Summit School - Flame Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

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waiting. Again we became restless. In vain We tried to play house with our usual interest. We left the grove. We went into the barnyard. All the animals except the chickens were waiting, too. The chickens never wait. They are always noisy, running about, pecking in the dirt. Even the little calves and their mothers were silent. In the milk house it was cool and damp. There we each had a piece of the water- melon which was kept in the tank of cold water regularly used for cooling the milk. We felt better when we left the milk house, but soon the oppressive heat again overcame us. We went back up the hill and lay in the grass. The dishes were no longer clanking in the kitchen. On the road a rapidly moving cloud of dust heralded the approach of the mailman, but we didn't move to meet him. A bird started sing- ing but soon stopped. The creak of a loaded hay wagon came temptingly from the fields, and still we lay, waiting. Mother saw us from her window and paused long enough to call down, Girls, why don't you turn on the sprinkler and run through it? You may, in just your shorts, if you want to. We needed no further invitation. Slipping off our sandals, we turned on the WLIICF. just as the sprinkler began to revolve, the loud report of thunder cracked through the air like a whip, the skies opened, and rain poured forth. Near-by a bird sang. In the barn a cow mooed. On the lawn Janey and Sally and I laughed. Now we knew what we had been waiting for. That horrible stillness would be no more. We laughed as We ran on the lawn through the rain. PEGGY JACKSON Form V Un Cours de la Croix Rouge Maintenant ma mere suit un cours de la Croix Rouge. Je devrais dire que ma mere et moi, nous suivons ce cours. Les premieres semaines j'etais la maitresse, et Maman etait l'eleve. C'etait tres drole. Me voila, le livre a la main, posant des questions a Maman. -Vaimais poser des questions a mon eleveg cietait facile. -Vai appris plusieurs faits interessants. Mais-je niaimais pas etre son modele. La premiere fois, quand jietais un modele, jletais une noyee et Maman a du me faire la respiration artificielle. Je me suis couchee sur le plancher, et Maman s'est assise sur moi. Alors, elle a sauve ma vie huit ou dix fois pendant que je regardais ma montre pour voir si elle le faisait bien. C'etait bien difficile de faire un bandeau sur ma main et sur mon pied, mais Maman se chargeait de tout cela. Le bandeau sur ma main etait tres drole. Il avait l'air d'un ballon blanc, et mon bras dans une echarpe qui etait vraiment faite avec un torchon de notre cuisine. Mais quand Maman a bande la plaie sur mon pied, j'avais l'air d'un veteran de guerre. Ce bandeau sur le pied glissait constamment, et Maman avait bien de la peine a faire le bandeau comme il faut. Le projet suivant etait une eclisse sur ma jambe. Ce projet etait un travail bien lent. C'etait plus facile de le faire que de le defaireg pendant deux heures j'etais assise au milieu d'une montagne de bois ct de gaze! Clest Papa qui m'a sauve de cette melee. Apres cette derniere aventure, je ne pense pas que je resterai a la maison le soir que Maman prepare son devoir pour la Croix Rouge. Si je reste chez moi, je suis certaine que je ne pourrais pas venir a llecole le lendemain. faurais vraiment besoin de respiration artificielle. BETTY BREMER Form V THE FLAME 25

