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

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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

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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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CRABS My, how dull a crab's life must be, especially in the winter time when there isn't even anybody to pinch. In the summer time if he is a big crab, all he can do is go around and frighten ladiesg and if he is a small crab, all he can do is go around-that is, until he gets picked up by some nature for mealh lover and is put in with a lot of bigger crabs where he gets very much bruised. After some time he is dumped, with all the other crabs, into a kettle of boiling water and becomes somebody's meal. For a growing crab life must be extremely tiresome, there being nothing to do but play hide-and-seek with the fishes and pinch sand worms. CWhether these worms bite back and whether their bite is poisonous still remains a mystery to us.b A crab's diet must become terribly monotonous-sea-weed sandwiches and water, with the occasional rare treat of discarded fish bait and water snakes. Goodness, how boring a crab's life must be- Living all day on the Hoot of the sea, Living all day in salt water, not fizz. Oh, how boring a crab's life sure is. Nothing to do but to sit and to dream, Nothing to write-no, not even a theme! Not a use do they have for saws or for axesg Not a day do they worry about income taxes! Such is a crab's life, and you must agree How awfully boring a life it must be. Freeman Sleeper Form III THE STORY OF AN ANT This is the story of Caesar, an ant, as told by Caesar himself. My full name is Caesar Antipode. I am three months old and am a native son of New Haven. My father was born in the White House in Washington and came to New Haven in a loaf of bread. My life is a very miserable one, especially with the new age of science. All you humans are doing is inventing new poisonous liquids and powders and then improving upon them with your D.D.T. When I escape your poisons, someone is trying to step on me or someone is pouring hot water down my back. I can't see what I do to you humans except once in a while to take a little food from your pantry or crawl down your back. But even if I do take some food, I still leave plenty for you. Also please tell me what pleasure you get out of knocking down my house. I spend days carrying rocks to build up an entrance, and then you knock it down. That's why my life is so miserable. If I act a little harsh sometimes, I'm just paying you back for what you do to me. . Dick Narhman Form IV Forty-nine