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

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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

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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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14 before I could ask her about it. That afternoon I went up to the attic with Millie, but we found nothing. Millie told me to forget about it, but forget it I could not, especially when I heard more noises the next night. This time I woke Millie and we both paraded down the hall, flashlight in hand. When we got to the attic we searched thoroughly, but could not find anything. This convinced me that there was a ghost even though it convinced Millie that I was hearing things. As far as I am concerned I had heard something, and only a ghost can disappear. I spent Saturday skiing with the girls and I saw Ionsey that evening in the lodge. I started to get up to ask her about the ghost, but she saw Mrs. Larken and went over to see her. I had the feeling Ionsey was trying to avoid me, but I could not be sure. I sat down and soon forgot about the ghost in the conversation about the holidays. The noises continued all the next week but I ignored them as Millie would not come and I certainly was not going to investigate by myself. I did not think about the ghost often as we were planning a skiing expedi- tion for Friday evening. Everyone was go- ing, except Ionsey who could not ski. How- ever, Lady Luck deserted me, and I sprained my ankle playing hockey on Thursday after- noon. On Friday night after everyone had gone, I sat down by the window and start- ed to think about the ghost. The wind howled and the trees in the valley started swaying. They looked like giants waving their arms as if trying to catch the birds that flew about at night. Then the noises started again, only this time they came closer. I heard footsteps coming slowly down the hall. I could feel myself shaking with fear as the steps came closer and closer. Then the door started to open and I dived for the closet. I was about to shut the door when my curiosity got the better of me, and I left it open a little. The door opened all the way and the ghost moved across the room to my bed! I just had to find out once and for all what was going on, and so, summoning all my courage, I stepped out of the closet. The ghost spun around-only it was not a ghostg it was Ionsey carrying a cage. I asked what she was doing and she said she had come to tell me about the ghost. It appeared thc Ionsey had arrived at school with a parrot, of all things. I laughed as I though of every girl turning up at school with a pet or two. I promised to keep it a secret, and now when anybody mentions anything about noises in the attic, Ionsey and I smile at each other. After all, everybody knows there are not such things as ghosts. CAROL EMERSON-Grade VIII Apollo The dark night is over, Diana has fled: Apollo stands ready to rise in her stead: His spirited steeds with bodies of fire, Toss golden heads and stamp feet in their ire At being held backg Ah, the time is now come! Iove's stable gates open: they -dash out at a run: I-Ie guides his steeds upward, and higher and higher Climbs this god in his chariot, his chariot of fire. O'er the horizon, the first light of day Awakens the peasants who reverently say A small prayer of thanks that Apollo is here, To shine on the crops which they carefully rear, And to banish the darkness which night always brings, This god of fire, driving horses with wings. KATHRYN NEILSON-Grade IX Sunday Morning Solemn and silent day grasped the sleep- ing world with an icy hand. Stubborn clouds clung overhead as I adjusted my hat and stepped slowly out, Bible under my arm. It had snowed last night. With each step I sank further into the sticky substance whi-ch clung to my shoes and melted against my stockings. .Even the trees creaked and groaned under their unwanted burden of snow. The chirrup of a sparrow faded as he shivered, shook his feathers and then abandoned his branch for a warmer perch. Plodding through the snow, I gazed at the rows of houses standing side by side like stiff soldiers. Windows and doors turned to mocking eyes and mouths, laugh- ing at the lone figure struggling up the street. Alarmed by these grotesque faces and my straying imagination, I hurried a- round the corner. My steps crunched and echoed hollowly as I continued to church along the deserted and empty street which stretched vastly into the distance like an immense white carpet. The route seemed void of movement, for the only signs of human existence were the deviating footprints into which I stepped