Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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When the carriage stopped at her door she alighted quickly and stole softly up to the door. “I won’t bother to awaken Moses,” she thought. “I’ll just slip in and go right up to bed, for it’s late, I’m sure. In the morning I’ll tease Moses for not taking care of me as he should.” She turned the doorknob softly and walked in. On a chair near the door sat Moses fast asleep, his head sunk on his chest and at his elbow on the table a small lamp burned. Jean giggled and turned to go upstairs when she stopped, horrified. The lid of the chest was open and there were toys thrown carelessly all over the hall! Jean ran over to the chest and searched frantically for the iron box. It was gone! Jean sat on the edge of the chest weakly. “Daddy trusted it with me and it’s gone,” she thought desperately. “It’s gone and all his work amounts to nothing, and he trusted it with me.” The knocker sounded heavily on the door. Jean flew across the hall and before the surprised Moses could collect his scattered senses she had thrown open the door. An old negro stood at the door apologetically. “If you please. Missus — ” he began hesitatingly. “Ole Missus she done sent me over to explain. Young Mars’ John he done run away over here an’ seems like dat fool Lilly White what youall’s got ’lowed mah lil’ Mars’ to get into all sorts of troubles. The po’ 111’ fellow didn’t know as how it was wrong to tote away other folks’ things. Here you are, Missus, and thank you most kindly.” Thrusting a package into Jean’s hands, he departed muttering fearful imprecations on Lilly White. It was the non box. — MARION GEDDES. THE OUTDOORS A life in the great outdoors, What a wonderful thing it would be; To live where the great pine roars And the winds are boundless and free; A life where great cataracts leap. Where the stars shine bright mid the blue. Where nature sings you to sleep And wonders are ever anew; A life where the purple hills meet the sea. Where the billowy waves dash high, Where the great cedar nods in the passing breeze And the red of the sunset paints the sky. EILEEN MITCHELL.

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The Iron Box EAN KIP was sitting on the couch in the dining room reading a book when her father entered. “Jean, your aunt has just sent me word that your uncle is ill and for me to come immediately. I hate to leave you here alone on the plantation but it can’t be helped,” he said hurriedly. “Oh, daddy! Is he very ill?” was the reply. “I don’t know, Jean. I hope not. There is another thing I want to talk to you about. I will have to leave the invention that I have been working on here with you but I can’t think of any place to hide it.” “Daddy! Are you going to leave it with me to take care of?” she exclaimed joyfully. “Where will we put it?” Jean sat a moment looking steadily at the toe of her shoe, and at last looked up gleefully. “Oh, I know where! You come with me.” She pulled him by the hand into the hall and over to an old chest which stood in the doorway. She raised the lid and Mr. Kip peered in. The box was full of old broken toys which had been carelessly thrown in. There were all of the toys which Jean’s many relatives had given to a motherless girl when she was younger. Mr. Kip turned to Jean, saying with a smile, “Jean, old pal, good for you. No one would think of looking in that junk heap for the inven- tion. You wait here and I’ll get it.” He returned shortly with a small iron box which he locked and gave the key to Jean. Then together they buried the box deep in the remains of countless toys. Just as they were closing the chest the knocker on the door sounded loudly and Lilly White hurried from the next room and opened the door. On the doorstep stood Jean’s dearest friend, Bertha. “Oh, Jean,” she called, “I have some marvelous news. Bob has just come home and he brought a friend with him. Mother wants you to come over for dinner and spend the evening with us. Wash will bring you home in the carriage. “Oh what fun!” said Jean. “I’d really like to Bertha, but you see father is going away to-night and I can’t.” “Of course you are going, Jean,” answered her father. “It’s a fine plan. Hurry now and get dressed so you won’t keep them waiting. I’ll entertain Miss Bertha while you are gone.” Several hours later Jean was coming home all alone in the big fam- ily carriage. She had had a very enjoyable evening and had found Bob and his friend, Tom, entertaining, but she was very tired and glad to get home.

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Bravery Counts OU won’t be afraid to stay here alone while we got to Grandma Snow’s? She is very ill. Little Billy will stay with you.” “No, mother, of course I won’t. Remember I am a Wellington.” “Yes, Beth dear, always remember that your ancestors were noted for their bravery.” Father and mother climbed into the rickety old wagon. As they rode away through a pine-tree forest they could hear little Billy calling to his big sister, whom he adored. “Just a minute. Let me lock the back door, then I’ll come,” called back Beth. And Billy answered, “Oh, goody! Then we can play hide-and-seek in the big trees.” There was a clearing around the little log cabin and Beth could easily see it while they played in the edge of the woods. They had paused to rest a little while, when she noticed two or three Indians going toward the cabin. They did not belong to the friendly tribe living near, and by their hostile glances she knew they came for no good. What was she to do? Could she save their little home? Where could she hide Billy? These questions ran through her mind as she saw four more In- dians going toward the cabin. She could not run away, because they might see her and then ! “Billy, come here! Now listen carefully. We are going to play a new kind of a game. You are to hide in that log over there and stay till I call you. Now hurry, or you’ll spoil the fun,” explained Beth. “Aw wight, I will. I is tired anyhow.” As soon as she had gotten Billy into the log, off she sped toward the cabin. What should she do? She knew not. If only she could save the little home that she had known for ten years. Somewhere in her memory there flashed a picture. She was running from a big dog. An old man caught her in his arms, and turning her face upward, said, “Beth, little Beth, don t be afraid. Always be brave. Remember you are a Wellington. The Wellingtons are rot cowards.” She saw a picture of a beautiful home and large gardens; her mother, not dressed as she was now, but in soft silky clothes. She would be brave all the more because her father’s bravery had been doubted and he had been disinherited. “Remember you are a Wellington,” rang through her ears as she sped onward. She stopped with an exclamation. Her home was on fire ! She turned to flee, but two Indians had seen her. She went boldly toward her burning home, and going up to one of them asked, “Won’t you help