OUR NEW CORNER.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 158, 6 July 1929, Page 2 (Supplement)

OUR NEW CORNER.

"Me and Santa Claus."

(By Sheila Quinn, Tennyson Street, Mt.

Eden; age 15.)

Bah! Do I like Santa Claus? I should say not. Why? : Well, listen. It. was last Christmas, .and a children's party.had been arranged for my little cousin. "Of course you must come," said my aunt, beaming upon me. And perhaps " Instantly I knew what was coming. "Perhaps you might be Santa Claus for the night?" I protested feebly. It was useless. So Christmas Eve found me gaily dressed in Santa Claus' well-known robes. I displayed my hefty sack of toys to the excited children. Instantly I was besieged. "I want a M "Hey! Santa, I want-—-" * Children were clamouring 'all over me. One excited small person gave my flowing beard a . violent pull, and, heavens! Off it came. "Awl" said someone scornfully. "It's only a girl. It's a fraud." "A fraud! A fraud!" the cry went up from the indignant children. At last I escaped to the kitchen, where I sat down limply and listened to a storm of abuse from auntie. "I'll never , ask you to be Santa Claus again," she said as a parting shot before she' disappeared from the r.oom. "You'll never get the chance!" I called cheerfully after her. Late. (By T.ui Hadfield,. 8, Brightside Koad, Epsom, Auckland; age 12.) I hopped out of the tram, dashed across the road in front of a moving motor car, and rushed up the street. I go to Grammar and they're very strict about being late. On the way up I fell over and tore the knee oitt of my stocking. Horrors! All was quiet. Were prayers over? Would I——? Round the corner came my friend. "Hullo," ehe said, "did you make that mistake, too? It's a holiday to-day. They were told after you and I had gone—at two. I thought you might have come. Come on home with me. I clutched the nearest post. Was it true? Wasn't I late?

The Ghost Walks,

(By Pauline Petersen, 184, Hobson Street,

City; age 14.) Rattle! Clank! Twelve o'clock struck eerily through the "Towers." A whit* illuminous clad figure marched glowlj] and Foftly down the stairs. Nearer; andl nearer.it came towards the girl huddled in the corner, its great bulging eyes popping mysteriously in and out of its head; Its feet moved swiftly and silently, and everything around was lit with its mysterious light. Uncanny little shivers ran down our backs as we watched this silent figure approaching. All of a sudden the girl let out a blood-curdling scream and grabbed at the ghost. Its hood wae pulled off to reveal Joan Armstrong, the v main support of the play. The Tiresome Patient. <By Tnelma Bollard, 24, William Street;, Mt. Albert; age 14.) : Have you ever nursed a boy? You don't know what life is if you haven't. The first few days, when he is really ill, he's a model patient, sleeping most of the time. Then—"What's to do?" "Any books?" You get him one. "That— . that's no good." A few minutes later, "What is it when you've got a painbehind the shoulder-blade?" Mother anxiously asks how long he's had ifci "Just felt it." He straightens himself and) says, "Bit better. Oh, it's gone now." By the end of the, day he's had an ache; everywhere, but " It's gone now," and Bβ' whistles merrily again. •