbox on a shelf in another corner.

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It Worked pupil until they came to Susan. Buster punched Jimmy and said, “Jimmy, there is Susan powdering again. Aren’t girls the limit?” “They sure are,” Jimmy said. “Look! Mary and Barbara are at it too !” “Girls, this is no place to powder and primp,” the teacher was heard to say sternly, a few minutes later. “I wish you girls wouldn’t bring your compacts to school. I never did when I went to school. I shall have to think of some way to stop this.” At this, Jimmy and Buster began laughing and they laughed so loud and so long that the teacher sent both boys out of the room. When they got outside, Buster gave Jimmy a pinch and said, “Jimmy, I’ve got a dandy idea. Listen here! Teacher said she’d like to think of a way to stop the girls from powdering in school. You know the gir ls nearly always blush at everything we do as if we were a mistake. Well I have it exactly. To-morrow (if the teacher will let us) we’ll bring our fathers’ shaving sets and begin shaving when the girls begin powdering. Then they will see how silly it looks to us to see them powdering.” “That’s a keen idea! Let’s ask teacher if we can do it,” Jimmy replied. “Gee, if it will only work, we’ll tell her it’s both of our ideas,” Buster said. Just then the door opened and the teacher said that the boys might go in. “Just a minute, please, teacher. We want to tell you something,” Buster said. “Well, what is it?” the teacher asked sharply. Buster and Jimmy told her of their idea and nearly fell over when the teacher laughed and said they might try it. At recess the news soon spread around to th e different boys and it was decided that they would all bring their fathers’ shaving sets and see how the plan worked out. Bright and early the next day the boys appeared at school but just as if nothing was going to happen. The bell rang soon and the boys marched into the room. Before the boys got in the room Buster said, S Buster Benson looked up from his book he looked around the room at his different schoolmates and found that Jimmy Black, his chum, was also looking around. Their eyes followed each