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Page 24 text:
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slowly , . . She tried it. She would be all right if she didn ' t get off the trail. Around the turn she went and into a snowdrift. No sooner had she touched the snow than she was up again. She didn ' t waste very much time on that turn. If she could get up as fast as that every time she fell, she might only take two minutes (it was a one-minute run). Horrors! Her ski was off. Why had she asked her father to adjust the harness the night before? She put it on in a hurry and was off down the hill again. She was in the woods now, and nobody could laugh at her, anyway. She was going awfully fast. Why had she put so much wax on her skis? She would slow up now for the next turn. Her skis crossed! She was down, and her ski was off again. Why hadn ' t she stayed at home? Why did she have to be in the silly old race? She was away once more. Another hair- pin turn! To be on the safe side she sat down, slid around the turn, and then stood up again. She must have taken five minutes already. She wished she were at home on the nice gentle slope where she spent her weekends skiing. She would never go in a race again. More turns, more spills, and she was almost finished — just one more turn and she was out of the woods. She was on it before she could say boo . Down she went in a spray of snow; she was now thoroughly covered with snow. How they would laugh when she arrived at the finish line, looking as if she had come all the way down in a sitting position ! She got up, brushed herself off, and started once more when she had put her ski back on. Once she got to the end she would say good-bye to this hill forever. She heaved a sigh of relief as she saw the finishing flags ahead of her. She passed them, stopped, and sank into the snow as if it were a nice soft bed. Number Seventeen, three minutes , she heard someone call. Three minutes was not bad considering that she had lost her ski three times, and had fallen down so many times, but she could do better. Perhaps she would enter again next year to see if she could do it in two minutes. Betty Bown, Form IVb, Barclay House. [22]
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Page 23 text:
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PEACE AT LAST ! Here lies a poor woman who always was tired, She lived in a house where no servants were hired, The last words she said were: Dear friends, 1 am fioing;, here washing ain ' t wanted, nor sweeping nor sewing, And everything there is exact to my wishes, For where folks don ' t eat there ' s no washing of dishes. No heaving the Hoover all over the floors. Or having a day full of merciless chores. In heaven loud anthems forever are ringing. But having no voice. I ' ll keep clear of the singing. Don ' t mourn for me now, though you thought me a treasure Cause I ' m going to hecome a lady of leisure! Maeve Fogt, Form Vb, Gumming House, IF AT FIRST YOU DON ' T SUCCEED . . . SHE stood at the top of the hill. It was a race and she was Number Seventeen. Four- teen had just gone and Fifteen was waiting. Soon she was waiting. How would she make the first turn when everyone else had fallen? Five seconds to go — how would she know whether she was off the trail or not? Four seconds — three seconds — she couldn ' t ski. What was she doing in the race? Two seconds — one second — she would just have to make a fool of herself. Go ! She was off. If only she could get around the first turn all right, then she would be in the woods and she could not be seen. Perhaps if she snowploughed to the turn and went around it [21]
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Page 25 text:
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AUTUMN In Spring, tlie trees are budding forth. The cohl. liarsh wind, eonie from tlie North, Has ceased. And all the foliage green Makes great tlie contrast to the scene In Autnmn. In Summer, birds and squirrels play. And do not hide themsehes away In iiollow trees the n hole ilay through As oft as the) were Nvont to do In Autmnn. In Winter everything is white. The snow reflects the sun ' s bright light, And skiing on a hill of snow Is something tluit you cannot do In AutuHMi. The dullest season of the year, When all the trees and shrubs are bare And wind doth through the branches sough And leaves are brown, is with us now In Autumn. Makgaket Wansbrouch, Form IIIb, Gumming House. DIARY A LA PEPYS SATURDAY, MARCH 3rd. Greeted mv father on return from Capitol, he travelling down on one of the new steam trains. Looking forward to a dull Sabbath when my mother recalled that she had some tickets for a display on the ice at the Forum, known by the strange name of Ice Follies . So after supping on the usual joint of meat, we all off to the Ice Follies , by the electrical conveyance, and arrived at Forum. There some confusion at finding seats, my mother insisting we were in wrong row. Whereupon my father carefully explained that nimibers of seats corresponded to numbers on stubs of tickets. After one-half hour, performance began. Beautiful damsels and comely youths skating around to music in lovely costumes, under ever-changing coloured lights, the whole creating so heavenly an effect methought myself transported to the realms of paradise. Suddenly recalled to earthly state by the shrill complaining voice of young sister who had espied a vendor of sweetmeats and demanded a bottle of sweet water containing air-bubbles which is named Coca-Cola , and a box of frozen cream. Whereat my father said, Did we come down to eat our supper or to watch a hockey game? Whereupon my mother sweetly reminded him that it was not a hockey game we were watching, but a performance called the Follies . Eventually this display came to an end, whereat we [23]
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