Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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striking an impenetrable brick wall. This lessens my speed considerably; but my fright of receiving another bad mark, on the charge of being late for the sixth time during the last month, overcomes all other obstacles and I reach my destination just in time to change and sneak into the classroom to the echoing strains of the last bell. While lining up for prayers I snatch a few last glimpses at my Latin homework (which never ceases to cause me endless worry). Prayers for me are spent largely in thanking the Lord for helping me to have courage enough to attend Monday Morning School. Phyllis Henry, Form IVa. The Sea ' s Vengeance The waves dashed on the rocky shore, Flinging their spray on high; The seagulls swooped in sudden fright As lightning filled the sky. The wind howled in mournful glee, Mocking a staggering ship As it tossed and rolled on a billowy sea, ' Twas merciless in its grip. The wind died down to a sighing breeze And the sky became clear and blue, But never again would be seen that ship Nor any of her crew. Dorothy Brooks, Form IVa. The Spindleton Success A RAMINTA sat opposite her uncle, pouring out his weak tea for him as he scanned the daily paper with his short-sighted eyes. This was one of the few moments in his busy, hopeless day in which he could escape from the world that sneered at him. In the business world he was decidedly not a success. The Spindleton family had never been successful. They never could be. He sighed, put down the paper and gazed steadfastly at Araminta. Well, my child, since you have stopped college, have you decided on a profession? Araminta had. Secretly she had always longed to find a profession in which she could break the old family traditions; in which she could be a success! She had not told her uncle. She knew he would only shake his head sadly at her. He was used to the ways of the grasping world. No Spindleton could ever be a success. Araminta knew differently. The other day, as she was sitting in the train, she noticed uncomfortably that the eyes of the woman across the aisle had held her under close scrutiny for some minutes. Suddenly she spoke to Araminta. You are Miss Cleopatra Winebold, are you not? she had asked the confused Araminta. Araminta flatly denied it. Just another slip of recognition. She had laughed at the absurd name. It was even worse than her own! Then, when reading the morning paper the secret was unfolded. The woman had evidently been a very ambitious newspaper reporter. In the news column Araminta found her own rather plain face. Under it was printed the name of Miss Cleopatra Winebold, the noted authoress. Tired of the public eye, she had been abroad traveling. The report stated that she had lately been found in America, in a train bound for Montreal. Araminta was like her in practically every feature. If Cleopatra had been a success, Araminta would be. She had quite a small fortune saved up from the money she had saved for the four years college she could not go through with. With this money she would Araminta ' s uncle returned from some futile business trip to an empty house. He was seldom confused. Araminta was seldom out. I 20 ]

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The Coming of the Storm A LL morning the sun had been shining and the lake had been as calm and still as the proverbial millpond. Noonday passed, and the day remained as fair as ever; but before four o ' clock a stitf breeze had sprung up, breaking the smooth surface of the water into thousands of little ripples and whispering softly amongst the pine trees on the hillside. By halt-past five the breeze was a strong wind and great dark clouds were appearing above the eastern horizon. People hurried heme to reach shelter before the storm broke. The wind grew to a gale, lashing the lake into a fury of waves and spray; bending the stately pines till they cracked and groaned. The sky grew black and the rain poured down, enlarging the streams, washing out the roads and laying flat the fields of ripening oats. And still the wind howled and raged, shaking the birds ' nests out of the trees and frightening the babies in their cradles. The rain showed no signs of abating and seemed to delight in hearing the farmers bemoan their spoilt crops, their tlooded roads and their broken bridges. All night the wind roared and the rain fell. Near midnight the sky was rent with vivid flashes of lightning, and even the wind and rain seemed quiet compared with the roll of the thunder. The treej swayed and bent like ghostly figures when one could see their outlines against the lightning lit sky. Suddenly, with a peculiar rending noise, a