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

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THE I'Il2I'QIXAEf', Y., wings were of a slatish-blue colour thence his namej. Across the upper wings were striking-looking bands of black. After this first glimpse, I watched for opportunities day by day to become better acquainted with my new friend. His neck was long, his beak very sharp, and his tail rather short. His body was small in comparison with the length of his limbs and neck, so that when he stood on his long, slender legs, he appeared very angular and ill- proportioned. But when he llapped his wings and rose above the tree-tops, the angles disappeared and one saw only his majestic grace. Mr. Heron was plump and sleek. and much heavier than he thought he was, for often when l stole up unawares, I would see him try to balance himself upon a slender twig. Snap it would go, and down he would fall with a splash into the water. lt was very amusing to see his pride take a fall, for he usually looked so wise and dignified. v x. One day, I had an opportunity to see him have his mid-day meal. His choice of dishes would appeal to a French epicure, for his main diet is frogs. Mr. Heron skimmed the shallow water, his eye intent upon its muddy bottom. Suddenly, down went the sharp beak and immediately pulled out a fat, juicy frog, which he greedily devoured with one gulp. l often wondered where Mr. Heron had his home. He usually flew away towards a group of tall elms. One day l turned the field glasses in that direction, and could just discern in a crotch, quite fifty feet from the ground, a pile of twigs. Undoubtedly, this was where he kept his family, for the herons build their nests high up in a tree, shaping rough twigs into a strong platform, with a slight de- pression in it, where the mother bird lays her eggs and cares for her young. Some day next summer, in the early morning. l hope to renew my acquaint- ance with the blue heron and his grown-up family on the River Tay. -Helen Illrlfiizz, IV-.-I. fi ifff 'X xxxk 6 ,B'NN-NSXNXEX XXXX 'J . Q- --- . , i 3- f ' H' - 5 ' . , X D T' 4-se, S22 F k Lrg: . I .L Q, -. T A-.xi I IEQM, If' 4 ' i fi H-.47 5 QT- Q'-' I 4 Q , l I

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C1 Z, ?f N we l'lEV2WlEfi' I 11.ff67,. ,f7 HM li if fx 1 IIA. . J f' I ' - - I X 1 I Qi ffvii if il -- 111 -I ' ' ,if ' ' Y .ffl 11 1+ c 1 J 'Ml X .NN breezes sway their branches' the gay I ' ill--I W 4'Xi lil ' 1- - 1 Q1 C1 ll I i C1 E' :lf.:,1L 5,-:W-If LM ,MX M I, pic xeie. .wee , an ye ow an w ite . ijp.,1 :-Ev,-J, W I lywfx. In water-lilies, whose pads provide- seats . A, if -, 3 fl lil. IQ lx If forthe deep-tonecl orchestra of frogs, 'f ggfl' '11, f y ll A ' the marshy bank ablaze with purple I fi loose-strife, always so prodigal of J , li Q bloom, and the shy cardinal flower fl' l ' QN7 . XX hiding its brilliant blossom in some f.. 'l'. XQX l fl! i- Z , 1, --,- 1 I Q shady nook. 1 -A -. iQ I paddle there softly, so that I may ' - leave the solitude undisturbed and ?q -.I have an opportunity of observing the many birds along the shore. In this if ' ' 'C -L l , way I have made many acquaint- ET W: ggi- ances-many of them distant ones, to 'f' 2-. 1- - 7-15 .-fn' be sure-and I have learned much . - I .11 : I A , about the wild ducks, the bitterns, and Years ago, the Tay was a busy canal, but no longer does it echo to the throb of steamboats or ripple to the swirling suction of tug-drawn barge. Seldom now does the put-put of a launch disturb the stillness. The straight cuts of the canal and the winding curves of the river-bed are fast filling with rushes and wild rice. It is a delightful wilderness for flowers, birds and water fowl, and a paradise for those interested in the study of natural science. Each summer I enjoy its beauty more-the distant skyline of graceful elmsg the weeping willows over- hanging the water and slipping their leaves in its sparkling surface, as light the cranes. Last summer, I added another to my list of friends. As I drifted among the eat-tails, one morn- ing, a large bird raised its head, spread out its wings, and soared slowly but strongly farther down the river. My was that the huge bird first thought was a crane. Later in the morning, however, on river, I saw turning a bend in the him again, and decided he was none other than the rare blue heron. What an aristocratic fellow he was, standing quite two feet high when he stretched his neck. This position, however, was apparently not very comfortable, for he always chose to bask in the sun with his head cuddled close to his body. As he again unfolded his immense wings for flight, I saw that his breast and under

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THE I-lEIQIVlEf fl . V Y Y ,-f gafif . Q The Man W ho Was Afraid It was cold, and wet, and silent. The only sound was the regular splash, splash of the sentryls boots in the thick mud. lt was very dark, the stars were obscured, and on this wet and drizzly night there were few star-shells. Most of all, to the weary, plodding man, it was lonely. He was not used to plodding, this boy-for he was little more than a boy-for hours on end through wet, muddy trenches in heavy, soaked army boots and a heavier, wetter, greatcoat. And he was not used to being afraid. For he was afraid, horribly afraid, of he knew not what. He had admitted it to no one except his closest friend, Martin, but he him- self realized that his nickname of funk-it,' was not devoid of meaning. He dreaded the fact that he might be called out any morning to engage in lighting at close quarters with the hordes of Germans who inhabited those trenches beyond that all-too- narrow strip of No Man's Land, and who were the chief material causes of his perpetual fear. ' His fear had gripped him on that first morning in the trenches, when his company had been unexpectedly called out to support an attacking force: he had seen some of his closest friends bayoneted before his eyes. He had turned and run-only for a few paces, it was true-but he knew that the next time he would not stop at a few pacesg he would ignominiously desert, and be a lasting disgrace to his companions. They would shoot him, in contempt- that would be a line conclusion to the dreams of his heroic deeds which had primarily caused his enlistment. Obsessed by fear, he paraded up and down the trench, thinking only of his own worthlessness, and wishing that some sniper would get him. Yes, that would be best. He was afraid, and afraid of himself for being afraid .... He might be killed any minute .... any second .... Afraid! Splosh, splosh, splosh. Someone coming. Splosh, splosh, splosh. Halt ! His voice was husky. Who goes there P That you, Barclay? It's me- Martin. . A grey shadow emerged from the blackness. Hello, Martin, Cold night. Beastly weather, isn't it? The weather was rarely anything but heastly, but Barclay wanted to talk. He wished that Martin could stay with him. Where to, Martin? No Man's Land. Got to listen. Wish l didn't know German. Rotten weather. He advanced to the para- pet, and prepared to mount it. Out here P asked Barclay in sur- prise. Straight out. Back in-half an hour. So long. He disappeared. . . . . . - . . . . . . Twenty minutes later, Barclay had seen and heard nothing since his triend's disappearance. He examined his watch anxiously every few minutes, afraid, now, not only for himself, but for Martin also. With gruesome thoughts of what might be happening to his comrade at that very moment, he paced hislonely vigil. Splash . . . splash . . . splash . . .