Riverbend School for Girls - Vox Fluminis Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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Page Nineteen VOX FLUMINIS .........-...U........-.-........--................................. ................................................-..-....................-..... .... ... ...... . ..... ............. soul. This girl that had released him seemed to take special interest in the young tyke and offered to purchase him. He was not an expensive dog for his breed. Paddie had made a friend and he was bought that day. He did not realize quite just what was happening but he knew that he did like these kind people to pamper him. Trying so hard to please them he would stretch out his soft red tongue and lick their hands. Soon these people went away. leaving a very sorrowful and dejected pup behind them. Poor Paddie was to be sent out to the farm till August. Then he was to be sent to where his newly-found mistress lived. At the end of August a large box arrived at the home of the young girl. It contained a shivering black puppy, very much frightened by the jostling he had received. Was it Paddy? It looked like him, but was it? No! Poor little Paddie had died and in his place came little, shivering Pat, his twin. Attached to his collar was a note: Dear Miss June: Your tiny little friend died just before he was to be sent to you. So in his place we send you wee Pat, a friendly pup, that will try his best to fill Paddy's place. Please take him. I know he will be a good dog. Yours sincerely, QMrs.j Lounton. --June Gerow, l--- Grade VIII. A STREET SCENE I am going to take you down to New York to a street in a slum district. This street is long, narrow, and very dirty. Tenement houses are on all sides, with the occasional Italian grocery store between, and very often a saloon underneath wretched houses. In one part of the street we see some small girls, in short, tattered dresses, playing marbles. A fight among some sixteen year old boys is at its very height as we pass down the street. An Italian organ-grinder with his monkey is wailing out many discordant strains of The Peanut Vender, and we give him a quarter and pass on. On the steps of one tenement house sits a girl of perhaps fifteen, holding two sticky, dirty children on her lap. She is talking with a very old lady, sitting on a chair on the upper porch which is strewn with the day's washing. Ne-xt we pass a saloon which is crowded with drunkards. ' The whole atmosphere of the street is filthy, children with melting candy sliding down the upper banisters, garbage strewn hither and thither, ghastly odors from one-room homes, and tobacco smelling everywhere. Yet on this hot day, everybody seems happy, minding their own business. making the best of nothing. How glad we are when we leave this street and breathe pure air again! -Shirley Johnston, Grade VIII.

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VOX F L U MI N I S Page Eighteen ........ .... . ..... .-.....-.-.-....................-..... ..... .-... .-...-..-.-......--..--..-... ........................-.......-........un i....................................................... --.. ....- .-..........-...-.......-.... ...........................-..-..-...-....... Then grasping a bottle in his hand, Behind the barrel took his stand, And with the bottle poised in air He brought it down on poor Sloth's hair. 'Tec Sloth, he crumpled to the floor, His senses left, he knew no- more, And Cohen grabbed him by the feet And tied them, and his hands complete. And when the boat put into shore, Mose took him to the court-room door, And placing him upon a seat, Addressed the judge in accents sweet. I've brought to you this wayward cop, . I found trespassing on my yacht. I hope that you will lock him in, Ten days in jail will not harm him. The judge he grinned from ear to ear, Pal Cohen, have you any beer? That cop was discharged long ago- He was far too honest for us you know. And so a party they all then had, And poor old Sloth, he sure was mad! For looking out between the bars, Had nought to do but count the stars. Moral: Don't be a policeman in the U.S.A. fOne who knowsj i.e., -Susan Thomas, Grade X. ' ' PADDIE ' '-A COCKER SPANIEL Paddie, a thoroughbred Cocker spaniel, was born in Vancouver in 1930, at the Kingston Dog Kennels. He was a noisy little fellow with long silky ears that appeared to sweep the ground on both sides of him. His fur was black and glossy with one little white toe. A handsome dog, to be sure, and quite well aware of it. A tiny, roly poly thing, silent only when he was sound asleep, which was seldom. One day, to his great indignation, he was placed in a piano box for molesting the older, more sedate dogs nearly to death. Here he was dis- covered digging frantically for an imaginary rabbit. Yipping madly at being free, he was pulled out by a young girl. Struggling in her arms, shaking his furry body from side to side, he licked the girl's face clean. What a little beauty he was as he strutted around displaying himself at every opportunity! He really asked to be loved with all his tiny heart and

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VOX FLUMINIS Page Twenty A HOLIDAY Q Honourable Mentionj We loved the coast and the little town And the small thatched house all cuddled down, White washed roof, and white washed wall, Sea mist or sunlight over it all. We scrambled high on a sheep worn track, The guinea hens cried, Come back, come back! The wind was blowing us out to the sea And the sea gulls kept us company. -Catherine Jefferies, -l-- Grade VIII. THE WOOD AT THE END OF THE WORLD I sometimes wonder what the wood at the end of the world is really like. Perhaps it's a tiny, quiet, beautiful wood, in a secluded glen that only you know the haunts of, only you know its secrets. Perhaps it's a great forest, with majestic trees towering upward to meet the sky. But I do not think it is anything so realistic. Rather, it is a dream, a dream of some un- known wood, that lies-who knows where? A poem, as yet unseen by the eyes of a mortal poet. The lost fairyland. Perhaps it is a place where the ground is soft and green with moss. A silvery brook wends its way between fern-clothed banks, singing and laughing. Hidden somewhere, in a little glen, is a dark quiet pool, whose calm surface is like a mirror: a mirror that reflects the face of some elfin creature. The echoes ring back from behind the clouds, echoing strange music. Little paths wind here and there among the trees, and one may follow elhn footprints along them. There are small graceful silver birches, almost lost among the huge trees, the lords of the forest, that reach their great leafy branches ever upward. Sometimes the breeze hums softly in the tree tops, but at other times a great wind comes sweeping through, mysterious and immortal. Birds of all colors sing softly in the treesg here live the gorgeous birds of paradise. This wood is the lost fairyland where the fairies dance at night beneath the moon and stars. Although the world changes day by day, yet throughout many years the wood at the end of the world, the wood in the clouds, nowhere, yet here, someplace, somewhere, is always the same. -Gladys Cotterell, -i-- Grade VIII. A CHRISTMAS BOX About November, everybody started making Christmas gifts, so we decided we wanted to try and give a happier Christmas to someone, who probably would not have all the things we would have. One of the girls knew of a family, in a nearby municipal district, who would be greatly benefited by a Christmas hamper. We planned to have a meeting every