Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

Page 32 text:

30 THE Branksome Slogan We had been there aibout five weeks when I fell sick, and instead of accompanying my wife and the Weepers on a walking tour, I re- mained behind with the Weeper ' s boy, Chris, who was left in my care. After lunch that day I felt sleepy, and leaving Chris at the lake with his paint box, I went to my bedroom. When I awoke I immedi- ately went to see if Chris was all right. I mounted the grassy knoll which hid the lake, and saw below me on the shore, an upturned paint box, but no Chris. When il could not find him at the chalet, I became worried and started to call him. After ten minutes ' useless shouting, I started up the path that led to the top of the valley. I rounded a curve in the track, which wound upwards through pines, and I saw a sight which made my heart stand still. There on the grassy track lay Chris bleeding and bruised, as though he had been thrown many times at the trees, many of which bore blood on their barks. Over the boy stood a man so terrible that I hardly recognized him as the same person with whom I had fished so often. Even as I watched he picked up and flung the child at the trees. The body re- bounded and lay motionless at his feet. Before he cotild stoop again to throw the boy, I was upon him. He turned towards me, madness in his eyes, and death in his hands. I tried to strike him, but he threw me to the ground before I could drive my blow home. He then picked us up and dragged us Iboth out onto the summit of the hill. There he hurled Chris onto a stone slab and turned his attention to me. I hope I will never see a sight again like that of the boy ' s body. His face was raw, bashed and bleeding; his features hardly distinguishable. The maniac stood above me pondering what to do. I understood his motive. He was going to throw the child over the precipice and he was afraid I would hinder him. Suddenly he hoisted me into the air and threw me several times on the ground. The stones cut me, and the pain made me nearly unconscious. When he was sure that I was powerless to prevent his evil motive, he turned once more to the boy. As he stretched forth his hands to clutch Chris ' body my dream came back into my mind. I remembered how I had been powerless to prevent my dream man from seizing the flower. I realized that the dream had been a warning of this tradegy. The rare yellow flower was Chris, the remarkable young artist. His paint box and the surroundings of the chalet were the same as the ones of my dream.

Page 31 text:

The Brutality of a Disease I never believed, until a few weeks ago, that dreams had any fore- boding of the future. But now that the terrible experience I went through is over, I can bring myself to write down the events that made me change my mind. Three months ago I had a dream that at the time seemed to be of no significance. I dreamt that I was standing on a grassy mound looking down at a lake. An upturned paint-box and a rare yellow flower lay on the shore. My second picture was of a path that wound upwards through pines to the top of a hill. On the track lay the same yellow blossom that now was beginning to fade and droop. In my last dream the surroundings were blurred, and I could only see a stone slalb on which lay, wilted and almost dead, the yellow flower. Then I saw a man stretch forth his hand to pick up the blossom and crush it. I tried to save the flower, but felt unable to move; I saw his fingers close over it — then I awoke. Of these three separate pictures the rare flower seemed the only connecting link, and I soon forgot the dream. I was planning to go with my wife to iSwitzerland to spend six weeks at a mountain chalet which had been built on a small lake, and was surrounded by low, rocky hills which fell away on the other side in long, steep precipices. During our stay the only people with whom we grew really friendly were Mr. and Mrs. Weeper. They had one boy of about ten years who promised, when older, to be a wonderful artist. The only other man with whom I struck up an acquaintance was a person called Hawker. He and I often went fishing together, and he would tell me weird stories of Africa. I got the impression he was somewhat overwrought, as he occasionally would try to snap his rod, or wring the necks of the fish he had caught, but these moments soon passed. 29

Page 33 text:

The Branksome Slogan 31 These thoughts had occupied the moment during which the raving man had lifted the boy above his head. I tried to struggle to my feet, but my legs were broken, and even as he threw Chris ' body over the precipice I sank back numbed with pain. In the silence that followed I could hear the body far below, bounding from rock to rock, and then all was still. When I came to, many hours later, I was back in the chalet in bed. As soon as I could, I told my wife everything, and she in turn told me what she knew. The man had been found dead near the lake, and an inquest had been held. A tumour was discovered on his brain, which had ibeen growing there for many months. The pressure so caused had first driven him to kill the young boy, and then it had killed him. During the last hours of his life he was not responsible for his actions. When the Weepers discovered the fate of their child, they left the Chalet at once. I only remained, and with me remained the horror of hear- ing and seeing a young lad bruised, wounded, and killed before my own eyes. BARBARA BROWNE. think being a Perfect must have gone to nwre than Jeannie ' s Head!