Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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pure white with silver trappings from which hung little silver bells whose tinkle sounded like the bells of a great cathedral in the distance. Having told my story, I was taken to the Sultan, who received me graciously. How much further, or whatever more of adventure I might have gone through, I know not; for just then I awoke. SARAH JANE SNYDER. O A Cave in the Rocks HERE are you going?” said Hal. “To look up more facts about that chest,” said Jack, who was a curly-headed boy of nineteen. “All right, I’ll join you,” was the response. Hal and Jack lived in Kidd’s Cove, a small country town, facing a very rough and rocky coast. On the other side of the bay a smooth stretch of water could be seen. Directly in back of that, rose up huge unscalable cliffs. The village received the name of “Kidd’s Cove” be- cause the pirate, “Captain Kidd,” was supposed to have landed and buried a treasure there. Jack and Hal, two country boys, who lived on their father’s farm, were very anxious to go to college, but they did not have enough money to go to their beloved university. The two boys heard about the buried treasure from their father, and were just going to have him tell them more about it, when a sudden storm arose and they had to hurry and get the cattle inside the barns. The cliffs on the other side of the bay had been visited many times by the boys in their search for the treasure. “We have only one more week in which to find that treasure,” said Hal. “And then our college hopes will be gone,” added Jack. They agreed upon setting out at the dawn of the next day for the cliffs where they thought the treasure was hidden. The next morning, they were walking along the narrow beach be- low the cliffs, when they discovered a huge rock blocking their path. Looking up, they saw a hole in the rocks about five feet above their heads. Hal and Jack climbed in and there was the chest. During the storm, lightning had struck the rock and rolled it away. “We can go to college, now!” both exclaimed the same time. LLOYD SCOULER.

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Over the Dunes to Mecca q f WAS traveling across a desert on a camel. My companions were strangers to me. It was the third day of our journey and all we could see was untold stretches of sand, broken here and there by little clumps of desert vegetation. We had been traveling about two hours in deathlike silence, save for the swishing of the sand as the camels plodded over it, when our attention was drawn to some dark threatening clouds that had appeared on the horizon. My companions wanted to stop, but I being in a hurry, refused. In another two or three hours, the clouds had spread considerably and the sun was growing dim, but we went on. Soon, however ,the sun went behind a great bank of clouds to stay; then my companions absolutely refused to go further. Slipping off their camel’s back, they began to prepare for the approaching storm. However, I did not believe it was very near, so I said that I would continue on. They wanted me to stay, but I won out and jogged along. I had traveled about three hours; and before I had reached a cer- tain oasis of which my companions had told me, the storm broke with a fury that only those who have witnessed a storm on the desert can under- stand. My camel lay down burying its head as well as possible in the sand. I slipped from its back and lay close beside it on the side away from the storm. I had a hard time to get my breath and my eyes smarted and burned. The waves of sand rising and breaking, reminded me of the great waves of the ocean on a stormy night, beating in vain on a rocky coast. H ow long the storm lasted, I know not, but it seemed to me that it lasted for hours and hours. I was in constant danger, for the sand was piling higher and higher around me. When the storm had subsided, I was confronted with even greater dangers. I was lost; my companions were far behind me; the wild animals had came out; and worse than all these, I had little food and water. My camel having arisen, I followed its example and climbing on its back, I was off. Not knowing the way to Mecca, my destiny, I let the camel go in whatever direction it wished. The gentle swaying back and forth of the camel lulled me to sleep. Being hungry, I dreamed that I sat at a table set with the choicest dainties gathered from all parts of the world. Thus I dreamed on until I was awakened by the noise of an inquisitive crowd which had gathered about me. The cause of this crowd I found out was my camel, for never had such a camel plodded through the gates of Mecca bearing less than a king or prince. It was

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The Haunted House T WAS a miserable day as Will and I hurried homeward. The clouds slid sluggishly across the sky and from them oozed drops of moisture that drizzled monotonously to the ground. As we neared the hill, I pointed out to Will the small cabin known throughout the town of Bailey Galley as being infested with evil spirits. The cabin, situated at the foot of the hill, was huddled among weeping willow trees, whose drooping branches bent to the ground. The slight breeze lingered among the leaves as it sang a melancholy song, and the trees seemed to lock in an embrace as if to hide the little cabin from the eyes of the world. I shuddered. The same sense of loneliness seemed to come over Will as he took my arm and quickened his pace. I quickly accused him of being superstitious, but he only laughed and asked if there was any story connected with it. So I told him the rumors that had been whispered on the hearth for many and many a year. Here is one of them: “There once came into the neighborhood a newly-married couple, who took up their abode in the little cabin at the foot of the hill. This young couple had become very popular in the neighborhood, when sud- denly they appeared no more in public. Some anxious friends went to the cabin, and after some hesitation, ventured in. There they found the young wife chained to the bedside, dead. Ever after that, it was said, the dead woman’s spirit haunted the house. School children never ven- tured very near it, and passed it in silent awe. Even cattle knew by instinct there was something wrong with the little cabin, and although the grass grew high around it, the cattle never ventured near. “And has no one ever dared to sleep in it?” asked Will. “Oh, yes!” I answered. “Pat McGregor has been the only one. He slept in it last Hallowe’en night to win a bet.” “Did anything happen to him?” “Well, you ask him that to-night and he’ll tell you all you wish to know concerning it,” I told him. That evening while around the hearth-fire, Will livened up the lag- ging conversation by talking to Pat. “Say, old man, Catherine pointed out to me the haunted house, and she says you are the only one that has ever dared to sleep a night in it. Is that so?” “It is,” replied Pat dryly, “that is I passed a night in it. I’m not say- ing whether I slept or not.” “Well, nothing unusual happened, I’m sure. There really is no such thing as a ghost, old man. I really believe you must be superstitious,”