Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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The Birds ' Spring Festival HAT a loud noise there was among the birds. Every bird in Berkeley was singing its prettiest spring song. Mr. Carrier- Pigeon was carrying invitations to all the society birds which announced the Spring Festival to be held at the Bird Stadium on the corner of Worm and Bug streets. Yellow-wing, the flicker, and Downy, the woodpecker, put posters on all the old trees they could find. Red- tail, the hawk, and Spooky, the screech owl, carried the news to all the schools. When the day set for the festival came, all the birds appeared in their finest attire. Redwing, the blackbird, had had his wings painted a brighter red for the occasion by Hummer, the ruby-throated humming bird. Sammy Jay had had his swallow-tail coat painted bright blue with stripes of black and white. Tommy Tit, the chickadee, came in his best flappers. King Eagle had a new ermine and velvet coat, and the Queen, Lady Golden of Paradise, had a golden crown and was accompanied by her maid, Mary, the fan-tailed pigeon, who fanned her mistress at long intervals. The birds assembled in the stadium waiting for the program to com- mence. King Eagle assisted by Knocker, the yellow-hammer, and the Queen, Lady Golden of Paradise, sat on their golden perches at one end of the stage, while on the other end sat Jabber, the parrot. The meeting was called to order by Knocker, the yellow-hammer, and, when the audience was quieted, Jabber announced that Carol, the meadow lark, would sing Home, Sweet Home. As soon as Carol began to sing, Mourner, the dove, began to weep and attracted the at- tention of the whole audience. Next the male quartet sang Johnnie Get Your Gun, and Comin ' Thru ' the Rye. As the quartet was singing Johnny Get Your Gun, little Will, the baby crow, began to cry for he had heard the word gun and he was afraid. Just then a shrill voice sounded over the dead silence of the stadium — Whip-poor- Will. The next number entitled, Spring Has Come, was sung by Bubbling Bob, the bobolink, accompanied on the harp by Vesper, the lyre. The audience applauded heartily and Bubbling Bob sang as an encore, It Ain ' t Gon ' a Rain No More. Bob White spoke an original poem next entitled The Early Bird Catches the Worm. The birds were getting a little restless but, when Boomer, the night owl. sang Oh How I Hate to Get Up in the Morning, it broke all

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The Storm Ring t v. WAS traveling in Mexico when I took a small sailing boat from Guaymas to La Pass, Lower California. Ordinarily I wouldn ' t have gone in a small boat at that time of the year, because one can ' t depend on them. I naturally had many forebodings. The captain was an American who couldn ' t speak Spanish. Supposing the crew, which was composed of four Mexicans, mutinied . The crew couldn ' t speak English so the captain didn ' t know their characteristics. I wouldn ' t have taken this boat if there had been a steamer coming, but there wasn ' t. It was a glorious day in March that the boat left with a favorable wind. The next day about ten o ' clock in the morning there was an ab- solute calm, not even breeze enough to stir a handkerchief when held up. There was very little current, if any, and the boat did not have any kind of a power engine. In the distant sky we could see a storm ring, which put us all on edge. Late that night the storm descended in all its fury. The captain gave me the orders and I translated them. Reef the storm sail, and so forth. For a few minutes the boat whirled around crazily, then sud- denly it shot ahead like a flood coming down a mountain stream. It was then that 1 truly knew the significance of the vessel ' s name, The Hellwinder. All sails were pulled down, but the boat still shot ahead like mad. The captain bade me take the wheel while he fixed sundry things. No one had any idea of the direction in which we were going. Soon we came to a rocky and barren coast. As I remember it now it seemed as if we were going over twenty-five miles an hour. I was so sick that I could hardly do as bidden. I hadn ' t received any orders for some time, so I looked around, but to my dismay couldn ' t find the captain. I turned out to the leeward suddenly to avoid a precipice. The boa nearly capsized as it sheered off rapidly hitting a huge wave sideways. I soon lost the coast as it was night, but determined to do my best. All night the vessel went madly along. As the first sign of morn- ing appeared, I determined to keep going in one direction. I remem- bered the storm had come from the east so I went with the wind. Directly ahead of me was a fog-bank. I shuddered as the small vessel went through what was seemingly space. In about fifteen minutes, I saw a light ahead, so I ordered the men to stop the boat. The vessel lay at anchor for nearly two hours when the fog rose and wonder of wonders, we were in the harbor of La Pass! We found the captain in the hold of the ship with a broken leg and very excited at our luck. JACK MARCHANT.

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restlessness into laughter. There was so much laughing that Knocker had to pound very hard to quiet the crowd of laughing birds. When the birds were quiet, Jabber, the parrot, announced that lunch was ready to serve at Oak Hall. All the birds flew as fast a they could to the many tables laden with lettuce salad, bread crumbs, fish worms, and every kind of bug imaginable. There were also many tables laden with fruit for dessert. The birds all had their share of the food, but Mr. Hawk had a large appetite and stole a fat worm. He was in the act of stealing another when the king came around the corner. It was then about seven-thirty o ' clock and the baby birds were very sleepy, so their mothers took them home. When the children were put to bed, the mothers went to the Princess ' Ball. The great success of the Spring Festival and the ball was published in the bird paper, Treetop News, and every year since there has been a festival among the birds as a rejoicing of spring. —MARGARET COE. O An Old Indian Legend N THE Nevada Desert there is a tract of land the size of one acre, and in this acre is a cemetery used for Indians who had lost their lives in battle. A little distance away there stands a queer shaped stone on which are many carvings. I will try to relate as clearly as possible the legend connected with this. In the early eighties, there dwelt a tribe of Indians on one side of the desert, and on the other side of the desert there lived an enemv tribe. It finall y came to pass that the braves of one tribe started on the war path. It was a coincidence that the braves of the other tribe started on the war path at the same time. They met in the middle of the desert, and they dashed like waves of the ocean. After a night of furious battle one side was reduced to a mere twenty, but on the other side there remained but one huge chief. He was bleeding from many wounds and was fast weakening. When he saw such odds, he started to run, beating down an opponent every once m awhile like an angry bear. At last he dropped to the ground from the lack of blood. The braves of the other tribe realized he was a hero, so they set up a monument in his memory. ALBERTA PEARD.