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

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They are a bit snobbish and condescending, but they really do make lovely pets. Yes? Perhaps so, but my idea of a dog is one of those bright-eyed, snappy, Boston bulls. They ' re lively, and can be taught tricks. Never could understand why anybody would want one of those beautiful, limp, pepless lap-dogs. But nevertheless, I ' m planning to get one. Gift for my wife. She ' s always wanted one. How much will you charge for it? Twenty-five dollars, and I ' m sure your wife will be delighted with her gift. I hope so, the young man grinned. I guess I may as well take it along now. Do you have a box I can cart him in? Certainly. And may I have your name, please? Brian Norwood. And your address? He gave it, and soon was gone. Miss Porter gazed dreamily out of the window. Mrs. Ruth Norwood bought a Boston bull when she wanted a Pekinese, and Mr. Brian Nor- wood bought a Pekinese when he wanted a Boston bull. Unless I miss my guess those two will be the happiest couple anywhere in this city, regard- less of the hole in their pocketbook, she smiled. Outside, the snow still drifted down and lay in all its shining white- ness on the ground. But the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, as if shining down on an earth which at no time could have been more fair. Peggy Phillips, Low Nine. The Coming of Santa He was so jolly, fat, and gay, His hair was long and very gray. He ' s always adding to the joys, Of all the little girls and boys. The stockings hanging in a row, Filled with goodies top to toe. When finished Santa disappeared , As quickly as he had appeared. The laughter of the girls and boys, Showed they loved their pretty toys. As mother watched, she softly sighed, So glad that they were satisfied. His clothes were of a red so bright, The time went by with lots of fun, With trimmings round the waist, of white. Goodies were there for everyone. His chubby cheek was like a rose, But the day went by all too fast, And from the cold, so was his nose. Because another Christmas had passed. Phyllis Mingham, Low Nine. Come, gather ' round the tree so bright, See all the red and yellow lights. Santa dear, will soon be here, Bringing bags of Christmas cheer. Hear the sleigh bells in the sky, Santa Claus is riding by. Soon he will come dashing through With many lovely things for you. As the children spoke his name, Down the chimney Santa came. He filled their stockings to the brim, While all children stared at him. [19

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THE PERFECT GIFT The snow drifted gently to the ground. Hurrying crowds, in the haste of last-minute Christmas shopping, rushed by in an endless throng. A young woman paused in front of a pet shop, and then, closing her umbrella, walked in. The clerk looked up with a smile and a cheery greeting. The young lady returned the smile. In one swift glance, the clerk saw the slender, pale face, delicate features and lustrous, dark hair of her customer. The neat, becoming, knit suit showed her good taste. And what may I do for you, Miss? asked the clerk, engagingly. I noticed a little Boston bull puppy in the window. Would you mind bringing him out? Certainly not. In a moment the salesgirl returned with a bright- eyed, squirming bull puppy. He ' s a beautiful puppy. Comes from the finest of stock. I ' m sure you ' ll not find a better bargain, the clerk assured her. Indeed? replied her customer, who apparently did not consider the little bull dog a beautiful specimen of puppyhood. The dog licked her hand affectionately. Carelessly the girl caressed him. Suddenly her eyes lighted up with pleasure as she noticed a beautiful, haughty Pekinese, re- posing on a cushion, and looking down at the other dogs with a decided air of condescension. The girl walked over and gently touched his silky hair. For a moment the brown eyes regarded her seriously; then he stretched, stood up, and wagged his tail in a most un-Pekinese-like manner. With a sigh and wistful glance at the beautiful dog she turned back to the counter. How much is he? she asked. The Pekinese? Oh, he ' ll cost you twenty-five dollars. He ' s worth at least fifty, but because he has no pedigree, we ' re offering him at this re- duction. I ' m sure you ' d find him a delightful and lovable companion. No, no. I mean the bull puppy. How much are you asking for him? asked the girl, impatiently. Oh, he ' s the same price, and reasonable at that, I can assure you. Very well, you may wrap him up for me, said the young lady, her eyes on the Pekinese. The clerk tried not to smile. You want a leash? Why, yes, I suppose so. When the young woman had left, the clerk, Miss Porter, shook her head in bewilderment. While her customer had quite obviously longed for the Pekinese, she had bought the bull pup, at which she had barely glanced, while both were the same price. Ah, but then it was probably a gift. Just then she was aroused from her musing, when a tall, good-look- ing young man stamped the snow from his shoes on the mat outside, and walked in. Have you any Pekinese puppies? he asked, pleasantly. Yes. There ' s that one over there, and there are two or three others in the back room. If you wish, I can get them for you. No, never mind now. This little fellow, over here, seems very nice — for a Pekinese. Don ' t you like them? I think they ' re abominable, he admitted, evenly. Miss Porter smiled. [18]

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POEMS BY SARA HELEN LEE Low Nine. Yearning Ah, God of Poetry, if thou wouldst but give One crystal poem to thy striving slave; That, when I died, it might behind me live, To ease the unkind silence of my grave. One thought to whisper to myself in death, One thought that would redeem my empty life, One thought the world might sigh tuith precious breath, When pausing in the midst of strife. Oh, God of Poetry, I do not ask for fame, I beg of you, one brief, but lasting line Which men will couple with my humble name, One thought, which I may call mine — truly mine. Aspiration I want a house — a friendly house, Where I can hide away. A house to stretch its pine-wood arms In welcome, at close of day. I want a house — a tiny house, Under the sky of blue. I tuant a house that ' s cozy and bright, To tell my secrets to. I ' m tired of the house, Ym living in, With its gray, unfriendly stone I ivant a house, that ' s more than a house — I want a house that ' s a home. Moonlight In the hush of hilltops, Green, with budding grass, I have seen the moon rise, Seen the shadows pass. Seen the willow, loxuly, Bow her shapely head Before an unseen presence, A queen, unheralded. Through the bending rushes, Dim, with silver light, In every dreaming valley Spring has passed tonight. [20]