Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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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

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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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me put out the fire? Here is a bucket.” But one of the Indians grabbed her, and raising his tomahawk high over her head, was about to kill her when his chief interfered. “Let her alone. I will take her to my wigwam. She is very brave. Don’t kill when they are brave, but kill when they are afraid.” A smoldering mass of ruins greeted the family when they returned six hours later. Little Billy was standing with his thumb in his mouth, and tears rolling down his cheeks. “Mama, I want Beth. She said it was a new kind of game and she didn’t come back.” His mother and father knew only too well what had happened. Their Beth had either been killed or carried off by the Indians. Beth was treated very respectfully, and they gave her whatever she wished, because the chief had taken a fancy to her. She thought only of her parents and the home that was burned. Two moons had passed, as the Indians say, when one morning Beth could stand it no longer, She must end this uncertainty and try to get- home, no matter what the consequences. As she went out of the tepee she came face to face with an old Eng- lishman whose face looked familiar. She forgot about running away; forgot about everything but the old man. He was very ill. She took him into the warm wigwam, and for weeks he lay there, Beth and her Indi an friends watching over him. Finally he opened his eyes. He looked at her a long time, and then : “Are you Beth Wellington? Yes, I thought so. When I go, read the paper in my coat. Your grandfather found out the truth — your father is not a coward, but a hero. He tried to find his son. Before he died he commissioned me to find him. I tried, but Indians separated me from the soldiers. I escaped. But I was so sick. If I could only give him the paper I could die in peace.” He closed his eyes. There were tears in Beth’s eyes. She gently took her arm from under his head, and with slow footsteps and bowed head, she went for comfort to her favorite place among the trees. She did not see anyone approach until she heard a voice cry, “Beth!” She jumped to her feet and saw — her father. “Father,” she sobbed, and was in his arms. Then she remembered the old man. “Father, he is dying and he wants to see you.” It was after they had wrapped him in a bural blanket and had laid him beneath the sighing pines that her father took out the letter. After reading it to himself, with a far-away look in his eyes, he said, “It’s just like my father, always square and brave and ready to do the right thing.” MARGARET RADER.