Alameda High School - Acorn Yearbook (Alameda, CA)

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suitable, dared to suggest such a thing after the play had been produced. ,' The play was a decided success and the least that the Oak Leaf could have done was to congratulate the Senior Class. In the second place, the paper published an editorial headed Ain't He Grand, Mabel? Before proceeding to attack this article, the staff of The Acorn will admit that it is foolish for a fellow, who has not the permission of his parents or is under 18, to smoke, but in any case we feel that the Oak Leaf should have in it articles which should not tend toward making it a paper representing a high school, where there are only religious services conducted. In this cutting satorical article the author in blazing words condemns the fools that smoke, he denounces the game of pool as sinful, he tears down with one literary swoop the reputation of every man who uses tobacco, he destroys with one scratch of the pen the entire school organization by claiming that all smokers are fools, cripples, chronics, or hopeless idiotsg he says that no officer! or school man of prominence smokes, that those who do indulge are merely show-offs and perform for 'Mabe1 merely to be called 'fGrand, and with more such childish prattle seeks to reform the wayward youth, who are destroying civilization by the use of the awe-inspiring cigarette. ln another set of editorials in the edition of May 10, the editor of the Oak Leaf practically defies the school organization. He states literally that no matter how his editorials are taken, he will nevertheless continue writing them Call prac- tically trashj. Fellow students, we elect the editor to put out a paper which will have in it news, that we will be interested in. Should we tolerate this any longer? Think it over, and act. The articles are prattle, foolish, with no objectives and merely stamplthe Oak Leafi' as a paper with policy which, not only slipping its bonds to moralize, is missing the entire point of the present administration, and is wasting space in teare ing down where boosting is needed. It is easy to tear down, but difficult to build up. The administration under President Bishop, as has been before stated, is a solid foundation. Lets build up Oak Leaf and similar organizations of your type. Page Fourteerz THE ACORN O

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The Tapestry Forest HE LITTLE BOY was very tired. The long gloaming hour in which he had been accustomed to slip away to his tower-room, high up with the birds, and play softly on his violin, was a strange new time now, that slipped in through the half-open windows, filling the corners with grey ghosts, and sending him to croueh before the fire in the bleak library. The warm flames, leaping gaily in their cage, made the wierd shadows draw back a little. The shadows were only cowards, he knew, that the music of his violin sent flying away, but now he was unprotected, for his father had taken away his fiddle and told him to be off and study. Had he really burnt it? Or had he only threat- ened? But the Little Boy's heart was very heavy as he thought of how carefully he had searched without finding his violin. He had searched the whloe house, except- He scrambled to his feet and ran down the long hall where the shadows were so black. Who knew what the whiteness moving in the corner by the stairs might be? It might hide the goblin man that his nurse had warned him of. With his hands on the knob of the door he paused, casting a fearful glance back down the shadowy passage. No, the goblin was not coming this time. He might venture in, The little door creaked as his furtive hand pushed it open. The room was very grey and lonely in the winter twilight. His mother's study! How very seldom had the room been entered since the day his sweet, young mother lay white and still on the sofa, while the flames in the fireplace flickered lower and lower, and at last died away under the rush of the lonely shadows. The room was the same, but strangely different, he saw, as he looked about him. The tapestry on the wall still showed the same green forest, with the brown butterflies among the trees, the couch with its soft cushions was still drawn up before the fireplace, but the grate was cold and there was no nook big enough to hide his violin. He sighed and turned to retrace the long dark passage before his father eame to catch him there. But as he touched the door-knob, the faintest breath of rose-leaves reached him, bringing a sudden memory. He had been a very little boy when he had come into the study one evening just at candle lighting time, to find his mother lying on the sofa, all alone. The faint scent of roses hung about her as she put out her hand to him and smiled. He could feel the softness of the silk of her robe as he nestled down beside hen. ' Little son of mine, she had whispered, you'll be all alone, soon. VVill you find the tapestry forest, sweetheart, I wonder? And he had run away to play, and when he came back the petals of the pink roses that had drooped over the couch lay in a fragrant shower on the floor and his mother would not answer him. The Vague perfume was gone again, but it left a great lump in his throat. He went across the room and climbed upon the sofa, snuggling down among the cush- ions. Some way it seemed to bring his mother nearer, and he missed his violin less. The big tears slipped down his cheeks without softening they ache in his throat. Gradually the mystery of the room wove a soft spell about him. He had watched the trees waving in the light breeze for quite a time before the brown butterfly came hovering past him. It sailed so slowly that he could not resist the temptation to chase it down the long forest aisle that opened so invitingly Page Sixteen ' THE ACORN