Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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A Atiinlermis Osiiiic ' JpHE Sieur de lan Mer, the French knight who is visiting Devlen Castle, resideth in the same wing as my Lord George, and thither I journeyed one day, bearing a flagon of wine. Upon reaching the chamber door, I paused to set aright my plumed cap. As I did so, I caught a wee mite of the conversation. I must admit that I tarried longer than was necessary to hearken to their words. I shall remove the king, said a voice. One more false move, and I shall remove him. Pardieu! An thou dost so, I shall remove thine, and thy fair queen also. snarled a voice in French. Traitors, plotters! I thought. Whom could I trust to tell? Lord Mackworth might be one of the conspirators. Finally my mind ' s eye lit on my sage instructor in arms who must be in his office at this moment. Thither I ran. When I reached there, breathless, excited, I told my tale, and he agreed to come with me. When we reached the door, covered with arras as it was, we could listen behind it without being discovered, and this we did. The two were carrying on much the same conversation. Finally we could restrain our- selves no longer so Sir James Lee entered the room crying in a loud voice, How now, messieurs? What coil is this about removing the king? We are just having a game of chess, said Lord George, and thou, Falworth, where is our wine? Mary Anne Del more. I often wonder when I look Up in the heavens high And see a cloud so fleecy white Slowly foating by. I wonder what it really is. I know it seems to me To be an ever -changing shape That ' s full of mystery. Sometimes it looks just like a ship With its snowy sails unfurlel, A ship that carries passengers Over the whole wide world. Again it looks like a castle white With towers smooth and high, A castle with turrets that seem to read) U p to the roof of the sky. At times it seems like a little, white bird Winging through the sky so blue. O cloud, I wish that I might be Floating up there with you. Gladysmae Swantner.

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Then, as the two men departed, the opening closed. The desert sun had set before they had reached their camp. The next morning the sky was just becoming tinted with a light orange color when the men were again on the road to the cave. They went directly to the stone image and touched the emerald eyes but, contrary to the day before, they failed to reopen the hole. When the men had left the night before, the delicate mechanism, which for centuries had been untouched, had broken when jarred by the shutting of the entrance. The two men after many unsuccessful efforts to repeat their experience re- turned to their camp with only the memory of the marvelous sight which they had beheld. The secret of the old salt mine is forever lost to mankind, but the statue sits as formerly with its emerald eyes looking into the future. Loring Barker. ESclatcri Koomcmmj J £ Y cousin who attended the University of California about ten years ago decided to go to the University of Adelaide to continue his studies under Dr. Robertson, who had accepted a post in the Australian University. He was interested in the peculiar geology of Australia, so he spent a vacation in arid, Western Australia. He spent a few days in a little village in this sparsely settled country. There was a corner-store, meeting place where all the villagers congregated evenings. One evening my cousin found when he reached the corner gathering that he was not the only stranger. The other newcomer was also a Yankee , a typical traveling agent who soon revealed that his name was Edward Davis. He was busily engaged in trying to entertain the rustic audience. Davis related in a loud, boastful voice of all his expe- riences in different, distant places, and he bragged of his physical strength. Then he said, I ' ll tell you fellows, there ' s nothing requiring physical skill I can ' t do, just nothing at all. A lean, gaunt native spoke slowly in reply. Stranger, I think there might be many things you couldn ' t do. Now, for instance, bet you can ' t throw a stone across the Darling River. Edward Davis immediately bet he could. The spirit and wagers ran high. My cousin knew the Darling River was only about fifty yards wide at the appointed spot. He also knew the unique geological structure of the surrounding country, so he was at the designated place the next morning in time to witness the event. When he arrived, all the villagers seemed to have met there. Davis wandered toward the group of specta- tors. The unconcerned salesman walked up and down the bank scrutiniz- ing carefully each step he traversed. When the braggart retired to the laughing crowd, he drew a stone from his pocket, took aim carefully, and hurled it across the river. Now, boys, Davis said, turning to look at them, pay up! You see I ' ve been here before. I knew there weren ' t any stones hereabout so I brought my own with me! Elizabeth Bums.

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The ;ic»m of (.old J7 nclosed in a flaming aurora of color, daylight slowly crept into the shadows of the Andes. The old prospector built a small fire from dried sticks and placed over it a dingy coffeepot. He paused watching the sun steal on the world, thinking of the many times he had watched the dawn just this way. Forty years hoping to strike a rich gold vein! All these years and he had found only enough gold nuggets to buy provisions. The steaming coffeepot brought him back to his wea ry encampment. While eating his scanty meal, he thought of discovering the richest gold vein in all South America, hurrying back to a nearby settlement, pur- chasing the land, hiring workers, and people flocking to the sight of his find, a gold rush! There would be men sweating at his command, and he preparing a journey to the mecca of South America, Buenos Aires. Such exicted comments as he passed by, a man with a million pesos! A big house and the most expensive Spanish food, luxuries instead of black coffee, lima beans and stale bread. The happy vision disappeared as Old Sol reared himself higher in the heavens. A minute of packing and off he started, plodding along, stopping here and there to strike rocks in the hope of a rich find. Ah, his near-sighted eyes did find one, but alas, the vein was small. However, he mined a large sackful and started for the nearest settlement. After tramping day and night, he turned his footsteps into the small office of a gold buyer. He looked at the gold, a small amount, but maybe enough for a bushel of potatoes for his poor dinner. The trim-looking man who examined the gold looked queerly at the prospector and then said, This isn ' t gold! These dull veins here are platinum. Your find is worth ten thousand pesos! Hardly believing what he heard, the old man received the money with shaking hands. His find was the talk of the town, and soon the old man was seen frequenting the gambling halls and saloons. Spending money right and left, he almost brought back prosperity itself. A fortnight later, as the dawn burst through the overhanging clouds, a sorrowful figure was seen to start from the village into the Andes. The old prospector, having luckily salvaged enough money for scanty pro- visions, was tramping back to the mountains. He had had his fling at life, and once more he journeyed toward the heights. He paused halfway up the mountain side to watch the shadows flee across the Andes as the sun attained the higher heights. Recalling that he was still without breakfast, he started a small fire, making note of the fact that he would have to be more careful with the matches this trip, as he had remembered that he had had only enough money for his two dingy boxes. Douglass Cayjie.