Peterborough Collegiate and Vocational School - Echoes Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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THE' EQHQES twisted, turned and in a sequence of writhing agony vanished into the leaden sky. In a moment a puff of wind from above changed its direction. The smoke low- ered in a black pall, hiding its source. It darkly scowled and clutched with phantom fingers-when-with miraculous rapidity the vision vanished. Now, for a moment, it climbed straight upward, and one's mind wandered to incense smoke ascending to a pagan god, the throb of drums and the sweet sickening odour of incense and the foul stench of perspiring bodies. As we watched over the invalid's shoulder, the smoke flattened out. It billowed and rolled, tossed in a hazy spray, while wisps clung tenaciously to life and would not vanish, but floated and tossed once more. A ship could easily have been swamped between those wallowing waves, and no doubt one did, in the fantastic illusion pro- duced before the glistening eyes of the pale-faced boy. Day after day that smoke rolls on, painting an ever changing succession of romantic pictures in the mind of the watcher. What tales of heroic adventure, deeds of daring and pathetic tragedy pass before his eyes each day and fade into the devouring sky! ' It was only an ugly smokestack to the passer-by. but to that boy it was the joy in life- .lrflzur Stinson, 5A. Uieverie Reflectng once in sylvan shade That, encirled by a rippling brook. Held hidden in its secret glade The rural gods the world forsook- I dreamed I heard a dryad call Summoning her sisters to woodland hall. In the shadowy distance, arms entwined, Dianas, Pleiades danced around: And following them, her mantle lined YVith moonlight showers, on shoulder bound Her quiver. can1e+the pure and untouched Artemis Pursuing the hunt in silent bliss. The haunting strains from the pipes of Pan Now floated clown from bending hill, And drew forth all the woodland clan And Naiads from their mossy rill. All nature danced around me then: Oh, would that it might dance again! But that has passedg I woke once more To find my dream-land fancies fled. Old Triton's horn from distant shore No longer winds. He-all a1'e dead. Earth's earlier gods are false, it seems,' But let us recall them in cur dreams. Jean Lochhead Howson, Va.

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THE ECHQE5 I would stop the team to sit down on the plough or other implement to eat, Dot and Molly would look around at me and whinny. then try to turn about in their harness to get their noses closer to the apples. You should have seen the dejected look on their faces. if this brought no response. But if I had more apples I would feed them out of my hand and they would grin from ear to ear : for if there is only one thing horses like. it is apples. Ill summer our stock had to come to the barn for water and we pumped it by hand. If the trough were dry. we had only to look for Dot to find it out. If she found herself thirsty and no water in the trough she would station herself at the fence to watch for one of us. If we put in an appearance she would ncigb, then run to the trough and back again. When I responded she was not forgetful to thank me, even before the water began to pour. Dot was thc more intelligent of the team and also the better natured. Un- fortunately however. like some good-natured humans. she was rather lazy and had a. streak of mischief in her. These two latter qualities she exhibited in turn one winter morning when I was returning from our local village four miles away. I was driving Dot in the cutter and as the road was slightly drifted. we did not proceed very quickly. The wind was in thc north-east and quite cold. Dot was showing no desire to trol. even when I urged her. and being cold I decided to walk behind. All went well until the time for my hourly sneeze. Its arrival startled Dot and finding herself free she was unable to resist the temptation to run. lNIy cries of Whoaf' were unavailing. Dot went home without me. She upset the cutter at the front gate, getting rid of robes and cushions. then jogged right on to the stable door. I met ber coming back to look for me about a half mile from home and she seemed to be Nhetted up as much from hcr exertions as I was from running with a long overcoat on. Ivhen I go home my horses are more joy to me than any other animal and I like to make them Glad to see mc. 1371 - 7 a 1 Pczttcrsorz., Form YB. ..li+,1l. Smoke SHIALL. pale-faced boy sat in a wheel-chair beside a window. His delicate fine face rested in the cup of his hand. He looked happy and contented. His mouth curved in a pleasant line. and his eyes held a wistful. fanciful expression hard to define, yet showing that he was watching something and yet not watching it. His mind was off, rambling in an imaginative world of its own. Vthat. then, was he watching? IYhat thing of beauty. what object of interest could enrapture the little patient? Outside was a bleak prospect. The dirty yard. the broken pickets in the fence. these could hold no interest. A bare gnarled row of trees along the lane looked drcar and melancholy even in the late afternoon sun- light. No living creature could be seen. not even a scrawny alley cat. The skyline was filled with the hulking outlines in various perspectives of dull rectangular factories. A tall black smokcstack pointed an accusing finger at the sky and belched sooty invectives against all nature. And yet there was something entrancing about that smokestack. On the moment one glanced at it, it changed its aspect. Soft billowy clouds floated forth and the rosy sun cast flickering shadows in changing aspect over the rising smoke. They -94-

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THE it ECHQES Tube Trim Know ye not of the grey rock's hollow Where the tokens of kinship lie? Curling leaf of the rooted tree, Scent of winds and their memory And tl1e down of a nesting bird. Kin are they by the bonds of beauty, With the dust of the high-hung stars, Theirs are the laws of the ancient moon, Dusk and dark and the golden noon, And the fairy springs of youth. Know ye not of the nights of music IVhen the kin of earth are met?- Through lonely mist and the low-voiced rain The old kings call their own again To the rock of Eternity. Gladys H. Watson, IVB. TAlexan6er the Great NE day after school. I remembered with apprehension, that my presence was requested in the Physics lab, for reasons which any of the Physics class could have explained So I hurried up, Cat least I think I hurriedj It was there that I first met Alexander, As my eye lit upon him, he lifted his head and looked enquiringly. IYe were still surveying one another with interest when the teacher entered. After the not-so-pleasant preliminaries had been dismissed, the afore-mentioned gentleman tnot Alexanderj turned to me and said, Do you like hini?' HI should say I do. and I think it's mutual said I, looking at Alexander lhrough the glass of the Aquarium. IVould you like to have him? - I Certainly shouldf' I replied, delighted with the generous offer. And so. Alexander. who. hy-the-way, is a very small, but never- iheless important-looking turtle. was deposited in a cold cream jar Cwhich he liked very mucht and was carried home. As I walked I began thinking of names for him. I thought like Christopher Robin:- Perhaps I shall call him terrible Jim. Because I ani rather fond of himf, Turning other suggestions over in my mind I thought of Rupert, because it sounds important. and of Neptune because it sounds aquatic, but none of these quite suited me. Fortunately I did my Ancient History that night and on opening my book I saw 'KAleXander the Greati' in large letters. The very name ! thought I, and Alexander he has been ever since, f Alec when he's goody. -gg-