Annie Wright School - Shield Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

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8 n Y A K half open and the screen unlatched. Then the solution of the mystery dawned on me. Fearing that we had been aroused by the forcing of the door, the object of our search had sought, to conceal himself in the curtained recess under the stairs, and had fallen over the mass of magazines piled there. But to draw the curtain and disclose the crea- ture was not so easy. After much hesitation and quaking, both in- wardly and outwardly, with a mental one, two. three ! I dashed for the curtain and dragged it back. There was the burglarious individual comfortably established in a hollow in the pile ot magazines, sleeping the sleep of the utterly exhausted — my great Malamute dog, Old Woman! peacefully dreaming and sonorously snoring. Rebecca Stevenson, ’ll. A Midnight Episode A festive burglar, late one night, Gave the maids an awful fright. They first heard him at the window, Thought he would break through, by jingo; Called to Andrew, 4 ' Come here, quick! Make this burglar think he’s sick!” Andrew came, his gun in hand, You’d thought it was a big brass band; The noise he made would wake the dead; His hair was brushed close to his head. ’Twas said he stopped to clean his boots, f he maids all say so ; then he shoots Out in the hall and glares around. But then the burglar can’t be found. Three cheers for Andrew,” they all said, And then went straightway back to bed.

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II Y A K 7 Midnight Fears YEAR or two ago mother and I spent a fortnight with my I aunt and cousin at their summer home on the Washington side of the Columbia river, right in the heart of the Cascades. Up to that time it had been one of the most bautiful spots of all the beautiful Columbia river scenery, but fearfully lonely, perched up there in the mountains, with no neighbors for miles around, and fear- fully quiet, with the river roaring sullenly past huge rocks, and an occasional belated train s urrying along through the tunnel on the Oregon side to break the infense stillness. But this summer the North Bank railroad was in course of construction, and as a consequence the country was infested with all varieties of tramps and their kind, in addition to the accustomed fires in the forests, so that when I was not kept awake by an imagined crackling of fire, I could not sleep for fear the house would be burglarized and the whole of us abducted during my dreams. One night w r hen the stillness was more oppressive than usual, we retired a little after ten. resolved to try at least to drown a little of the solitude in sleep. Mother and I soon fell asleep, only to be awak- ened about one o’clock by a peculiar rustling sound, which resembled most unpleasantly the crackling of flames in the dry grass, but might equally well have arisen from the kitchen, as some one stumbled over the low coal bin and became entangled in the pile of old newspapers reposing there. Both were equally probable and pleasing to con- template. A quick rush to the window proved the fallacy of our first idea, so we hastily donned dressing gowns and crept stealthily dowm the back stairs in fear and trembling, mother clutching my uncle’s old re- volver. We w T ould oust the rascally intruder? On we went, peering here and there by the dim light of the low-turned lamp, down the winding stairs to the hallw ? ay and through doors whose locks had been placed there with the idea of presenting a most formidable ap- pearance without really meaning it, until w e reached the kitchen. Throwing the door open with a quick jerk, we flashed the light sud- denly on the literary occupant of the room. There was none, literary or otherwise! We went slowly, fearfully toward the front hall, only to have our suspicions as to an unbidden guest confirmed. The front door was

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H Y A K 9 An Exciting Moment AM afraid it will be too stormy to land you at Katalla,” the grizzly old captain said. “But maybe we will have fair weather on our return trip,” he added, seeing my disappointment. Bight days on the northern seas in November is a thing few people enjoy and the prospect of having it lengthened into sixteen did not seem particularly pleasing. The wind had been raw and cutting and the decks flooded most of the time with a driving sleet. Yet they were rather to be chosen than the stuffy cabin. I was standing in the point of the boat at seven the next morning. The sea was calm, and the air soft, almost balmy with the fickle Chinook wind. Ahead were the blue hills of some large island. I wondered where we could be, as I had understood that we would not see land until the following day. “That’s your new home, little girl,” and the gruff old Norwegian captain stood beside me. “The island is Kyak and Katalla is just be- hind it on the main land.” “Oh, and you are going to put me off after all ?” I questioned. “Yes,” he answered. “Last night when that northeaster went down we turned in directly. It may yet .blow up too bad a storm for the launch to come out for you.”... “Surely not with this warm wind blowing?” I interrupted.. “Don’t place too much confidence in a ehinook,” said he with a shake of his head. We went down to breakfast, but as soon as I had had my toast and tea, I was back at my post in the prow of the boat, to find that we were gliding along beside the island and could see the little town a few miles from it. W T hat a funny little place! Just a handful of houses on the edge of the sea. Three great bars stretched out between us like the fingers of some giant’s hand. I now understood why, in stormy weather, the little launch towing the big scow could not come out to us, and it was just as evident why a steamer could not go within three miles of the land. The wind was changing. At last the launches could be seen riding over the sea, which seemed to roughen as the wind swung more and more to the north.