Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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“Well — well — all right, I’ll trade. Only it’s no trade back. And if you all lose that knife, you cain’t have the dog back.’’ “Oh, Tillie, ah!” — Sunshine then ran to the place where Tillie hid the knife. So the transaction was made and Tillie found herself owner of a fine Scotch Collie that was almost as high as she was. For a few moments she wondered what she could call him. She could call him Lily May, since Lily May was no more — but somehow it didn’t seem just exactly respectful to do such a thing. Just as she was about to ask Sunshine’s help, an inspiration came to her. She remembered the white children, where Mammy worked, called their dog “Duke.’’ Why, of course it must be “Duke.” “Come on, Duke. Come with Tillie.” Duke rose and followed Tillie — out through the front gate to parade up and down with his proud mistress. Beside the rosebush, Lily May lay forgotten. LUCILE HARPER. THE WOOD VIOLET Under the shade of the sturdy oak, Fragile and sweet in its yellow cloak. The wood violet lifted its dainty flower. And found itself in a sylvan bower. There in the leafy shade it grew, Bending its head with the weight of the dew; Wishing to be like the poppy so gay, Blooming beside the much traveled highway. The poppy at eve was much crushed and bent, But the violet sweet, with well learned content, Thought of the safety of her own peaceful days. And hungered no more for the showier ways. BETTY BARBER.

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every time they were played with, and they had so much life. Yes, she wanted a dog. She wanted one more than anything else in the world. It didn’t make any difference what kind it was, just so it would belong to her and would always be with her. The back gate opened slowly. Then it closed. Again it opened and Sunshine came through, leading something. Tilly screamed. “Oh! o-o-o-oh! Sunshine! Where did you get him? Is he goin’ to stay? ’ A moment later she was pouring all sorts of negro affections upon a big Scotch Collie. Sunshine looked on with an air of boredom and brotherl y tolerance. At last he spoke. “You all ain’t goin’ to have him. I found him and he’s mine.” But Tilly was not to be stopped with such a threat. Her kinkled head nodded in self-approval as she turned to Sunshine. “Sunshine, you all ’member that knife I found?” Plainly Sunshine did, for his big eyes grew bigger with interest and his air of tolerance changed to one of appeal. “Tilly, you all didn’t lose that knife, did you?” “No, I still has it, but jes’ wondered. I jes’ wondered.” Tilly was only ten, but already she had learned that a lady has much to gam by indifference. “What you all wonderin’ about, Tilly?” “Oh, I was jes’ thinkin’ how funny it is. You have the dog and I have the knife. Yes, I’se jes’ thinkin’.” Having given Sunshine food for thought, she went on playing with the dog. Sunshine thought. Two chocolate-colored fists thrust themselves in and out his overall pockets. How he wanted that knife with the shiny blades. Tilly had been lucky and found it, and although she didn’t need it, still she would not give it up. “A feller jes’ has to have a knife,” he said to himself. “What you say?” questioned Tilly. “Didn’t say nothin’, jes’ thinkin’.” Tilly suddenly remembered that the dog might be hungry, so she started for the house. But Sunshine stopped her by saying, “Aw, say, Tilly, you know I wants that knife. You give it to me and you can have the dog. Aw, come on, Tilhe.” Tilly concealed her joy by pretending to wonder what to do. “Sunshine, that’s a pretty good knife. Never saw a better Now that dog — ” “Aw, Tilly, please!” “Well.” tto r T ' 1 5 Lome on, 1 ll. one.

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The Yellow Roadster face and firm-set mouth betrayed a strong and decisive character. He had many acquaintances, but very few intimate friends. As he stepped into his automobile, he noticed a young boy purchas- ing a little roadster. The radiant look on the boy’s face showed plainer than words the lad’s pride in the new possession. He leaned back in his car and commanded his chauffeur to start. The little scene that Mr. Wellington had watched, recalled memories of his first car and before long he was in fine spirits. All of a sudden the car stopped and the chauffeur jumped out and said, “Just an accident, sor, but I thought hit would be best to stop, sor.” “Certainly, James,” replied his master. He looked on the wreckage indifferently, but suddenly his look turned to unrest and surprise. It was the boy that had just bought the car. It was his car that was damaged. The lad was looking at it to see if it couldn’t be repaired. But alas! it was beyond any repair and he had saved for such a long time to buy it, too. Mr. Wellington walked over to the boy and asked, “How did it happen, boy?” “It was my fault, sir,” he said. “You see I just bought it for my sick mother and I did not know how to drive very well and so I crashed into this other car.” Mr. Wellington liked the boy on the instant, for he had been very truthful about it. Then he asked, “What is your name, son?” “Allen Stewart,” he answered. “Allen Stewart!” cried the old man. “What is your mother’s name?” “Prescilla Stewart.” “I am a fool,” muttered the old man. “How could it ever be?” The boy was staring at the old man in amazement. “What is it, sir? Is there anything the matter?” he asked. Mr. Wellington looked at the boy. He had regained his self- control. “No, my boy! There is nothing the matter. But stay. What is your father’s name?” “Gorden Stewart, but he is dead. He was drowned at sea a long time ago, when I was He stopped short. Mr. Wellington had him by the arm. “Take R. WELLINGTON, a prominent business man, walked out of his office with an air of weariness. He was what the majority of people classed him, a millionaire. The rugged lines of his