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

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Evening by GOLDIE TULLY, Ii B COM. The red-gold sun Was sinking in the west, And the long drawn shadows, etched upon the snow, Slowly faded and gave place to limpid dusk, For the world of light is always loth to go. Softly and quietly, the waves of sooty black Roll o'er the earth till all is densely spun, And objects loom against the sky with edges dim- med, Then melt into the purple clouds as one. Storm at Guide Comp by MOIRA WHALON, IIB COM. The weather was very favourable at camp-ex- cept for one day. The blue tranquil water was churned to a black raging fury, and white caps, resembling huge dogs of whipped cream, tossed and battled with their powerful masters, the Waves. The old wooden wharf, rotted with age, creaked and groaned as the swell of the surf rushed over it. The pines, usually tall and stately, bent and waved their branches as the wind whistled through them. Our Union jack was a whirling mass of red, white and blue, as the ropes that held it twisted and turned-but trusty guide knots held. The little weather man, on an adjoining cottage whirled his arms round frantically, till finally, with a resigned air, he toppled to the ground. Two boats moored near-by, pulled and tugged at the rope that held them, and with loud splashes contributed still more to the noise about them. The entire scene was one of hustle and bustle as the mighty wind gave vent to his angered feelings. Towards nightfall, however, he repented, and the mighty roar died to a gentle moan, among whispering pines, as the moon looked down upon a scene of quiet restfulness. Hypothesis by HUGH KENNER, IIC AC. When the winter iirelight fiickers, to and fro upon the Wall Demons of the purple hazes dart about the duskv hall, ' Wild and dreadful, harsh and formless, ever shrink- ing from the light, Ever lurking in the darkness, fragments of the shadowy night, Ever dancing, slow advancing as the flickering fire dies, Ever staxting, backward darting as the fresh-fed sparkles rise. Skipping gaily through the fireplace, soft and gentle, clear and bright, Flash the merry-hearted flame-tongues, sources of primeval light, Dancing blithely o'er the hearthstone, playing briskly up the flue, Ever-changing, ever-constant, ever old and ever new, Ever shrinking and decoying all the darksome forms without, Ever flashing upward, putting these wild enemies to rout. Through the night the siege continues till the shadows flit away, 1 Restless fading and departing at the dawning of the day. Light and darkness, sun and shadow, world and water, good and ill, So the earth-bound atoms struggle, never ceasing, '1 never stil . S0 the windy, wat'ry forces wear the boulders into sand, So the mighty ocean thunders, ever wearing on the land, So the dawning thwarts the darkness and the dark- ness ends the day, So old Chaos and new Order War for Universal sway, Each impassioned force of Nature with its opposite must strive, All the Universe is conflict and the fittest shall survive. Autumn Leaves by ALAN BROWN, IV A Soft songs to sing, and loves in Spring Are happy things that linger, haunting, But loves in fall leave none at all Of bittersweet, or echoed call Of former lovers' distant taunting. The bare tree grieves not o'er lost leaves, But starkly stands content-with reason: With melting snows her beauty grows, Where old leaves lie she cares nor knows, But spreads a new array next season! Oh, autumn loves are easy loves- They come with joy, and go as brightly, For loves in fall are slim and tall, With feet to follow any call As soft as autumn leaves, and lightly! Page Twenty-one

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lnrzpru gravibuf plnnmque zt magna profzifir. Purpurzzu, lair qui rplrnrizat, unur el aller- .-ldrililrlr pannnf, H Often to weighty enterprises. and-such zislprofess great objects. one or two purple patches :ire served on to make a fine display in the distance. HORACL Dr Art: Poctica. i MQCG regor Q His Master was a Woman-Hater by MARION BROWN, VA MacGregor, although born far from the land o' the heather, was as Scotch as his name. He had beet- ling, bristling eye-brows and a long sober face as black as the sins of his irresponsible puppy-hood. His black feather-duster tail waved with something of the gallant grace of a kilt. MacGregor had lived his life-two whole years-in a New York pent- house with the Master. The Master was a hand- some young man with more money than he needed, who had been trying for two years to write the Great American Novel. He was also a woman-hater, chiefly because he thought it sounded old and ex- perienced and suited his ambition. The G. A. N. was not progressing very well, the Master decided that a sojourn in the Maine woods, away from the noise and distractions of New York, would aid in its progress and benefit himself and MacGregor. He loaded himself with supplies and made his way to the cottage set back amid the trees. MacGregor remained behind to investigate the delightful sounds and smells of his new home. About half an hour later, as the Master was pre- paring a meal, he heard a perfect frenzy of excited barks coming from somewhere back of the cottage. He grinned to himself. , Treed his first squirrel, I guess he chuckled. But presently the noise drew nearer and MacGregor hurled himself on the screen-door, barking wildly at the Master to come and see! Ah! Go tell the Marines, said the Master, and began to open a can of beans. But MacGregor con- tinued to awaken indignant echoes in a perfect ecstasy of canine excitement. The Master rushed outside, deter- Accordingly, he packed a portable 'W su N ' mined to chastise the disturber of type-igriter gud ta large supply of I it it she wilgernessdbut tthe dcogfeludid canne goo s- or even an em- ' ' im an trotte , jus ou o reac , bryo novelist must eat - and 3 ' ' i along a very narrow, rocky path, motored to the family cottage in JM Q L still barking at the top of his not Maine. 1, ,fm-w H -- l inconsiderable voice. The Master MacGregor found the Maine 'I . ' followed, and finally caught up woods astoundingly delightful. H K3-1 5 ' 1, l with himfor thesimplereasonthat He sat beside the Master, his long A ' 5 if A -5-5 MacGregor had stopped, and was nose thrust out of the window Mx ibg ns'-.Q-31 sitting, with the air of one who and snuffed every breeze for new, M ' ' has done all he can, beside some- deliciously tantalizing smells. ' All .MES thing on the ground. Presently they arrived at the lake. MacGregor stood stock-still and stared. It wasn't-it couldn't be water! There wasn't that mchu water in the world! But it was water, he discovered, when he thrust his nose into it. The thing must be a huge bath-tub. How awful! With extreme reluctance he obeyed the Master's command to seat himself in the front of the canoe. He felt his reluctance justified when, as they neared an island in the middle of the bath-tub, a light breeze sprang up from nowhere and rufiied the lake into a thousand glittering wavelets which, to Mac- Gregor's alarmed mind, seemed determined to drown himself and the Master. They reached the island without mishap, however, and MacGregor bounded ashore with a relieved Hip of his tail. The Master, however, gave a grunt of mingled surprise and annoyance for, drawn up on the sandy beach of his own private island, was a bright red canoe. 'lMust be in the woods somewhere, he muttered to himself, I'll Warn 'em off when they come back. Page Twenty Wl1-what lzappevzedf' she asked in a dazed voice. It was the something that caught-and held-the Master's eye. A girl-an extremely pretty girl-lay sprawled unconscious on the path, with a nasty-looking gash on her forehead. A protruding tree-root and stone in the path mutely accounted for her condition. She had tripped on the root and struck her head on the stone. Annoyed at the intrusion on his privacy, strugg- ling somewhat half-heartedly against a desire to handle the girl's red-gold locks, the Master bent over the unconscious girl. As he did so, her eyes fluttered open and the shock almost unnerved him. Never before had he looked into eyes of such deep, dazzling, devastating blue. He had to remind him- self, rather forcefully, that he was a Woman-hater, self-dedicated to the cause of American literature, before he felt able to slip an arm under the slight shoulders and raise the red head to his knee. The girl stared at hirn in a puzzled manner. CCOntinued on Page 811

