Balmoral Hall School - Optima Anni Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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12 near the water's edge. In that case, he would not need his spear, but perhaps from wish- ful thinking, Ian took it with him. He turned and started up the little path, walking with a decided limp in spite of his efforts to hide it Soon he could hear the murmur of the stream, and with it, the sound of frightened bleating. Hurrying around the last corner of the path, he saw the sheep. Iust as he had thought, she had slipped and caught her foot among the rocks. She is certainly making a lot of noise, he thought as he started forward again to free her. Coming closer, he heard a deep growl. He froze and listened again. Surely it must have been his imagination. No, there it was again. This time a gaunt wolf, a giant of his kind, appeared from the woods. With his sharp teeth showing, and his yellow eyes glowing wickedly in the dark, he advanced on the helpless sheep. Ian watched its approach, his heart beat- ing wildly. He had never seen such a wolf before in his life. Since it was very thin, he thought that it must have been driven from its mountain home by hunger. Raising his spear, lan moved forward a bit, hoping to get near enough to kill the wolf with his first throw. The wolf, seeing the movement, turned towards him and leapt. At the same moment, Ian hurled his little spear with all his strength. Then he closed his eyes, afraid to see what had happened. When he opened them again, the wolf was lying only a few yards away, and his spear had found its mark in the furry throat. The sheep had stopped bleating and was waiting for him to free it. As he bent over it, Ian, who had been too shocked and surprised at first to know exact- ly what he had done, suddenly realized what had happened. That giant wolf, lying only a short distance away, had been killed by him, Ian, the chief's crippled son! That meant that he could now become a warrior. Having freed the sheep, he drew his spear out of the wolf. Then, smiling into the darkness, he returned to the flock, already dreaming of the day when he would stand before the tribe and go through the cere- monies while his father smiled proudly. KATHRYN N EILSON-Grade IX Award-Winning Story -Intermediate Literary Competition The Broken Picture The luminous yellow of Mei-Ling's dress, as she stood staring at the stern Victorian-looking man in the picture before her, sharply contrasted with the long, dark hallway. Hearing footsteps, she turned, and seeing one of her teachers, she gave her a bright, cheery smile. When she smiled, her teeth shone as white as a snow-capped mountain in the dark dawn, and her slanted eyes twinkled as the stars in heaven. The teacher gave her a light pat on the shoulder. and walked down the corrider to her class- room. Watching this pantomine, unobserved. was a young girl, leaning on a door. Seeing Nfei-Ling, she bit her fat lower lip with two protruding and rather dirty teeth. She hun- ched her shoulders up to her large ears, and her short, chubby, nail-bitten fingers clut- ched at the frilly, white lace collar around her large neck. Looking at the small dark-skinned girl hatefully, her eyes suddenly turned to the picture just a few feet in front of her. Her face became as crafty and sly as did Medea's when mixing the death potion for Theseus. Glancing around, she saw a little piece of metal that had fallen off one of the desks. She darted over to the desk and back again as quickly as a flash of lightning, that on a hot, sultry summer's night flashes through the sky. Making sure no one was in the hallway besides Mei-Ling, she took careful aim, and then ran to her desk. Mei-Ling, hearing a crash, quickly turn- ed around. As she saw the picture lying at her feet, her heart skipped a beat. Slowly she backed away, only to be caught in the death-like clutch of Mr. Harrington's strong strong finers. So, this is how our young Chinese school officer behaves, she hissed, stressing the word Chinese. You are going to the Principal's office. Annabella Brown, with all the speed of Hermes, ran up to Mrs. Harrington, dragg- ing a red-haired girl with her. We heard the crash, Mrs. Harrington, and I found this piece of metal beside the glass. Hearing this, Mrs. Harrington motioned them to follow her. Walking down the hall, Mrs. Harrington hold Mei-Ling before her. and the two girls following, they looked like a flock of geese flying south for the winter. In Mr. Brock's office Mrs. Harrington stated, in as few words as possible, what had happened. As witnesses, she produced the fat Annabella, daugter of the president

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ll admitted defeat, but vowed that the follow- ing day he would buy something that would change it back again. The next day, Thomas Greenwood viewed the world through rose-coloured glasses, not by choice but because he could not rid his mind of the horrible colour of his daughter's hair. As he left the office about five, he stopped suddenly by his secretary's desk and said, Miss Wilson, you wouldn't know anything about . . . but then he thought better of it. After all, only adolescents are foolish enough to dye their hair. On his way home he inquired at the drugstore about a new product guaranteed to remove all foreign colour from the hair. Mr. Greenwood did not stop to ask him- self how the product would know which colour was foreign, and which was not. The druggist did not guarantee that it would work, because it was only in the process of being tested and he only had a sample. Mr. Greenwood replied that anything was worth a try. That was a night never to be forgotten. Thomas Greenwood followed the directions on the bottle to the letter. The last step en- tailed waiting for half an hour and then removing the towel around the girl's head. Half an hour passed, but as the towel was removed only a scream and a thud were heard. Sarah Iane's hair was purple and Thomas Greenwood had fainted. JANET HARRISON-Grade X That Land I have seen the beauty of a tropical mountain And the lapping of waves against its foot, And the birth of a gardenia. I have heard birds sing to the day And insects to the night, And the rustling of dry grass. I have known the smell of a rain forest, Hot, wet, green, and alive And the smell of the sea. I have felt the sting of a spider, hot against my neck, And the pain of crisp flesh, unprotected from the sun. And the loveliness of a