Kentucky Home School for Girls - Pandaisia Yearbook (Louisville, KY)

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Bon HE hot, blue flames flickered among the red ashes, and slithered in and out of the hollow logs and around the dried branches. The cold air touched the flames and turned them from blue to yellow talons that leaped into the air like fingers grasping at the cold. The live sparks, with a resounding crackle would shoot out like the spray from a foun- tain and scatter upward to the sky, some died as soon as they met the freezing air, others went further up before they faded out, and several flew so high they seemed to join T8 the bright stars in the heavens. The only difference was that the permanent stars were a cold white while the sparks looked like gold nuggets on a black velvet background. Whiffs of smoke puffed out into the air and rose to the sky like gray snow clouds. The snow glistened in the light from the fire and formed a sparkling coverlet for the slop- ing landscape which stretched out cold and white under the brilliant light of the full moon that ruled over the whole scene like a majestic king. Janet Gore, 7,2 A Secret Visit I HE shutters were open and the windows were thrown wide as the primroses had timidly popped their heads in the room along with the sun shine. The bright morning air and its clean smells came in and filled the room with an atmosphere typical of a spring morning. The eggs were ready on the table, and the toast was crisp and soaked in butter beside the steaming black coffee. It was a wonderful April day, and the breakfast table looked trim and neat beside the open window. A few of the roses had been plucked and were floating in a glass bowl in the center of the table set for two. . . The clock on the mantle was merrily ticking away and when the hands slowly crept up on seven, it sent forth a dimmed chime that barely reached the four corners of the morn- ing room. A few muffled sounds were heard overhead and a faint voice called someone. Several seconds later the door opposite us opened and my fellow robin and I flew from the window sill into the morning sky. Ray H ikes, 542 I Saw I saw the wind that blew the birds Across the wintry sky, It whistled through the mighty trees, As wild it blew on high. I saw the rain so cold and wet, Dreary as could beg It made the day so sad without And did the same to me. I saw the sun caress the grassg I heard it hush the airg It spread the purple world with gold, To banish every care. foyce Garibaldi, 91,2 Twenty-one

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Whoppers P ON the side of a mountain, is il lodge. It is only made of rustic logs, but it serves its purpose very satis- factorily. Every Saturday morning, bright and early, you can see cars driving up the steep, winding road which leads to the lodge. Not very far from it, is a stream which is very good for fishing. This lodge was used by the fishermen as a clubhouse, and during the day, the mem- bers would fish and bring what they had caught to the lodge and have it for supper, what was left they would take home. In the evening after a hard day playing, all the men would sit around the fireplace in the lodge and tell stories of one kind or another. One night one of them was telling of a fish l1e had caught while deep-sea fishing in the Pacific the summer before. Now, as he was telling of the proportions 'of the fish, one of the men happened to glance on the wall of the well-furnished clubhouse and his eyes were glazed with horror! What was it he saw? He didnit utter a sound, but arose from his chair and quietly walked over to the wall at which he had been look- ing, reached up and took a painting down and tiptoed outside. One of the other men who was watching this strange ceremony, quietly asked the man next to him what was going on. HDon7t you know who that painting was of ?,' HWhy, no, who?7' 'aWhy, that was a picture of George Wash- ingtonf, A Dorothy Von Allrnen, '42 Impressions in a Dark Room What Develops Here? A black camera, A camera day, lA small green roll. The dusky basement, A dripping sink, Twisting, squinting, sprawling, snapping, Mixing, shaking, stirring, smelling, A big brown bottle. A round black box, Complete darkness, Trembling, swearing, developing, hoping, The startling light. A purring cat, The leaky pipe, Vffashinff swashinfr s uttering, fixing, DV D7 D D A dripping negative. Oh, Rats! There's nothing on it! Twenty Peggy Shelley, '42

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Do IY-ou Believe in Santa Claus? IS hands were clasped in front of him, his pug nose was pressed against the window pane, and his little mouth drooped with a sad, pitiful expression. A blase society matron, openly annoyed by the shoving, bumping Christmas shoppers, paused to look at the display. She shuddered with distaste at the grimy, slovenly little urchin. The boy edged nearer and asked eagerly, Do you believe in Santa Claus? The woman turned, hesitated, then sud- denly patted the boyis thin shoulder, 'gOf course, I do. Sometime later a joyous little boy ap- peared, almost hidden by his heap of bundles, and ran happily down the street. The woman hurried away and was lost in the surging crowd, but the sweet smile and the far-away expression portrayed happiness, not boredom. Peggy Shelley, '42 Darkness NE of the queerest things in the world is Darkness. It comes and goes at reg- ular intervals, but sometimes it is light- ened by the moon and stars. Darkness brings peace from the day's worry and toil. Rest, quiet, and contentment accompany it as it makes its rounds about the earth. I would love to go with Darkness on just one of her journeys around the universe. China, Japan, Switzerland, France, Alaska, Africa and the United States, all meet her and greet her in different ways. Some wel- come her because of the protection she brings to them from enemies, while others actually dread her arrival, she holds her sway over some countries for at least six months. Darkness closes the day as a perfect, peace- ful ending to all the light and sunshine of the hours before. She lets the soul and heart unburden themselves in sleep during her presence here. A lonely feeling may steal through your heart at the thought of Dark- ness, but it welcomes it for the rest and con- solement it needs is found in Darkness. Where does she come from and where does she go? Will anyone ever know? Ethel Price, '42 On Writing ci Theme You say it isn't hard to do- Well for you that may be true, But for me-I must explain Itls quite a different thing again. A title first, what shall it be? The sturdy clock frowns down at me, As if to say, '4Don,t be so slow, At this rate you will never know. The end at last, and with great care - I sign my name-and the class right there. I'm glad you find themes easy to write, As for me-Ild rather sleep at night. Twenty-two Carolyn H art, 7.42