Arcata High School - Advance Yearbook (Arcata, CA)

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TFT AN AT Laura Campbell, '14. It came back again last night, that was the second time I have even seen it: the next time will be the last. They have none of them ever seen the black cat three times-and lived. My grandfather, my uncle, my father, all died in the same manner, . and now I, too, must die. ' I think I must be going mad. Such a thing can not be. But I am de- termined to write down the whole story. Then if I am found dead in the morning that hideous statute may be destroyed. My grandfather, John Williams, after whom I am named, was a col- lector of curios. He had travelled in many lands but had never visited Egypt until the last of June, 1897. He remained for three months and then brought back to America a small statue of a black cat. Three years later he died. His last words were, The black catlf' My uncle took the small figure, and three months later he was found dead in his home. The small image came into my father's possession. That was three weeks ago. To-night he is lying dead, and yesterday for the second time I saw the black cat. Not the image, for even as I write it stands on the table before me, but a cat, a real cat, black as night, with horrible glaring eyes. My grand- father saw this cat. My uncle saw it. My father saw it. And the third time they died. Today is the third day I have owned that image. I have tried to get rid of it, but I can't. It is nearly twelve. Near me my lawyer sits snoring-soft, strangling snores. My light is nearly out, but I sit waiting, listening. I hear the sound of padded feet on the stair and the golden eyes of the image before me seem alive with hatred. I can write no more. N inetecn

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got our guns leveled square ahead and I gave Pinto Pete a nudge and he flashed his lantern right onto 'em. Again there was an expressive pause. With dilated eyes and sagging jaws the miners stared at the knot hole. The old man sat straight in his chair. Do you know what they was? They was woodratsf' With a muffled I-Iell! Pedro limped out of the room into the black night. . n the Munn. Oh moon, that shinest o'er the haunts of men, So cold and pale, When thou hast gone what dost thou then, ' Cans't tell? There is no life in thee with splendor rife, But rather deathg And so, oh moon, tho' grand and bright you hue, I'd rather be myself, in life, than you. Marie Dodge, '14, 6 Eighteen

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Ein at illllnuntain walk. H! rugged Oak, that has for ages spread Thy protecting arms o'er nature's matchless art, Thou who hast brav- ed the storms of winter and de- fied The elements that rage above thee, Thou who hast patiently borne the piercing rays of the fireworld, Monarch of the wood, Preserver of the goodg Ever ' extending thy long bearded branches To the fleecy-lined floor of the Heav- en above, Call down a, blessing to those 'round about thee, Silently call to the One who has pow- er, Giver of sunshine And all that is just. Shelt'ring the wood-spirits that dwell 'neath thy branches With a toga wrought by a hand divine, Of frolicking sunbeams and hazel shade, Covering with leaves when the fierce winds of winter Sweep o'er the earth like a fiend from the northland, ,ulling the birds with melodious music, Swaying in rhythm to zephyrs in Autumn, Nourishing the off-spring that live on thy life blood, Lift high thy branches Upholder of Heaven. Oh! could it be that mortal man ever In all this land and over the deep, Could patiently brave the tempest's blast, Be pure and free, Grow more like thee. Unselfishly scatter kind seeds of love To those who have strength denied, Look to our Maker and trust in His might, Ever as thee Rugged Mountain Oak. Susie Anderson, '14 Twenty