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One Night by BETTY HUGHES, lll C AC. The soft dark shades of night were fast falling, and here and there, on the black velvetness of the skv, tiny diamonds began to glimmer. The moon came out from behind a cloud, and shone brilliantly on the newly fallen snow. A gentle wind sighed eerily through the apparently lifeless trees, as if it mourned for the lost beauty of the earth. Down in the valley, in the little village, the houses nestled together cozily trying to keep one another warm. Bright patches of light fell on the snow from the unshaded windows of cheerily lit rooms. Inside the little cottages all were not wealthy, but so very happy in their poverty. High on a hill, at the far end of the village, stood a lone, gaunt house. It was a house which seemed to be pleading to be loved. It wanted young laugh- ter to ring through its echoing rooms, it wanted to be loved and to love in return. Long ago it had had such blessings but now for many years it had sheltered only a frail old crippled lady and two ser- vants. Since that day, Oh! so long ago, no laughter or words of love had sounded through its heeding walls. That night that frail old lady sat in a deep arm chair in front of a huge open flre place. The years had not left their mark on her beauty. Still her abundant silver hair, which was done in shining plaits around her head, told of the golden glory it had been formerly. Her skin was still soft and X ,..- 1 fs.- ?f1 High nn a hill, al llze-far end of the village, stood u lone, gazmt house. Il seemed Io be pleading In be loved. Page Twenty-Iwo delicate and on her cheeks was a faint pink tinge, as if ever-blooming roses grew there. But it was her eyes, her ever-alert, yet listless eyes, which drew one's attention. The deep blue of those eyes reflected her whole life, like a deep blue pool in the midst of a forest reflecting the surrounding beauty. In those eyes one read of love and hate, laughter and tears, joy and sorrow! As she sat there reading pictures in the fire, old memories flooded back upon her unwilling brain. If only she could forget! This must be her punish- ment for all the happiness she had ever known. All this aching loneliness from which she had so often prayed that death would release her. Now again these floods of memories came back on the tide of time. She saw herself as in a dream, young, lovely and happy on the day before her wedding, galloping madly over the meadows with Michael, faithful, beloved Michael at her side. She saw him again, in a moment of delicious pain, with the wind rullling through his golden hair, which he combed so savage- ly to keep down the persistent curls. She saw again that fateful fence at which her horse had shied and felt again that terrible piercing pain she had felt when she had fallen to the earth with a dull thud. She again lived through the endless months of agony when strange whispers had floated to her half- hearing ears. The whisper that Michael did not want to mariy an incurable cripple. Then she knew the truth. The horrible bitter, blinding, truth that she would never walk again and that Michael had left her to face the life of an invalid alone. Again she lived through the lonely unloved years, when her only friends had been books and memories. Slowly her head had drooped lower and lower. Then suddenly with a start it was held erect again. What was that noise? Surely no one was in the room with her and yet it had sounded like a soft step. She turned her head slowly and there in the full path of the moon's light stood- Michael! she uttered hoarsely. Margaret!,' he murmured brokenly and in a bound was on his knees before her with his head in her lap. 'tCan you ever forgive me? he whispered. All those empty years I have compelled you to live through, because I was a coward, because I hadn't the heart to see you suffer! I couldn't stand it any longer, Margaret, and so I came to beg you to for- give me. I'm not too late now. My two legs can be yours and together we can mend each other's broken dreams. VVhen the servant came in to put Miss Margaret to bed, she found them thus, side by side, and tip- toed softly out, knowing at last that her mistress's dream had come true. The old house creaked with the ever-increasing wind, happy, finally that love had come within its portals.