Anna Head School - Nods and Becks Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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S ' It ' e e t s to the S w e et QLKASi:, dear, just one little one more. Sue and Archie sat together on the same side of the tea wagon on a be-cushioned divan — he in white flannels and she in pink ruffles. But, Archie, I ' nc given vou so many already and when I gave you the last you promised you would not ask for another, although I knew you would. I know I promised. Sue, but it is such a temptation — and, he sighed, they are so sweet. I simply must have just one more. Couldn ' t you spare me one? I get so few. He glanced affectionately at her. Archie, vou should be willing to give up something for the good of ' la Patrie ' in these war times. All of us must make sacrifices. But a little thing like that won ' t hurt ' la Patrie ' at all and you know it. Sue; and besides there is absolutely no harm in it. This has gone on too long — it ' s getting boring. I ha e told you so for the last hour and T mean it. .Sue smoutlicd down her ruffles in contrast to her ruffled temper. I see, I ' ll just ha e to take one then. He leaned over to catch her hand. No, you won ' t — Sue jumped up, evading his grasp, and gained the other side of the tea wagon. Now catch me if you can, she cried. He accepted the challenge and reached across the teacups and cookies, almost upsetting them. She dodged, but was not quick enough, and Archie caught her arm and held it tight while he circumnavigated the obstacle. As he approached she pulled backwards — straining at her tether. On he came and back she went to the beflowered parlor wall. There she took her stand and dealt blows at him with her free hand, clenched tight. He received them smilingly. Won ' t you please give it to me willingly; or must I take it by force? Neither wav. She glared at him and stamped her foot impatiently. It is the last one I have to give and 1 am saving it to bestow on someone more deserving than you. But surel - I am as deserving as anyone else you know; and I ' ll love you even more than 1 do now if you will. The memory of this one will last forexer, he cooed, getting dangerously near. Well, ou selfish old thing — here it is then, she cried angrily, opening her clenched hand and clapping it over his mouth. Take it, and may it cause every tooth in vour head to drop out and ruin your most perfect appearance. But he paid no attention to her words — just gazed at her rapturously with dancing eyes, as he crunched his hard-earned lump of sugar. K. THI,F.KX M. Gr. ttan ' 20. I ir. 1 h

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Jf I II d -B I o w II D a n d e lions I ' eathery tufts of cotton- - I ' ascinating bits of down. I r)ick vou, and hrusli du Against my cheek. A tiny wind comes And carries you ofi — On the wings of a fantasy. Up. up — Up you drift — Ahnost bevond m ' ision. Gradually you fall apart And are wafted back By a breath of air — Like fragments of filmy lace, A silken cobweb. Another breeze takes you off. Far, far up you glide — Smoothly, gently. See how you glint as a ray Of sun strikes j ' our silk) ' fingers — A faint, misty rainbow, Iridescent. You are gone. No — there you are ! A tiny piece of feathery softness — Floating, lighth.-. The wind is dying. Perhaps }ou will come back, Perhap.s — perhaps — Xo, another faint zephyr Sweeps you up. You are gone — Way up intcj the sky. I look again. Rut the azure hea en Has dissolved Aly fairy! E ' ia.YX N. .SH ' 20. [13]

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Books V PETER WESCOTT RIDES THE LION XX Fortitude Hugh Walpole has given us a magnificent study of human nature. His character, Peter Wescott, shows the secret of Success, the ke}- to Self-Respect, the path to Peace, and all in the fighting slogan, ' Tis not life that matters, but the courage you bring to it. Once the girl he loved showed to Peter Wescott the photograph of a man who rode upon a lion. This lion was a struggling brute of enormous size, and yet the man was his master by sheer force of energy and iron determination. Something of that man ' s face, the scars of struggle and long sufifering, brought to Peter a sense of overpowering awe — awe, and a vague unrest. Xot until many years later, when he had completed the full circle of his lift , did the significance of that struggle as a symbol of his own existence present itself to him. And a great peace visited the soul of Peter, for then he knew that in his battle against Loss and Sorrow, bitter Disillusionment and humiliating Failure, he had won. And, lo, the face of the rider was his own ! Blessed be Pain and every Torture of the Body Blessed be Loss and the Failure of Friends and the Sacrifice of Love Blessed be the Destruction of Possession and the Disappointment of Ambi- tion Blessed be all Sorrows, Torments, Hardships, Endurances that demand Courage Blessed be these things . . , . for of these things cometh the making of a Man. THE LIGHT THAT DID NOT FAIL Once upon a time, a tiny spark fell from some glowing ember — fell and lighted alone upon the hard, cold earth. Aided by kindly breezes, this tiny spark became a small but brightly burning flame. Soon, however, strong air currents and forceful, gustv winds oxerpowered the little flame — it flickered, wa ered, and almost died out. But, coming to its rescue, a pair of loving hands protected and sheltered it, fanning it gently. And lo, the feeble flame increased in strength, burned more steadily, and blazed into brilliant fire, meeting cold winds in defiance, and glorying in its triumph ! In Jacob Stahl — . Man of the Real Today, J. E. Beresford has created a being oddly like unto that flickering flame — a weakly, wavering soul, handicapped by self-depreciation and lack of initiative, overcome by the strong wills of others, and unable to throw back his head and laugh in the face of defeat. Unfortunate influences have entered his life — Madeline, the glorious sinner; Lola, his first wife, a bit of clinging poisonous ivy, and the shallow hypocrite, Reverend Cecil Barker. However. Betty, the adorable, Betty, the human (also partner, general manager, cook, and drudge in a London boarding-house), by [1 ]