8 ACORN minutes, Milt, who had gained the advantage, exclaimed sternly, "I guess that's enough, isn't it?" Bennett hesitated. "You might as well own you're licked, Tad," jeered Blackey. "He can give you a few lessons." Everything seemed like a motion picture to Tad. "Sit down a minute and you'll be alright," Milt said. Tad started to mumble. "Feel better?" asked Milt. "Yes," growled Bennett. "Well then, listen here. You've been bluffing me ever since I came to town; dont see why yuh got anything against me. You thought I was a coward, but if anybody is a coward, you are. You started this because I was smaller and because you thought I was scared of yuh. I got tired of it. Bennett shuffled uneasily. After another pause Milt added, "Lets keep this affair to ourselves fellows." "That's a bargain," Tad agreed sullenly. Milt cheerfully extended his hand, but Tad was silent. As Milt moved away the other three boys went toward Tad, who stood with his arms folded and a dejected look on his face. BILLIE, '14. The Weeping Willow "I have heard," said the old weeping willow, "When earth was all garnished in green, The song of the brook as it rippled Its mossy embankments between. I then was enriched in my glory, The foliage my stems lightly bore; But the Autumn has come and has taken My hues, and I'm happy no more." "I have seen," said the sad weeping willow, "My leaves grow both withered and red. They have fallen like snow on the breezes, And they now lie scattered and dead. May the snow in winter embalm them 'Til May brings us better good cheer, And though naked I'll listen to dirges The brook sings the rest of the year." WILL B. SAURIE. ACORN 9 Soliliquy of a Turkey (With apologies to Shakespeare) Is this an axe which I see before me, The handle turned toward my neck? Come, let me away; I fear thee not when thou art still, And yet your presence haunts me. Art thou not, old axe, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A vision of the mind, a false creation, Which I seem to see in this early dawn? Thou marshal'st me the way that I must go, And such an instrument that will bring my end If I do not flee before my master arises. On thy blade and handle I see clots of blood Which was not so yesterday. Can such be true? It is a bloody business which informs Thus to mine eyes. Now o'er the one-half world Nature seems cruel, and wicked dreams abuse my sleep. Master has chosen me for his yearly offering And I am alarmed by sounds of preparation; And thus with my stealthy pace I move Like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear Thy very stones prate of my whereabouts, And tell of my secret hiding. I go at this early hour, when all is well. Tell it not, Keen-edge, for on this depends my life. M. L. R.