Hamden Hall Country Day School - Perennial Pine Yearbook (New Haven, CT)

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ROBBIE RABBITS EASTER There was an Egg Hunt on Easter Day, And Robbie Rabbit felt very gay, For he hoped he would be the first to see The big prize egg. Where could it be? He hopped along to a hornet's tree, As he thought that there the egg might be. The hornets were angry, and told him so. Never come back, they said. Now go! Away he went with a hippity-hop. But soon he came to a sudden stop, For there was the egg in a little hole- The home of Mrs. Jenifer Mole. The other creatures crowded 'round To see the egg that Robbie found. They lifted him high and danced about. 'Twas a happy Easter without a doubt. Rodameir Duncan Form I THE FLOWERS He was a sweet little old man with kindly eyes and a heart big enough for all. His cheeks were rosy, and his eyes were brimmed with twinkly tears from Fall's jovial little puffs of winds. An unlighted cigar protruded from the corner of his mouth, and in his hands he held a most beautiful treasure of nature-spicy-smelling purple and white chrysanthemums. You could see in a glance that he was an ardent lover of flowers and cherished his chrysanthemums, they being the last flowers of the year. When he entered the bus, everyone stopped talking and looked at the smiling old gentleman. Being an old man, he was offered many a younger person's seat, but he always refused, almost indignantly, implying that he was not yet too old to stand with the others. Although he was standing among all sorts of milling people, he managed to guard his treasure from the elbows of the careless and unconcerned. From my seat I could hear an elderly woman praise his flowers. He also heard and moved towards the speaker. When he reached her, he pulled out a beautiful sprig of his bouquet and gave it to her. He then proceeded to give away his spicy gifts to everyone and anyone who glanced at his quickly dwindling bouquet of chrysanthemums. When his journey was at last near an end, I overheard him remark to a passenger that these were the last of his flowers. In his hands, when he finally stepped off the bus, were left a few neat sprigs. Long after he was gone one could still smell the spicy flowers and the unlighted cigar. He had brought happiness to many riders that morning with his last flowers of the year. Beverly Schumacher Form V Forty-:even

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THE MISNOMER Two nights ago while I was reading a book, the telephone rang. Being quite interested in the story, I continued to read, hoping that someone else would answer it. I guess everyone in the house had the same idea, for it was still ringing and was beginning to acquire that plaintive quality that telephones get when no one answers them. Reluctantly I laid the book aside, got up, strode to the phone, picked up the receiver, and brusquely said, Hello? The deep, male voice at the other end of the wire asked, Is Mr. Roche at home? Abandoning the brusque tone I had hitherto employed, I replied that he was not. Will you please take a message, Mn. Roche? Too embarrassed to explain, I slumped back into the chair near the telephone stand and took the message. While I was doing this, the room seemed to grow red, quite possibly from the red glare which assuredly had flooded my face. Well, thank you, Mn. Roche. Again that odious misnomer! I was too weak to get out of the chair. Oh, why doesn't my voice get deeper? Tom Roche Form IV I WON'T When exams come up, some people get all flustered, I won't. They walk into the testing room with knees as weak as custard, I won't. They review for Weeks and weeks ahead, The day before they stay in bed, I won't. They get so nervous that they just can't talk, I won't. They move dejectedly up the walk, I won't. And then they think it's quite a cinch, They take the test without a Hinch, l won't. They think of it always after that day! I won't. They seem to have thrown all their hope away, I won't. This group seems to make up most of the class, You know the type-they always pass, I won't. Richard Powelson Form VI F 0 nfyrrix

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AN ORIENTAL PHANTOM Ming Tau thought that it was really quite a beautiful evening, in fact one of the most breathlessly lovely he had ever known. Full of expectant dreams, he strolled along the cobble-stone streets, fancying himself as the personification of all that he held in awe: extreme bravery, Confucius-like acceptance of all situations, terrifying or satisfying. Tau's contemplative mood was rudely interrupted soon, however, by a scratching, scraping sound that intruded upon his thoughts. Being too contented with his present mood, and not wishing to have the spell broken, he turned the next corner to rid himself of the annoyance that followed. But the thing turned too, and Tau felt an almost imperceptible tug at his queue. This queue was a great source of pride to Tau, for it was thick and extraordinarily long, reaching nearly to the ground. The little Chinaman's indignation at the unknown object that had pulled it was subdued only by his fear to look around and face this thing that turned when he turned, moved when he moved, and stopped when he stopped. The lovely evening, Tau noticed, had become the forbidding night, and the relentless scraping behind him was magnified by the almost ghostly silence that hung over the alleys. In contrast to the extreme tranquility which had pervaded his spirit only a short time before, Tau now became frantic, a hunted feeling pursuing him along the streets at a stumbling pace. All his ideals of bravery were flung to the winds as the terrified little man fled toward the sanctuary of his cottage, muttering unintelligible incantations and pleas between gasps, but ever on it followed, bumping and scraping, tugging at his queue. At staggered intervals Tau stopped unexpectedly, summoned his fast disappearing courage, and looked back . . . not even a shadow or the faintest sound. He ran, stopped . . . lurched on again, stopped, and so on until he recognized the little hut where he could rid himself of the monster that was intent on trailing and horrifying him. As the little man scrambled up his steps, the thing, nipped the back of his leg, and unable to control himself any longer, an anguished howl of sheer terror escaped him. As he tried in vain to batter down the door with his fists, he found that he was beating his wife, who, astonished and bewildered, dragged her convulsed husband into the hut. Tau was ashamed to tell her of his Hight, for a man should always be thought of as the strong one, abounding in fortitude. If he confessed, the woman would certainly tell the others of his panic, his lack of self-control. There was no reason to reveal the truth now anyway, for the inhuman thing had not followed him into the hut. There was no need for explanation, however, for Ming Tau had an under- standing wife who did not press him, but became all motherly and compassionate, brushing and straightening his coat and removing from the end of that fabulous queue-a tremendous bramble! Natalie Jaffe Form VI F any-ei gbt