Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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gwancl favver. I never saw him, but muvver says he doesn’t like little boys. Are you wealy a goblin-man ? I came to bring you back vis, ’cause goblin-men like sparkly stones, and little childwen, and vis has sparkly stones and a little gwil inside. An’ I corned to tell you you musn’t make my muvver cry any more. My muvver says you only make big people cry. My muvver—I want my muvver !” It was a long speech, but Little Boy kept on bravely until the end, and then he dropped the locket and burst into tears. The gob¬ lin-man was so unfriendly, and mother was so far off. He was hungry, too, and he wanted to play with those fishes. And after he had come all this way the goblin-man was angry. He sobbed on broken-heartedly, and wished his mother would come. The old man picked up the locket and gazed at it. He opened it. Slowly his face grew less stern. He made a movement to pick up the sobbing child, then hesitated. “No,” he said, after a pause, “it is no ruse, she couldn ' t have sent him. He must have found the locket and came as he said.” Then he stooped down gently and tenderly lifted the sobbing, dilapidated little chief to his knee. “There, there,” he said, and there was only softness in his voice. “Don’t cry so. I ' m not a goblin, and I won ' t make your mother cry any more. I’m—I ' m your grandfather. Little Roy Big Chief,” and he caressed the locket softly. If the child’s mother would only come. He had been harsh. She must have put the stage and its ways out of her life. He gathered the soft little body close to him. The brushes parted. Little Boy Big Chief ' s mother stood be¬ fore them, and held out her arms. “Little son,” she cried, “little son, come to mother.” The old man gazed dumbly at her. His lips trembled. She looked at him and at the locket with his dead child ' s picture, and she understood. “Father,” she whispered. “Father,” and he gathered them both in his arms. “You will stay,” he said huskily. “You will come and stay always?” Yeth,” murmured Little Boy Big Chief, “ve vill come and ve must tell daddy to come, and ven I won’t have to come down the path no more. We ' ll all be here—and I can play wif ze fishes.” 14

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encouraged him, and he trotted bravely on, remembering that he was a big chief and must do his duty. But even a big chief may become tired, and at last, forgetting all his dignity, Little Boy sat down by the side of the road and wept. He was so utterly alone, so weary and so sleepy. He wondered where mother was. How he did want her. He sank down on the grassy banks and wept softly. Then his eyes closed, and Little Boy Big Chief slept. Little Boy Big Chief opened his eyes in amazement. Where was he, and how did he get here ? Slowly he remembered—the goblin-man—the locket—of course ! He had started to bring it back and had gone down the path—but this—this wasn’t the path. Little Boy looked about in amazement. It must be fairy land. He had never seen such a place before. Flowers were everywhere, climbing in the trees, over arbors, twining about garden chairs—they were even at his feet. It was pretty, he decided, very pretty, he woudn’t mind staying here. Then he gave a gurgle of delight and ran toward a pond. It was full of bright, reddish gold creatures that moved about just like the minnies in the brook at home did. He would touch one and see if it were alive—he— “What are you doing in my fish pond ?” a harsh voice de¬ manded. “Do you think I carried you down that steep path into my garden just to have you catch my fish ?” It was the goblin man. Little Boy shivered. He didn’t know why the goblin-man had brought him here, he was sure. He must be brave now, however, and tell why he had started so he said in a little voice that tried not to quiver: “I don’t know why you brought me here, but I started to come and bring you somefing.” “To bring me something ? What could you possibly bring me, and who are you ?” “I ' m Little Boy Big Chief.” The old man looked quizzically at him. “So you ' re a big chief, are you ? he said a trifle less harshly, “and you come to bring me something. How did you happen to come as a big chief ?” “I’m a big chief because if I was a little boy you might not let me go back to my muvver. But goblin-men don ' t like big people, I guess. Why did you make my muvver cry ?” “Make your mother cry ! What is your name, little boy • and the old man ' s voice grew harsh again. Little Boy held out the locket. “My name is Wobert Gwaham Coleman, and I’m named fo’ my i3

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How Malabeam Saved Her People By GRACE STILLINGS Second Prize M ANY years ago the St. Johns river, in eastern Canada, was known as the Owengondee. For many miles the river flows quietly, but near the present city of Grand Falls it leaps noisily down for eighty feet or more, forming the falls, from which the city gets its name. A few miles above the falls a small stream, known as the Ouishy, joins the rivet. Upon the hanks of this stream there was once an Indian village. Here dwelt the Melesecks with their hrave chief, Nacotes, and his beautiful daughter, Malabeam. For many years this tribe had been at war with the Iroquis Indians and several smaller tribes. But now the hatchet was buried and the Melesecks were at peace with all the tribes, except the great Mohawk tribe, which lived further south. One lovely summer evening Nacotes and his daughter paddled away up the river in their bark-canoe. The sun was setting, but the light which shown so brightly over the meadows along the river, was shut off from the river by large butter-nut trees, which thickly lined the banks. So as the canoe glided softly and swiftly along, darkness settled over the water. When they were many miles from home they came to an island in the river. It was only a small island of a few acres, and was cov¬ ered with alder-hushes and sand-plum vines. It seemed a dismal place to spend a night, but here Nacotes and Malabeam decided to stop and rest until morning. All was quiet save for the rippling and splashing of the water on the bank. Tired and worn out, and fearing no enemies in this part of the country, Nacotes soon lay down and went to sleep. But Malabeam was not sleepy, and seating herself on the river bank, she listened to the sounds of the water. However, her thoughts were far away, for she was thinking of her home and of the brave young warrior who had won her love. She smiled to herself as she happily thought of the morrow, when many festivities were to celebrate her marriage to the brave. Her mind occupied with these pleasant thoughts, the time slip- 15