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An Exhibitor LED Rookie over to an inconspicuous corner where I could wait and watch the scene around me. A tense feeling of excitement and hurry hung in the air like smoke. The aristocratic-looking men and women in tweed coats, gabardine breeches, and shiny boots milled around the yard and stable in a mass of blues, greys, and blacks. I looked with pride at the red tag which fluttered against my shoulder. Exhibitor No. SZ, it read. Everywhere I looked, I saw similar red and yellow tags. The yellow tags belonged to spectators. The palms of my hands were wet, and I felt dizzy. I breathed in deeply, then held my breath. The smell of horses, leather, wet wood, hay, spring air, damp earth, expensive perfume, English tweeds, and tobacco smoke blended together into a rich, heady odor. I shut my eyes to steady my nerves. The buzz of conversation rose and fell like the hum of a gigantic motor. Certain phrases rose above the others, high excited voices piercing through the drone. Sam, lengthen these stirrups! Clarence, where is Major's blanket?', Alice, I haven't seen you in ages! Which class is this, the ninth? The horse in the stall against which I was leaning kicked the wooden partition and whinnied. Rookie put his nose on my shoulder and blew in my ear. I saw Mr. Lang hurry past the door. He waved at me, and I gave him a sickly smile. The ninth class was over, I had better mount. With shaking hands I led Rookie out into the yard and swung onto his back. His firm sides under my knees gave me more confidence. I walked him around the yard among the crowd to get the feel of it. I passed people whom I knew, and they waved and wished me luck. I began to feel better. I pitied the people who wore yellow tags, the spectators. They couldnyt have that feeling of suspense, of excitement. The contestants in class ten walked out of the ring. As I trotted over to the judges to get my number, I was very sure of myself. I was number 13, and this was my first horse show. JEAN MERRILL Form IV What We Were Waiting For HERE were three of us up in the tree. Our brown bodies were streaked with dirt and perspiration. We lay against the sharp bark of the tree wordlessly. Nowhere was there movement. It was as though life itself had stopped and was waiting for something. We thought of nothing. We, too, were waiting. From far away came the monotonous clank of dishes being washed. We felt no inclination to talk. In our child minds we wondered what we were waiting for. Suddenly, as though it had been prearranged, we got up and dropped from the tree into the long dry grass below. We started walking to the grove in the pine trees where we often played. The grass cracked as we walked. We started talking of the things nine-year-old girls often talk of. I have a new paper doll named Joanfy I said. i'My mother got it for me. I have one called Joan, said Sally, but it's old. Janey led the way into the grove, which was usually cool. We had arranged three houses, one for each of us. The rooms of each house had been carefully and laboriously mapped out. Our dishes were shells, and our walls pine boughs. The baking sun had penetrated even into the glade, and the air was so thick that it was hard to breathe. We lay down in our houses and fell silent. Again we were 24 THE FLAME

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Y E It Changed Somehow HE snow lay in new, fresh layers on the unfrozen ground, and- the late fall leaves peeped bewilderedly from beneath this early prelude to winter. The smoke from the farm-house chimney curled like baby fingers around the snapping air. The cattle blew puffs of steam through their moist, frosty noses, and leaning their heads over the pasture fence, looked in soft-eyed annoyance at the premature scene around them. I steered the car up the narrow road and stopping at the unpainted door of the house, got out and commenced to drag a large box from the car. As I stood looking up at the window with this staggering weight, I saw a small, round face appear. Des- perately I signalled for someone to come and open the door, but the face remained there serenely, if stupidly, staring. I stood helpless and realized that a tall man was regarding me from the barn door. Languidly he straightened up and moved slowly, laughingly, toward me. 'QNeed any help, Miss? the man chuckled innocently, taking the box from me. Thank you, Elmer. Is Hazel bettcr?', Yeah, I guess so. Says her legs don't ache so bad today. That's wonderful. I have some things in here for her. Not very much, some woolens and shoes for the children and a few other thingsf' We had reached the door, and I held it open for Elmer before following him in. The living-room-kitchen held a pleasant, bare atmosphere, and the heady, yeasty smell of homemade bread flooded it warmly and blended harmoniously with the plain, mended curtains and cracked ceiling. Hazel sat in a stiff chair by the table, peeling potatoes into a deformed tin pan. Her face was pale, and she smiled with her mouth alone as she spoke to me in a quiet voice. Her swollen feet and ankles were encased in old woolen socks, and she moved them with obvious pain. Elmer put the box down, and a pleasant thrill stole over my heart as I saw her eyes light up. I recognized the feeling beneath her diHicult words of thanks and knew that she was grateful. The small face again appeared from behind a bedroom door and coaxed by a friendly smile, came out and ducked behind a large chair. From this mighty fortress it warmed to conversation and was soon grinning and chattering like a wary squirrel. The wood stove gave forth a sweet fragrant odor and lent cheer to the small room in a generous manner. The three-minute egg timer stood importantly desolate on-a rough board shelf, tilting its figure coquettishly at a one-armed alarm clock across the room. Nothing about this room was enviable, but everything smelled, stood, or was worn in a homey, comfortable way. A cold draft crept along the floor, eating up some of the pleasantness. Hazel's face became stern as she said, Elmer, the board below the back window must,ve come loose again. Why don't ya fix it?,' 'lOh, one of the kids can fix it when they git home, can't they? 'I gotta go out to the barn. S'long, Miss. Maybe we can use some of that stuff ya brought. The door banged insolently after him, and Hazel's large red hand picked up an- other potato and cut into it sharply with the wicked little knife. A shadow of meanness was in the room and cloaked everything in uneasiness. The small face was smaller and silent as it looked with averted baby eyes at the mother doing her work with a masked face, her emotions locked from habit deep within her heart. The bread and wood smell was becoming more distinct and had lost its warmth to mere odor. I had suddenly become an intruder, and I rose to leave. Haze1,s eyes looked at the box, then at meg and they thanked me again, wordlessly. ANDY HUNTER Form V 26 THE FLAME