huge limb fell from a maple tree, and almost at the same moment a tall elm became livid with lightning. The fire was soon put out by the drench- ing rain, but the massive tree was split from tip to root and one half fell to the ground, lifeless. It seemed as if a horde of revengeful devils had been let loose to play havoc in the sky, so fiercely did the storm rage. But as the dawn broke, the rain abated, the thunder and lightning ceased in distant rumbles and halt-hearted tlashes, and the wind gradually died down. The clouds rolled away and the sun came out with all its golden splendor. The lake looked up to heaven with a smile on its once more peaceful face, the birds sang and the trees rested after their storm-tossed night. The air was fresh and cool and one could aptly say — God ' s in his heaven. All ' s right with the world. Nancy Murray, Form Upper V2. Monday Mornings A T PRECISELY seven-fifteen I am rudely awakened from my slumbers — my dream-castles ■ ' ■ hopelessly shattered — my few hours of ecstasy snatched unmercifully from me. A glass of shockingly cold orange juice is thrust into my weak and trembling hand. I noisily gulp this down, then settle comfortably back into the refuge of my warm blankets again, while I summon up all my courage and suddenly jump out of my unyielding bed. I tear down the hall, grasping my clothes on the way, never once looking back, knowing perfectly well that I would never be able to resist the temptation of returning to that pleading bed. As I scrutinize my haggard features in the mirror I solemnly promise to retire to-night at seven-thirty, if it is the last thing in the world I do. I manage to struggle to the breakfast table and try to produce a cheery Good Morning, but I only succeed in assuring all concerned that I am in no mood to be tampered with. My father lowers his paper and gazes sadly upon his offspring, realising more and more his misfortune and wondering what will become of this modern generation. Then what I have been dreading arrives. The Gazette is gently but firmly set down, the serviette neatly folded, all with the air of one who is having great difficulty in controlling his temper. That prominent eyebrow which is inevitably used as an arm for directing attention towards certain objects arises, and his stern eyes focus upon me. The same story which fathers never seem to tire of telling is recited — When I was a Boy — By this time I am in that state of mental contortion which requires no food. I gratefully excuse myself, and in a little while I am only too glad to emerge gingerly into the piercingly cold air and toot briskly for twenty-seven minutes, covering exactly 1.8 miles, to school. Your particular atten- tion should be directed to the fact that if after the strenuous half-hour at breakfast you still remain sleepy, this walk leaves no doubt of your absolute alertness. The unwelcome sound of the first bell reaches your ear as you approach McGregor Street. I run the length of McGregor and a little more before I reach the school. An abrupt turn must be made at this point in order to avoid [ 19 ]

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The telephone rang and Araminta ' s voice came over the wire. She ordered him to come down to the Httle shop they had been trying to sell for so long. She had made a sale. He went. Behind the counter stood Araminta in a blue smock. The sides of the store were covered with shelves on which many books had already appeared. Contented customers came and went. Araminta was at last in the atmosphere she had longed for. Araminta, her uncle said weakly, the Spmdkton Success Betty McCrory, Form IIIa. A Dream I had a dream the other night. When everything was still. How I look ' d out and there I saw Caesar upon a hill. I went right up and spoke to him And asked him what he thought. Then he in the insanest way Replied: Forget me not. And what of Farther Gaul? I said. Thinking he ' d speak to me. But all he did was look surprised And climb right up a tree. Just then I realized, of course, ' Twas Latin I must speak. But in some most unlucky way All I could say was, Die. With this he turn ' d to me and smifd And said, Dixisti male; And with another smile he left. Saying sweetly, Vale. I sorrowed much to see him go And said, This io no joke; But as I did so — lo, behold, I suddenly awoke. Nancy Murray, Form Upper V2. Ancient History The first thing that I think I learnt, Was when the town of Athens burnt. And secondly when Sparta led And soldiers fought and then they bled. The rise of Thebes came next, I think. But then that soon began to sink. And now strong Macedon arose And kept the nation on its toes. But Macedon was soon to fall. For one man cannot rule o ' er all. [ 21 ]