Ruperts Land Girls School - Eagle Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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RUPERT'S LAND COLLEGE MA'GAZlNE 27 less time than it takes to tell, and I could not yet discern the various objects in the room. I got up hurriedly. Moving around was necessarily hampered, and while I was trying to reach the door I could hear the cry repeated at various intervals. It was alternated by sounds which made me think he was going under. Help! help! Cblub, blubl help! fblubD was heard all the time now. After stumbling over several articles, I finally reached my bedroom door. After struggling with it for several seconds, I managed to open it. Still the cry of the drowning person rang in my ears. Even this cry afforded me some comfort, because when it stopped it would obviously mean that help would be useless. Just as I opened the door and started down the verandah I heard the pitiful cry of Help! help! change to a much more hopeful one of, A light, a light! Looking across the Water I saw a light shining in the boat-house opposite our camp. Several reassuring voices called, Hold on, we're coming! Even as the engine of a boat started I could hear that the cry had changed again - this time to one of desperation mingled with fear: Quick, quick! Here I am! I--am-going! Other voices indicated he was going under. Apparently the would-be rescuers were having a hard time to find him in the dark. Where are you! It's all right, we'll find you. Hold on a minute longer! kept echoing across the water. Suddenly the engine of the boat stopped. The voices were lowered so that I could only hear a faint murmuring. Then, after what seemed ages, but what was in reality only a few seconds, the boat started up again and went back towards its own boat-house. Soon all was quiet and I went back to bed. It was hard to believe that what had happened was a real occurrence and not just a nightmare. The next morning I told everybody what I had heard. No one else had been disturbed by anything and all were in- clined to think that I had just been dreaming. However, when we went into Kenora that afternoon we heard that the swell of a boat had upset an Indian in a canoe just near Where we were staying. This was evidently what had awakened me. MARION O'GRADY 'I' 'I' 'I' P HAPPY SPRING Happy children playing, Daiodils a-swaying. Yellow butterfly, Just a little sky. GRADE I and KINDERGARTEN

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26 RUPERT'S LAND COLLEGE MAGAZINE she keeps any dogs that arrive, and the basement provides for stray cats. It is strange that such a queer-looking spinster should be an attraction for children, but she is. In the evening she sits out on her verandah in a rocking-chair, with her endless knitting. Presently half-a-dozen youngsters creep up the steps and range themselves around this old lady, and plead for a story. She is never angry or impatient, but tells the story of her childhood to her spell-bound listeners, until the clock ticks round to nine, and then she locks the front door and awaits the arrival of the unlucky tardy boarder. ELEANOR RILEY -1- -1- -1- AN EXPERIENCE The incident that I am about to record occurred in the summer of 1931, the first summer we spent at Kenora. The first half of our family had come down on the first Tuesday of July, the other half arrived on the following Wednes- day morning. After two very hard days of work, in which we had tidied the camp and taken all the shoe-polish from the walls and lights Cwe had rented the house for the summer, and apparently the people before us had been very untidyl, we retired to bed on the Wednesday night, feeling as though we could sleep for ever. About one o'clock on Thursday morning I awoke with a start. It was very dark outside and everything was still and quiet. Even the lake seemed to be perfectly still and the trees had stopped their rustling of the evening before. But something must have awakened me. Usually one wakens and it takes some time for him to realize his surroundings. I knew the instant I awoke that something had just happened, but, try as I could, I was not able to think of anything that might have occurred. While I was trying to solve this mystery I heard a faint but a very distinct sound, as of someone trying to call but not being able to do so very well. I kept perfectly still and listened. I heard nothing and thought I had been imagining it all, and so was just preparing to go back to sleep when-hark! there it was again! I sat up in bed, but again everything was still. Before long there was another call, this time louder and stronger. Could I be dreaming? Who would be out at this time? Suddenly, I remembered I was at the lake and not in the city, as I had been thinking was the case. It was a perfect night to be out in a boat and anybody could upset, especially in a canoe. With this realization, I started out of bed. Again came the cry, this time distinctly, Help! help ! Now the person sounded tired and almost gone. All this had happened in

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28 RUPERT'S LAND COLLEGE MAGAZINE ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL St. Paul's is situated in the heart of London, at the head of Ludgate Hill. It is approached on the west by a wide strip of pavement on which stands a statue of Queen Anne. The immense building was built by Sir Christopher Wren. Leading up to it are flights of broad stone steps at the top of which are tall, beautiful pillars carved at the top. In the north tower there is a bell which tolls only at the death of certain great personages. It weighs about seventeen tons. In the south tower is the famous clock and in the centre the wonderful dome. Inside the cathedral there are many monuments of great people, and in the crypt the Painter's Corner, where the artists are buried. About three hundred and ten feet from the ground there is a gallery where, if one whispers, you can be .heard across the dome on the other side. The top is painted most beautifully by Sir James Thornhill. The cathedral is five hundred and thirteen feet in length and the breadth is two hundred and forty-eight feet. After walking up seven hundred and fifty-two steps, one reaches the balcony around the dome, where a marvellous View of London can be obtained. Books have been written about buildings, but this is only a brief account of one of the most beautiful in the world. BARBARA SELLERS -1- -1' -1- AN IDEAL COUNTRY COTTAGE If I were to have my choice of a dwelling, of a place in which to live, to love, and call my own, a place in which I could do as I pleased and be happy, in short, a home, it would not be one of the tall, brown city houses that I would choose, with their lifeless windows and unwelcoming doors, nor of the fashionable flats, with their air of formal conventionality, their over stuffed furniture, and their much advertised conveniences, nor yet of the comfortable suburban houses, standing in stiff, unalterable rows, looking for all the world like their owners, identically alike and equally smug and prosperously self-satisfied-the essence of dignified propriety, but I would go into the country, not as the tourist or Sunday holiday-maker goes, in a cloud of dust and a chaos of noise, shutting out both sight and sound of the beauty around them, but walking at my leisure, and then, where the grass seemed greenest, the flowers gayest,