shell. All these treasured memories are dear to me, And some day, I will see, hear, smell, and feel That land again. JENNIFER WIMBUSH-Grade XI The Little Shepherd The sun was just sinkingbehind the hills, sending its last rays over the mountain mea- dow and over the boy sitting on the rocks, watching the sheep. The night's silence was broken only by the sounds of celebration drifting up from the village in the valley below. The boy winced as the noises reached his ears. Then he shook his head in an effort to shut out the sounds, his blonde hair fall- ing into his eyes. He was small for his twelve years, and looked like an elf as he sat there alone in the gathering night. His name was Ian, and he was a member of the tribe of Celts who lived in the village below. In fact, he was the chief's son. Yes, the chief was his father, and yet, Ian, was only a shepherd. He looked in disgust at his right leg which had been crippled ever since he could remember. Usually he was cheerful, and he tried not to feel sorry for himself, but tonight was different, and he was indulging in self- pity. All his friends were going through the ceremony of being made warriors of their tribe, and, more than anything, Ian wanted to become a warrior, and make his father proud of him. All his spare moments had been spent in throwing his little spear again and again, until he had become quite expert. His difficulty was that he had no chance to prove his bravery. His friends had all been on hunting trips, and some of them had even been on a battlefield, but Ian knew that he would never be able to go very far because of his twisted leg. His only chance lay in killing some animal if it threatened his sheep, and wild animals seldom came very close to the herd. He sighed again and absent-mindedly began to count the sheep. One, two, three . . . fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-two! There should be fifty-three. He counted again. Surely he must have made a mistake, but no, only fifty-two sheep were there. Ian looked up. He strained his eyes in the waning light, hoping to see a white shadow in the dis- tance which might be the missing sheep. He called into the darkness, but there was no answering sound, only the eerie voices of the echoes in the hills. Alarmed, lan picked up his little SPCHI' and climbed down from his perch on the rocks. Looking about him, he tried to decide which way the sheep had gone. Perhaps it had left to get a drink from the nearby stream and had slipped on the mossy rocks

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13 of the school board, and her friend. After hearing Annabella's story, Mr. Brock who had ujst finished talking with her father about their weekly game of golf, asked the quiet Florence Wheeler what she had seen. Hearing this question, Florence's large brown eyes started as a young fawn's might when seeing its first human being. Slowly she opened her mouth, casting a look at Annabella, and began to say something when she was interrupted. Flora didn't see anything, Mr. Brock. She was sitting at her desk, but when she heard the crash, we decided that we should come and report it because we will be the school officers. At this Mei-Ling broke out in a series of negative statements scattered with Chinese words. Mei-Ling, please be quiet. We have a reliable witness who said that you did break the picture and that you are lying about breaking it. These girls are the candidates for officers. It is not likely that they would lie. Last term you were appointed over Annabella, although you do not have the virtue of telling the truth. I am satisfied you broke the picture and then lied about it. A statement will go up on the noticeboarcl saying this, and I shall make a statement at Assembly this morn- ing. But I didn't br . . . break it, sir, cried Mei-Ling, her hands at her eyes, which were forming a waterfall of tears. Would you please leave. His voice had an icy tone, and Mrs. Harrington happily thinking that her son, a-ccidentally killed in a hunting accident by a young Chinese boy, had been partly avenged, walk! ed from the room, followed by a smug Annabella. In the hallway, Mei-Ling, feeling a hesi- tating arm about her, looked up into the kind and pitying face of Florence. I am very sorry, Mei-Ling. I saw Annabella throw that piece of metal. I couldn't say anything, though. If I did, Annabella would never speak to me again, and she would see that I was never appointed to be a school officer. She could because her father is the president of the school board and Mr. Brock's friend. I have to stay with her if I want to do anything important. Here, take this piece of chocolate. It is very good ben cause it came from Swizterlandf' whispered the tense, little voice. Quickly she withdrew her arm, and ran down the hallway to the waiting Annabella, her future assured. THEODORA NANCE4GI'ad8 IX wh.-.1 gi 1 lu All .ll n .- 'Ali A . ,iq 1? J K IOYHO-Hxoou . Dey Taylor, Grade Xll ' l Who Believes In Ghosts? It was February thirteenth when Ioce- lyn Iones arrived at school. She was strange in her ways, but certainly not in appearance. She was quite pretty and had small features and a voice that sounded like a meadow lark. Ionsey, as we called her, could imitate birds better than than I had ever heard anyone do. However, she was shy and no one could pull her out of her shell. It was a few nights after Ionsey arrived that I started hearing strange noises. Every- one knew there were no such things as ghosts, at least everyone except me. I WHS not so sure. My grandmother was a very superstitious old lady and had told me many a weird tale about supernatural things and, after all, no one had proved them not to be true. The first night the noises started, the sixteenth, I believe, they were low and sounded like childrens voices. I slowly got out of bed and started down the hall, and then I saw a ghost. Now, do not laugh. Per- haps you do not believe in ghosts, but some people do. If you had seen a white figure gliding down the stairs in a dimly-lighted hall, I am sure you would not have gone up and shaken hands with it. Well, I certainly did not. I ran back to the room and jumped into bed, pulling the covers over my head. The next morning when we got up, I was not so sure that I had not dreamt the whole thing, but I remembered it so vividly. None of the girls believed me and when Ionsey heard about it, her face went as white as a sheet. Perhaps she believed in ghosts too, but she slipped out of the room