Humberside Collegiate Institute - Hermes Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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THE l'1EVQWlEf 'Here food for you. Storm soon over now. Your pa, he come for sure tonight.' He bundled his scarf around his ears, pulled on his mittens, and adjusted his snowshoes. 'Good-byel' he said. 'You tell mother Chief Bigwin look after little boy.' I managed to stammer 'thank you'. and watched him set out at an easy jog-trot over the snowy drifts. Then, worn out with hunger and excitement and anxiety, I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, someone was bending over me, saying, 'Dear little fellow, welll never leave him alone like this again., But look, where did he get that knapsack ?' I woke with a start to find my mother and father hovering over me. Mother kissed me over and over again, while with tears in his eyes father said they had been afraid they would find me frozen. When I told them about my visitor, they stared at one another. 'Those Indians are uncannyf said my mother, 'they always seem to know when someone is alone. Good Chief Bigwin, I'll never be able to repay him. just think what might have happened to you if he hadn't come'. So that, concluded Mr. Elder with a reminiscent sight, was how an Indian saved my life. I guess hardship was pretty well mixed with romance in Canada fifty years ago, said Mrs. Brown thought- fully. -Ainslie .MacKimz0n, V-A. Fire Glow Firelight flickering on the walls, Mystical wraiths of enchantment, Friendly shadows hovering near, And pussy, a ball of contentment. Curled on the hearth-rug with head drooping low, Bushy tail tickling his little wet nose, Yellow eyes watching the swift-curling fire, That glows like the heart of a deep-blushing rose. Pictures of dreamland in saffron hue, Castles of old where the red fire flashes, Long-steching fields of the poppies of Lethe Where the lamb-ent Hame dies in the ashes. Snow-feathers drifting against the panes, And the weird wind-woman prowling without, But inside the cheerful, crackling blaze, And the wavering shadows Hitting about. -Nan-cy Smith, V -A.

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THE r-igramrgfn 9011 f V , - V Y, -, VVhen I woke in the morning, I couldn't think where I was. The room was icy cold and the fire was out. I struggled into my clothes, for my hands were blue and numb, and tried to fix the fire. As there was still a little spark of life in it, I managed to coax it into fiame, and soon I was feeling more cheerful. I cut myself a generous sandwich of bread and meat, and as there wasn't much to do, I climbed back into bed again with my Robinson Crusoe. I stayed there nearly all day, and dozed off about three o'clock in the after- noon. I woke to find it growing strangely dark outside. The snow was whirling round in giddy fiurries, and there was a weird light in the sky. Though I was only eight years old, I knew the signs of a snowstorm, so I barricaded the door and did what I could to fill the cracks in the walls. By the time I had once more piled fuel on the fire and eaten my last slice of bread and meat, the snow was coming down in great thick fiakes, forming a blanket-like drift, only to be whirled down to the lake in a mad-cap rush. I confess that I was a little 'frightened all by myself with our nearest neigh- bour up at the sawmill five miles away, but I kept saying to myself that mother and father would probably appear around Treasure Island at any moment. As the hours passed, however, and twilight changed to utter darkness, I stopped trying to convince myself that they would come, and after crying a little, I fell into a deep sleep from which I did not awaken until about eight o'clock in the morning. The snow was still coming down, and it was so dark that I could scarce see one hundred yards in front of the house. I did not venture outside, but decided to camp by the stove to keep warm at all costs. When I went to the fuel box I found that I had been more lavish than I realized, for there were left only six sticks. There I was, a merechit of eight years, all alone five miles from anywhere, in the midst of a howling blizzard, with almost all my fuel gone, and nothing to eat. I threw myself down on my cot and proceeded to cry my eyes out. I had not been there long when I heard a violent banging at the door. At first I thought it was only the wind, but when I peeked out the window, I saw the muffled figure of a man. The wild thought came to me that perhaps it was my father, who had returned in some miraculous way, and I hastened to pull aside the chairs and tables with which I had blocked up the door. VVhat was my amazement to find myself face to face with an Indian! I knew there were none living nearer than the big island five miles to the west. where Chief Rigwin had a settlement. I let the stranger in hurriedly, and a blast of snow and a fierce gust of wind came with him. 'You all alone?' he asked, as he drew off his mittens and slung his knapsack over a chair. I told him rather timorously about my mother and father being in Iiaysville. He looked so kindly at me, that I found myself confessing how cold and lonely and hungry I was, too. He listened to my recitation in silence, then went over to a corner of the room and ripped a couple of boards from the floor. VV'ith these and a few papers, he soon built up a roaring blaze, then he went out into the storm and brought wood from God knows where to replenish the fire. When he had warmed himself, he handed me his knapsack, and said,

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1 THE I'IElQlVIQf SIU XNN A Mesyage from Mr. Edmunds Harrow is chiefiy noted for being built on a hill, and for having Byron as a pupil. Humberside, too, is built on a hill, but it is feared that she will be the mother of a great many poets. A hill denotes more or less effort Cgenerally lessj but it is doubly easy to descend when the trials of the day are over. Longfellow took El deathless page Cyou C311 get Whole book- lets of them at Ed. Elliotys for 15 cents Cthey last longer when they are left blanki il and traced with the gold nib of a fountain pen Cthere being no ink, as pro- fessors are so ab- sent-mindedj Th e heights by great men reached and kept, VVere not attained by sudden fiight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. This applies to both institutions. lt could not have referred to Hum- berside's ancient rival Harbord because the latter is on the dead level ln skimming over the works of this same poet. we find what might be frequent references to Humberside. NVhere he describes the personifi- cation of great and sustained effort in A Village Blacksmith he may have been thinking of one of her hard working teachers. He says, His hair is crisp, and black, and long. ' In that day, historians tell V us, the instructors at Harrow, who had crisp hair, always wore it short, so that is ruled out absolutely. Not contented with this, he took a penful of green ink and wrote This poem starts in Quebec Avenue and the level of upper Ullxcelsiorf' the middle of works up to Clendennan by the end of the second stanza, and th c 11 asccnds the creaking stairs, verse by verse, at some risk, and finally finishes up in the Art room with a flourish. Cli- matic conditions indi- c ate Humberside tpossibly the Parlia- ment Huildings at Ottawaj. It is said that the waters of the foun- tain of knowledge taste sweeter at Humberside than anywhere else. That may be, but I know they do not taste that way over on High Park Avenue. And now I find the messenger of the Greek gods, breathless an! panting, at my elbows, asking for my message to my young friends, the boys and girls at Humberside, just like an impertinent young printer's devil asking for copy. scribbled anyhow, and on almost anything. Here it is, boys and girls, in tele- graphic form: Keep right on climbing.