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

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front of him. He was trapped, but he didn't care. The boy knelt down and put his hand out. It touched the fawn's nose and he drew back. The boy whispered, I'll name you Flash. As if in answer the fawn stepped forward and his nose touched the boy's cheek. The boy's arms were around his little friend and Flash leaned comfortably against the boy's side. The two were friends and happiness filled them both. A week later the two wandered through the woods together. Flash kept tugging at the boy's pants to go one direction, and finally he followed. He heard a roar in the distance and they started to run. It was the ravine. Flash led him to the pool. The boy smiled with pleasure because he knew Flash trusted him. The animals went unafraid about their busi- ness. They accepted him as one of them because he loved them, and he whispered, I'll never tell. Cynthia Adams Form II EXPERIMENT I pulled the heavy door open, and as it shut again with a groan of protest, I stepped inside the gloomy building. I was now standing in a hallway, dimly lit by a solitary street- light outside. As I glanced around, the atmosphere of the old building took hold of me and inflamed my imagination. This was a house of doom and phantoms, and the darkness hid the strange, terrifying things. I was so frightened now that even the table near the door turned into a menacing figure which seemed to move towards me. Don't be a sissy, I told myself sternly, but the gloom and darkness couldn't be pushed away. I advanced cautiously, feeling my way along the wall, when suddenly my head began to swim. I could smell something strange, exotic, filling the room, and overcoming me. Where did it come from? I turned to the right and saw now for the first time a glimmer of light showing under a door. Something compelled me to tiptoe over to it and push the door open. The room inside was pitchblack, except for a single light bulb. Over in one corner something bright and red was bubbling and sending out the queer odor. Over this stood a dark figure, mysterious and intriguing. I stood there completely fascinated and unable to move as the figure took up a flask of colorless liquid and mixed it with the first. The mixture now foamed and hissed and turned to a violent purple color. Immediately the dark figure threw in two black stones and whispered something mysterious over the solu- tion. A column of writhing green gas twisted and turned as it rose in the air, another column of crimson crept from the flask and twisted around the first. Now the solution changed from purple to a vivid yellow, and bubbled furiously. The dark figure lifted the flask, shaking it. There was a blinding explosion. Eureka, I could hear as the smoke cleared. I tiptoed quietly out again. My, I thought, Mr, Russ is certainly working late tonight. Lise Ore Form V rixty-two

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THE LITTLE FAWN The little fawn lay down in the hollow and watched his mother bend her head to drink from a clear mountain pool. The moon came out from under a cloud and lighted the scene. A little way above the pool water cascaded through the ravine, turning a foamy, frothy white as it plunged down from the rocks above. There was a little basin a short way from there, where the current wasn't so strong. It was there that all the animals of the forest came to drink and rest. It mattered not that some were enemies, for here no animal hurt another. This unchallenged law had been passed down from one generation to the next. This place was the home of all the woodland creatures, and no man had ever seen it. The fawn lay down quietly and slept a happy, dreamless sleep. The next morning he woke at dawn and rose to greet the great red ball rising from the east. The mist curled slowly upward, and the light shown on his young face. joy Hlled him, and he kicked up his dainty feet and ran through the forest, the doe following. After a while hunger stopped them, and they ate and rested. Soon they would be at the meadow where he would play with the other fawns. There were two playing when he joined them. They chased each other around till they were tired and then waded in the brook running through the meadow. At noon the does took the young ones and left. Before they had gone far, a shot sounded. Terrifxed, the young fawn ran as fast as he could. He turned to look at his mother, but she wasn't there. What was the matter? Where was she? She had never left him before. Confusion filled him. Slowly he turned and walked back to where he had last seen her. There lay his mother. She was bleeding. He ran to her and licked her face. Still she didn't move. The fawn turned away, helpless and bewildered. As he turned, he saw a human being. He ran, terrified, from the place. That night he lay down, hungry, afraid, and tired, at the base of a sheltering pine. He lay awake half of the night, until at last the wind in the pine's branches lulled him to sleep. The next morning he woke, hungrier and more afraid than before. He wandered toward the ravine and pool. He passed under a pine, the home of a friendly gray squirrel who asked him what the trouble was, but the fawn gave no answer. He waded far into the pool, drinking as he went. By mid-morning he knew where he was going. He must go back to where he had last seen his mother. He walked slowly toward the spot, but his mother wasn't there. He went on to the meadow but found no comfort there. He turned to leave but a boy stood in .tixty-one

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THE GARDEN PARTY Clyde stood near a clump of azalea bushes, sipping his cup of tea, and looking ex- tremely bored. Garden parties were to him merely a waste of time and tea bags. A pity something couldn't be done to pep them up a little. Glancing up, he saw his hostess, Lady Lesley-Hopperly, approaching him. Looking around quickly for some escape, but finding none, Clyde braced himself for the oncoming attack. What a love-ly day for a garden party! Don't you think so? Clyde winced inwardly but replied with composure, I make it a rule never to think in humid weather. It's hard enough to keep cool without wasting precious time and effort worrying about the longitude, latitude, and temperature. Lady Lesley-Hopperly muttered something about having to speak to her niece, and ambled, as quickly as was gracefully possible, in the opposite direction. But Clyde hardly noticed her sudden departure. His attention had become centered upon a huge, furry mongrel which was lumbering solemnly up the path in a manner amazingly like that in which Lady Lesley-Hopperly had recently approached. The breed of the creature was obviously predominately St. Bernard, and his mop of thick, brownish- white fur gave him a decidedly wild and carefree appearance. When he walked, his fuzzy tail swung back and forth methodically until it closely resembled the pendulum on a grandfather's clock. As Clyde watched this great hulk of dog, an idea gradually began to form in his mind. He calculated that at its present rate of speed, the creature would take about ten minutes to reach the other end of the immense lawn. That would only leave him eight minutes! Clyde strode swiftly through the neatly hedge-lined walks until he arrived at a place where a group of admiring guests were gathered around Sir Hubert Galstry, a short, plump man, who, having spent much of his life hunting in Africa, was renowned for his wide knowledge of African wild-life. He sidled up to the African hunter and as soon as there was a pause in the conversation said, Sir Hubert, have you heard about that animal they've just discovered in Africa? It resembles a St. Bernard-the Fuzzy-tailed Gitua, I believe they call it. Sir Hubert seemed surprised but interested. You don't say! No, I hadn't heard. Do they have one in captivity? Yes, right here in London-not so very far from here, for that matter, at the city zoo. It's escaped once or twice, you know. They're harmless looking, but if a man goes within three feet of one, it's too bad for him! You mean they're man-eaters? queried one of the ladies in a hushed voice. Bones and all, replied Clyde with a knowing shake of the head. They make a strange noise just before they pounce for the kill-rather like the barking of a dog. rixty-three