Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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4 THE TARGET (Moses and Sally recognized most of the presents). The doll had a crown of popcorn, the sled stood ready to use, and best of all the children’s minds, a huge box of candy hung from the branches just in reach of their eager hands. Santa Claus had come but in what form? As a jolly old man to the children, for only Sally and Moses had , noticed three pairs of foot- prints leading from the little tree toward the hig house. CHARLOTTE ARNOLD. o ANNA’S CHRISTMAS. Anna was a poor little girl who had no father, and whose mother was a hard working woman. As Christmas approached, she heard some rich little girls talking of San- ta Claus. Anna then told her mother what she had heard. She said that thej ' were to put up their stockings on Christmas Eve, and that Santa Claus would fill them. Her mother said that Santa Claus would not come to her that year. But Anna was sure that he would not forget her. When Christmas Eve came, Anna hung her stocking upon the fire- place and then went to bed, dream- ing that her stocking would be filled with candies and good things. When she awoke, she ran to see what Santa Claus had given her. Her stocking was empty. On looking around she saw a little baby owl which had fallen through the chim- ney, and joyfully she hurried to show her mother what she had re- ceived from Santa Claus. She believed that he had sent it to her. There never a happier child than Anna that Christmas. THEODORA HENGSTLER. o A GREETING May peace and happiness be thine. At this glad season, Christmas time. And may your yule-log burn with cheer. And joy pursue you all the year. ALICE GREER. o QUITE SIMPLE, WHEN YOU KNOW HOW! “Well did you ever know the likes o’ that!’’ A bluff, good natured Australian contractor, newly arrived at San Francisco, sat down heavily with a disgusted sniff, and glared around. “What’s the row?” “What’s the row! Why 1 were walking round the streets of this city and being kind of hungry, 1 went into a place to git something to eat. It was a kind of a swell place, but bein’ fed up on ship fare, I decided to go on the spree, so in I went. I went past the payin’ place to get to a table, but bless my heart, if a good- fer nothin’ waiter didn’t come and politely request that I should step this way. Well he took me ri t back to the door and I thought he were goin’ to turn me out, and I kind of bristled up but he showed me a long passage along side of one wall, railed off with a shiny brass rail and told me to walk right on. I did for a bit, but that passage seemed to lead to Tim- buctoo. ‘Well ‘pon my word; says I to myself ‘this beats cockfighting. There’s every one eatin’ away, and me walking ’round outside like a fool. ' And with that I ducks under the rail and seats myself at a table. “And who do you think comes up but another waiter saying the same thing about ‘stepping this way, ‘well hang it all man,’ yells I, ‘what’s the idea? Where’n the dickens do you expect me to land?’ ‘If you’ll come this way. I’ll show yer, says he. So off I goes under that brass rail again. “Soon we comes to a pile o’ trays, and I’m blest if that man didn’t tell me to take one! ‘What, me!’ I gasps By this time my thinking organs were pounded into jelly, so I says, ‘Lead on, Macduff, and I’ll foller you. So on we goes again, and my stars ir we didn’t go through miles of plates set out on kind of counters, and if that creature didn’t tell me to take what I wanted, and put it on that tray. Why he might as well have told me to fly. How on earth could I take what I wanted out of those acres of tucker, when I didn’t even know their names. ‘Well,’ thinks I, ‘any- thing to get out of this hole,’ so I grabbed a plate there, and a plate

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THE TARGET McKinley introductory high school, Berkeley. VOL. XXII. December, 1914. NO. 2 HOLY NIGHT. The snow was lying thick and white, And all the world was still, And through the stars the moon arose O’er the snow crown of the hill. The stars that twinkled that Christ- mas nighf. Were the same that long ago. To the shepherds watching on the hill. The Heavenly way did show. GEORGE ELDREDGE. o CHRISTMAS IN THE LITTLE LOG CABIN. A big stir was going on in a large house in Kentucky, and the darky cook’s children hung around the door with their eyes nearly popping out, and their little tight braids standing out st’-aight from their curly black heads, while they gazed with admiration and wonder at each big package or glimpse of tinsel A- gain and again the cook would call to them, “Louisa May, don yo’ an’ de res’ of de chilren hang ’roun dat do.’ Ole massa ’ll be driben’ yo’ all off wid a big stick ef yo’ all don’ watch out.” But the commands were use- less. for in a minute the darkies would steal back with their eyes bigger, and their braids straighter than before. “Sarah Ann. is Santa Claus com- ing to your house this Christmas?” asked Alison, the little girl who lived at the house, of one of the children. “Lor’ no. Miss Alison,” replied the darky rolling her eyes, “he couldn’t get down de chimney. He’d stick half way ’Sides, it’s too dirty an’ mammy an’ pappy ain’t got time to wash it.” This reply set Alison to thinking, and later she ran to her mother and asked, “Mother, mayn’t we do some- thing extra this Christmas for Sally and Moses’ family? I have my al- lowance you know.” “Well, dear, you’ll have to be up pretty early then.” “Oh, mother. I’ll beat the birds,” cried Alison, jumping up and down, and she kept her word. It was Christmas Eve at the little log cabin in the wood. Sally came in smiling. “Moses,” she said to a negro who was fastening a little tree in a box, “de mistress done let me off early, an’ look what Ah done made fo’ de little pickininnies.” She held up a pan full of gingerbread men and animals. After allowing him to ad- mire them, she went over to w ' here he was working. “Now, what undah de sun is vo’ all workin at? Yo’ don’t tell me j ' o’s workin’ on a tree fo’ some white children on Christmas Eve, when dey’s got daddies who can niake ’em deyselfs, an’ our little dar- lin’s aint got nothin’! Yo’ lazy, good- fer-nothin’ nigga! MTiat’s dat, dat fo’ our little picikinies? Now ef yo’ ain’t de bestesten man on de side ob dis year earth. What we gwine ter put on it?” Moses rose, his black face beam- ing, and brought forth a box, in which was a sled, a wooden doll, and some other things he had made. These he and Sally hung on the tree which they placed outside the cabin door. Early the next morning the little dal kies were out of bed, eager to start to the “big house,” but lo! what stood before their own door? It V as a little Christmas tree raising its head proudly above a mantle of tinsel and gay ornaments and gifts.

