Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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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.

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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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ABIiamlira Echoes Taken By Surprise hen I was over in Europe, I was wandering one day off in a lonely path of the Alhambra. I suddenly stumbled and looked down, and there was something rusty partly protruding from the bottom of a rock. Of course I picked it up. When I got it in my hands, I saw that it was a very queer key, and it had something engraved upon it. I took the key and went to find my mother to show it to her. We soaked it in oil, and, after most of the rust had come off, my mother said that the inscription on it was Moorish. I decided to take it to an old Moor in Granada and see what he could tell me about it. When I got to his shop, he took the key from me to study it for a few minutes, and then he told me it was worth something. I asked what the writing said, and he told me, Twenty steps west of the Tower of Comares, two feet down. Mother paid him well, and we went to find this place. We took a shovel with us and soon found what seemed to be the right spot. I started digging. I dug and dug till I was tired, and the hole was about two feet deep. Mother and I decided to sit down, so we did and ate a couple of sandwiches. I was getting discouraged but took up the shovel and went at it again. Clink! I ' ve hit something! I said to Mother. I put my shovel into the dirt again and heard the same sound. I pushed the dirt away, and there was something rusty, which we dragged out. It was a box about six by six inches, and it looked very old and queer. I hurried and stuck the key into the keyhole. It opened all right, and there, sure enough, were some old coins. When we counted them, we found only as much as Mother had paid the old Moor for reading the inscrip- tion. We had not gained anything, but anyway it was a surprise. Jt happened while I w as touring Spain. I visited the Alhambra, a Moor- ish citadel and palace in Granada. The afternoon sun was sultry and hot. I had just visited the tower where the Three Beautiful Princesses had been kept, and I had been thinking also of the Rose of the Alhambra. I wandered into the Court of the Lions and sat down beside the fountain. Suddenly sweet music came to me, so faintly at first I thought it was the splashing of the water in the fountain. I was feeling sleepy in the afternoon heat and too lazy to move, so that when a Spanish maiden came out and danced to the sweet music of a lute, I was not surprised. I heard a man ' s voice murmur softly, Sen- orita, my Rose of the Alhambra. I looked and there beside the Spanish maiden stood a boy. He was wearing the elegant uniform of a page. He leaned against a pillar of one of the beautiful arches and followed the movement of the dancer with his eyes. Just as he stepped toward her with Bob Anderson. The Secret of the Fountain