Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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The llaosit Apron ABOUT FORTY-Five YEARS ago, when it was the style for little boys to wear velvet suits and gingham aprons, there was a little boy named Chester, who hated to Wear aprons. His grandmother made him wear them to kindergarten. One day he wore his best, black, velvet suit with a lace col- lar to kindergarten, and he was unhappy because he had to wear his apron. On his way to school he passed a gopher hole, and he quickly took his apron off, stuffed it down the hole, and went on to school. After a while his sister passed by and noticed the apron. She took it out and took it home to her grandmother, who wrapped it in a package and in- closed a note, saying: Dear Chetty, I was down in my house when, all of a sudden, it became dark and gloomy. On investigation, I found your apron in my doorway, and I am returning it as I know you will need it. Respectfully, MR. GOPHER.,, The little boy was so surprised he never objected to wearing his apron again. Elsie Latimer. o-jo, MY PERSIAN CAT, sat on the window sill looking out. He seemed - very quiet and peaceful, very gentle and lovable, with a dreamy, far- away look as he gazed at the horizon. He seemed to be thinking beautiful thoughts, perhaps of the blue sky and bay stretched out before him. Suddenly he rose, stood on his hind legs on the window sill, and gave a mighty slap at the bird cage overhead. Losing his balance, he fell with a thud to the floor and stalked with dignity into the other room where he went to sleep on the rug. Ann H all. My Garden I have a lovely garden Wfbere dainty ladies sit. They drink their tea in silver en ps And eat on golden plates. Some are white, some are blue, Others dressed in pink. ' They are quite pretty and quite gay. They are the flowers that grow In my garden every day. Ioy Rodifer.

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Q Pulls p HE was ONE of those strong and tawny dogs, who, though not perhaps as handsome as true thoroughbreds, have a never-dying affection for their masters. He was called Pedro, and he lived with a recluse in a lonely little hut near the village. The recluse was a half-breed, part English, part Spanish. The villagers said of him that he was an ex-convict, some one to be let alone. When he walked down the street, people shunned his path, the dogs barked savagely at him, and the ragged village children flung stones in his direction. Many strange stories were told of him, all of them untrue, but nevertheless widely believed. Not liking this treatment of his dear master, Pedro fought the worthless village dogs and chased the ragged street gamins. It was his only way of defending the half -breed. Though hardy and strong, the man was quite old. He owned a tiny plot of land outside the hut, and on this he toiled tirelessly, working from early dawn till dusk. Pedro helped him as best he could, but, after all, he could not help much, for he was only a dog. A long time ago when a tiny puppy, the dog had been bought by the half-breed for a small sum. From that day on Pedro had loved and admired him and had always been faithful to him. As a master, he was kind and gentle. He understood Pedro, and Pedro understood him. One day the man fell desperately ill. He was alone in his hut save for the dog, but Pedro knew very well how to carry letters to the village. Tak- ing a paper addressed to the doctor, the dog bounded out of the room and down the road for help. When he saw his patient, the doctor shook his head and gave him some pills, but pills could not cure the half-breed's fever. Then nodding a good-night to the sick man, he left hurriedly, promising to return. The next few days the poor man grew decidedly worse. Day and night Pedro lay beside the bed, his large, faithful, brown eyes lixed sadly and intently on the sick man,s pallid and feverish face. One night the half- breed died. By his side the dog howled piteously, realizing now that his be- loved master was gone. Morning came, a morning sad for Pedro. It was not long before the coroner arrived. Despite Pedro's snarls and growls he carried the body away. In the afternoon of the following day the half-breed was buried in the little cemetery outside the village. The noisy throng of villagers, who had come to the cemetery out of curiosity alone, soon left. Over the grave, however, one solitary mourner sat, whimpering and calling for the master who would never answer him again. If dogs could weep, Pedro would have done so. A neighbor who had long admired Pedro agreed to take him now, but che dog would not eat. He was lost in grief for the only one he had ever loved. The next day Pedro was missing. The neighbor searched everywhere for him, but he was not to be found. A week passed. No Pedro. Seized -with a sudden idea, the neighbor went to the deserted little cemetery. There he found that the half-breed's grave had been dug open. On top of the cof- fin lay the limp body of the dog who in life had been his master's dearest companion. Pedro had died of a broken heart. The kindly neighbor gently closed the grave where the two pals slept. Ynez Iolmsfon.

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fifteen Hundred Dolllloirs TO-O-OT! It was five o'clock, and people of all descriptions were hurry- ing in every direction, well dressed people that gave the appearance of working in offices, men in greasy clothes walking together with their lunch boxes under their arms, and brightly dressed shop girls strolling arm in arm down the street, chewing poppy gum, and talking loudly. Only one person stood out in the throngs of passing people. He was a tall man whose dirty clothes showed that he worked in a coal yard. It was Jim Jones, who had caught our eye. He had worked hard that day, and tomorrow Josephine was leaving him. He hated to think of it. He would miss her coming to meet him every night when he came home from work, but twenty dollars a month wasn't much for two. Jim was nearing the tenement district in which he and Josephine were living. They had been happy there together, but now she was leaving. As he turned the corner, he saw Josephine coming to meet him. She was a cute, little thing with long, black, curly hair. She seemed happy, but she didn't know that this was their last day together. Josephine had been with him for two years, ever since her mother died. He was going to lose her now, but there was nothing he could do about it. They walked along for a block without saying a word. Then Jim realized that he must tell her the sad news. Well, Josephine, he said, as he patted her dark curls, tomorrow you're leaving. We've been together for a long time, and Isure am going to miss you. Josephine's eyes searched his face, and she was unable to say a word. She is a brave, little thingf' Jim thought as he looked down at little Josephine running along beside him. Now they reached the tenement house that was their home. It was a tall, brick building, nottoo beautiful, but it was where they had lived to- gether for two years. Jim would have to leave after Josephine left. It would be lonesome there without her. Jim just glanced at the mail box. It had been empty for two years. There was something in the box, something white. A letter! Who can it be from? Jim thought as he opened it with trem- bling fingers. As he read it, Jim's face brightened. He pinched himself to see if he was asleep and then read the letter over twice. Josephine, he shouted, you'll not have to leave after all. You know I sent your photograph into the picture contest? Well, you won the first prize! You won fifteen hundred dollars. Josephine looked up into Jimfs eyes, wagged her stubby tail, and barked joyfully. Betty H amen. My llfimiend EVEKY day when I come home from school a little mongrel dog comes 'to meet me. He is a forlorn looking creature and is always hungry and affectionate. He has a strange looking eye. His owner told me that when the dog was born, the iris was defective. As a result he sees things wrong. This makes him irritable and nervous. He sometimes runs after me when I am on my bicycle. He can stand up on his hind legs. He can also play dead. This dog does not belong to me, but I get as much happiness out of playing with him as if he were my own. Albert Queen.