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THE TARGET o here, and carrying that crazy tray and feelin’ like a fool I makes for a table. “Before I’d gone two steps I hears a kind of mild hallooing back of me. I turned, and there was half the world and his wife callin’ me back. 1 weren’t surprised. Nothin’ short of sudden death could ’uv surprised me then, so back I goes and a lady perched up on a hen roost glares at my tray. ‘Praps she’s seein’ if I’ve got anything that ’ll be bad for me’, thinks I, but she jest gives me a coupon affair, (which of course I didn’t any more know what to do with than I knew what to do with a squalling baby,) and then I asked in a kind of mild despair, “Well now may I eat it?” MURIEL OAKESHOTT o A FISH STORY “Skinney,” said Bob,“tell us about your vacation last summer.” “Well,” snorted Skinney,“it isn’t much but I did have several ex- citing experiences.’ ' Skinney was the son of Squire Jones but it seemed his father did not have very much effect upon his boy for Skinney was often referred to when the boys were discussing fish stories. The boys were seated upon a bench in Skinney’s back yard and having nothing to do were spinning yarns. “Well,” again snorted Skinney, “did I ever tell about the fish I caught in Coon’s bay?” His ex- pected answer was the shake of Bob’s head. Skinney then showed a pleasant look and commenced by saying, “It must have been in July when the cods were running good when I was invited by Old Salt Joe to go fishing. He had a sort of third hand dingey and in this he made his living by fishing. “I had made his acquaintance one day while I was tramping about the beach ana he asked me to go with him. Well, we started one morning about five o’clock and made a good run up to the reefs. We fished for about an hour without any success and taking the matter in hand I said, ‘Joe, let’s go farther out.’ Joe nodded and I started to row while he took the helm. “After rowing for a good while I was tired out. I had no sooner thrown my line into the water than the boat lurched to one side and I was pulled- almost out. ‘Hold hard!’ ‘Hold hard!’ shouted Joe and taking the oars he pulled tor all he was worth. It was of no use, the boat did not move and as I looked over the rail I could see foam and spray everywhere and a large blackish- red tail thrashing the water. “Joe, seeing that it was of no use to row, stopped and watched the fish which at that moment was pull- ing us towards ' shore at a great rate. Picking up a large knife, I re- solved to cut the line, but Joe stopped me saying, “Don’t cut, youngster, cause he will have us in shore in a few minutes.’ I did not cut and within twenty minutes he had us near the beach. “The fish saw his mistake too late. We were soon out in the water, which was only three feet deep, and Joe, seizing the knife reached under the fish’s head and cut its throat; the water was soon red and with the help of some lookerson we got the fish on shore. It weighed five hun- dred pounds and measured fifteen feet; we sold it for |1000 to the Government.” At this moment of the story, Skin- ney was interrupted by a low langh and somewhat sheepishly eyeing Bob, he saw him doubled up with laughter. “Well, if you don’t believe it go and ask ‘Old Salt Joe’,” said Skinney who knew he was on the safe side for Coon’s Bay was one hundred miles away and there was no such character as “Old Salt Joe.” DUDLEY BENNETT. TO YOU Oh here’s to the holly, the bright green holly. And here’s to the evergreen tree! The days are long, the days are cold. But our hearts are gay and free. Oh here’s to the holly, the green- wreathed holly. And here’s to Old Santa too; For Christrnas is here, with its joy and its ch er. And here’s a, Merry Christmas to you. • DOROTHY STAATS o-