Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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THE AVALANCHE Far, far do vn in a deep canyon lay a little settlement which contained frorn ten to twelve small houses. It bore no special name and, perhaps, was not known to anybody but its inhabitants and the people of the trading post whence it re- ceived its supplies. The people who inhabited it came mainly for love of adventure and the prospect of finding gold. The day had dawned bright and clear. Each person was going about his own business. Some were drawing water, others chopping wood, while the savory aroma of fr ' ing bacon sifted through the morning air. After breakfast a horse and rider left the village. It was the only one that left during that day. The others seemed to hd.ve work which kept them at home. The day passed on. Toward evening, far up the canyon were heard the hoof beats of the returning horse. At the same time a low rumble was heard. It was a different rumble, one that had never been heard in those parts before. It was so different, indeed, that it brought the whole population of the town to their door- steps in an instant. There they gazed, terror stricken, at the top of the steep moun- tain where a mass of stones and dirt came tumbling nearer and nearer while the horses hoofs beat like the falling of time. Just as the rider rounded the bend which commanded the first view of the village, his horse reared suddenly, he heard a splin- tering crash, and saw a great cloud of dust, then all was over. The avalanche had completely blotted out the village. All was again quiet except for the occasional falling of a few rocks. The rider sighed at his narrow escape, patted his horse s neck, and turned silently back down the path which he probabh would never traverse again. Frank Thompsox, L9. INSPIRATION ' Tnspiration ' is a statue of what might be called a vision in thought. The eyes seem to be gazing towards heaven, thinking of someone in that wonderful place. The statue is a bust with part of a yellow gown shomng. On the head of the statue is a wreath of laurel leaves. Our class had the statue for one week because we learned a patriotic quotation before the other Low Seventh classes. It makes me feel like doing more inspiring work. Alexander Ponedel, L7. DAME RUMOR HAS IT: That Bob Condon do es his Latin every night. That Miss Martin prefers French to Latin. That Miss Peterson dislikes book reports. That Miss Riley ' s history book is frequently to be found in the iost text- book room. That I Ir. Hennessey chews gum on the school grounds. That Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman were never in Europe. That Miss Arendt will return with a title. That Bob Quillinan hates to dance. That Ardath Busby likes them tall and handsome. That Mr. Liotto has refused to smile. That Eleanor Reed never gets more than one plus.

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gather up, for ' tis best that we be on our way. For see, ' tis beginning already to snow! Sure enough, the flaky snow had begun to fall. The caravan moved on. The boy sat in sulky, angry silence. Not a word was spoken. Suddenly, and with a little cry, the prince gathered up his reins, stopping short his horse. Quickly he jumped down. Ah, what is it that the prince is tenderly, though awkwardly, picking up? The squire and soldiers gasped! A tiny baby, oh, so cold! The squire ran over to the prince and began hastily to take off his cloak. Stop! My cloak is warmer than yours. The prince took off the short cloak and wound it lovingly around the baby. Behold! The cloak, once a short jacket, lengthened to the gorgeous cloak it was at first. The prince gasped, and then a light of dawning understanding spread across his face. It is a cloak of unselfishness. Ah, and I am unworthy to wear it. But see, said the squire, you have now earned the right to wear it. When, later, the prince tried the cloak on again it did not shrink but remained the long, gorgeous cloak it was when his uncle first gave it to him. Nadine Rutledge, H9. AN INDIAN AFTERNOON Dr. John D. Mahoney, late of the United States, leaned comfortably in his chair looking out on the dusky road that led to Calcutta from his little cottage on its out- skirts. He had a right to feel comfortable, for the dusky Hindoo mailman had brought a transfer back to the United States. The doctor was a scientist from a Washington museum, experimenting and obtaining specimens of mystic India. Oh, Mary! he exclaimed to his wife, we ' re going back to God ' s country in a week. 0-0-0, Daddy, really? asked his eight-year-old son, Norman, eagerly. Yes, my boy, he replied. Now you run out and play and let your mother and me talk. The doctor walked to his wife, leaning on a cane and limping from a recent wound. John, said Mrs. Mahoney, don ' t you just hate snakes? Why only yester- day a big cobra sprang out from under my feet. Suppose one should bite Normie? She shuddered. Don ' t worry. Norman can obey orders. If I were to call, he would come a-running. Anyway, no snake could get in the house unless the door were open. The next noon in the sweltering Indian sun, a sun so hot that often even the natives suffer from sunstroke, the family sat at dinner. All the windows and the door were open. Across the garden occasionally a little snake would dart, or a bird would flit its way in the cloudless sky. Unnoticed by the group, a huge cobra slid its evil body across the threshold to little Norman. Hiss-s-s! Hiss-s-s! EverA one jumped. Don ' t move, commanded the elder Mahoney with his eye on the reptile. If anyone moves, he strikes. Norman, he said, be ready to jump! Jump! he ordered, and Norman jumped. W hiz-z-z went — No not the snake, but the doctor ' s cane, throwing the snake several feet away. The snake squirmed out of the house, and Norman was safe in the arms of his almost hysterical mother. — Robert Condon, H9.

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THE RAINDROP-FAIRIES Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, Don ' t you hear them now? The little feet of fairies Dancing as the} go? Merry little elfins In their dainty glee. Flying from their gray cloud-homes To every bush and tree. Oh, these little fairies Are pretty as can be, With their silver wands a-fi ashing In gay jamboree. With their white arms full of diamonds, Sparkling gifts for you and me I Waltzing to the dulcet music Of the wrenlets in their spree, See the wee folk drop their jewels! See the dark earth catch them up! Old Mother Earth loves such beauties. And hear the birds, chirrup. Close in the poppy ' s chalice A large gem softly lies. And all the earth, each bird and beast, Gives thanks to the generous skies. The silken house of Arachne Is the palace of a king, And its drab-gowned mistress listens To what the robins sing. — L ' Envoi — So when the gifts are all a-given. When their arms, once full, are bare, Back they haste, with garments shining To their cloud home in the air. And as they are wafted upwards. By a kindly, gentle breeze. And Old Sol is gathering his elves For a frolic on the leas; When bright Iris descends gracef ' ly On her bridge of varied hue, Then the elfins rest at home. Till the earth needs jewels anew. Phyllis Joy Preston, H9.