Storiettes
GORDAN FALLS |
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One of the most beautiful spots I know is about three miles from Mattawamkeag village. If one stands on the top of the hill known as Pine Hill he can see on either side pretty evergreen trees, in the midst of which a stream crosses the road at the foot of hill and enters the river.
Still further down one can see the falls known as Gordan Falls. The water flowing over the rocks is pure white which makes the scene very pretty. The falls were much prettier before the dam was washed out. The waves dash up on the shore, make a rather wild scene above the falls, while below them the river broadens out and the water is almost still.
The first time I visited this place was when the sun was setting. As the sun sank down behind the trees, the sky was very beautiful in its bright color, contrasting with the deep green of the trees.
L.M., ‘16
Still further down one can see the falls known as Gordan Falls. The water flowing over the rocks is pure white which makes the scene very pretty. The falls were much prettier before the dam was washed out. The waves dash up on the shore, make a rather wild scene above the falls, while below them the river broadens out and the water is almost still.
The first time I visited this place was when the sun was setting. As the sun sank down behind the trees, the sky was very beautiful in its bright color, contrasting with the deep green of the trees.
L.M., ‘16
WHAT OUR ORGAN SAID TO THE JANITOR AT THE END OF THE TERM
“There! This term is finished but I have only two weeks in which to rest. Just two weeks and I shall be pushed around and abused by the girls and boys as I have been for the last fifteen or twenty years. Let me tell you a few of many trials; it will do me good to tell someone.
Ever since I was brought to this town and placed in this school, I have been abused so you cannot blame me if I sometimes break down and cry in a melancholy voice. When I lived in the old schoolhouse, The boys used to try to jump over me and they often rapped my sides hard with their heavy boots. The girls used me for a leaning post and I sometimes cried out to them to stop, but they could not have heard me because they never stopped leaning. And some of the girls evidently took me for an Indian tom-tom by the way they used to pound me.
But I’ll pass over a great many of my troubles and tell you how I have fared since I came to live in this new school-house. I have been used a little better, but I am getting old and very little bumps hurt me a great deal. Every other Friday morning, the boys and girls from the different schools gather in the High School room and we sing old songs. I am very happy, also, because the boys and girls of the High School come over to play games and I can help them have a good time.
But sometimes I get very, very tired ; it is then that I lose control of myself and I sometimes make strange, mournful sounds instead of the ones I am told to make. Then, at times, my back aches so that I try to lean against the wall, but Miss Berry always comes and braces me up and the organist always pounds me the harder as if I had disgraced the school by my misconduct before visitors, when it was really her fault for hurting me so.
I think I have told you enough of my troubles for one evening, so if you will please leave me, I think I will say a prayer in behalf of my young tormentors and go to sleep. Good night, kind man!”
M.E.P., ‘15.
Ever since I was brought to this town and placed in this school, I have been abused so you cannot blame me if I sometimes break down and cry in a melancholy voice. When I lived in the old schoolhouse, The boys used to try to jump over me and they often rapped my sides hard with their heavy boots. The girls used me for a leaning post and I sometimes cried out to them to stop, but they could not have heard me because they never stopped leaning. And some of the girls evidently took me for an Indian tom-tom by the way they used to pound me.
But I’ll pass over a great many of my troubles and tell you how I have fared since I came to live in this new school-house. I have been used a little better, but I am getting old and very little bumps hurt me a great deal. Every other Friday morning, the boys and girls from the different schools gather in the High School room and we sing old songs. I am very happy, also, because the boys and girls of the High School come over to play games and I can help them have a good time.
But sometimes I get very, very tired ; it is then that I lose control of myself and I sometimes make strange, mournful sounds instead of the ones I am told to make. Then, at times, my back aches so that I try to lean against the wall, but Miss Berry always comes and braces me up and the organist always pounds me the harder as if I had disgraced the school by my misconduct before visitors, when it was really her fault for hurting me so.
I think I have told you enough of my troubles for one evening, so if you will please leave me, I think I will say a prayer in behalf of my young tormentors and go to sleep. Good night, kind man!”
M.E.P., ‘15.
BACK TO NATURE
Many people who have never had the experience of “camping out,” in the real meaning of the word, seem to think that it is one continual round of undisturbed pleasure ; nothing to do but “lie around” in the sun and drowse and dream, and enjoy oneself.
They seem to think that while they are camping out the weather is going to be always fine. When they go camping and, when, in the “wee sma’ hours” of a dark morning, they are awakened by a clap of thunder and find the tent leaking, and they themselves blocking the way of a small river that is trickling under the tent, then they begin to find out things.
Of course a party starts out on a camping trip in fair weather, and it never occurs to any one (unless there is an old camper in the party) that it could rain. When the crowd wakes up, and finds that the heavens are leaking at a great rate and the tent following suit in certain places, then vague doubts begin to disturb them. “Wonder where I put that box of matches?” “Who looked after the grub-box?” “Where did I leave my change of clothes?” Then begins a grand hunt. Nearly everyone suddenly thinks of something left outside the tent, and as suddenly dives out to get the forgotten articles. When the coats, clothes, bait, reel-poles, grub boxes and other articles are at last brought in, the rescuers find themselves as wet as they can be, and the rescued articles couldn’t have got wetter if they had stayed where they were.
Then there is nothing to do but sit around and wait for daylight. When daylight comes, everyone is expecting to sit beside a roaring fire and dry out and get warm. But, as no one thought of putting any dry wood under cover, everyone has to turn out and hunt for some. When at last some one has succeeded in finding a sound, dry log and has it split up and piled in the fire-place, then the hunt for matches begins.
It’s a very happy party of campers that finds a dozen or so of matches done up in a dry box, when everyone has been digging up wet, soggy sticks that smelt strongly of sulphur and brimstone.
When the fire is cracking and roaring on the fire-place, the campers settle down to have a day of drying out the bedding and clothing.
When someone gets hungry, and says “Breakfast,” then the grub box is explored. Usually the sugar is found to be in a very damp state, the salt is the same, and everything seems to have been rubbing noses with the salt pork. Cake and bread are just right to eat with a spoon, the flour is fine to make batter, and the beans are starting to sprout. However, the bread is put by the fire and dried out, as well as possible, but as long as it lasts it makes one think of a smoke-house. The beans are dried, too, but they seem to want to “moult,” and are eventually consigned to the soup-kettle.
After a day spent in getting things shipshape, the campers are ready to turn in for the night. The beds are made most any way, the campers cover the fire, and after putting everything into the tent with a big pile of dry wood, they tumble into bed, and say as they curl up under the spreads that a bed never felt better.
But just as they are about asleep, z-z-z-z-z and one fellow gets bitten by a mosquito. The bitten one takes a quick slap at the intruder and hits his bed-fellow a thump in the eye with his elbow.
This is only the beginning ; in a few minutes the tent is full of mosquitoes, and sooner or later the campers are forced to make a smudge in the tent, and then only can they sleep in peace.
These are only some of the experiences to be met with when one “Gets out under the open sky, and lists to Nature’s voice.”
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TO M.H.S.
Tune - Auld Lang Syne
Now, here’s a toast to M.H.S.
Long may she ever stand,
For all that’s noble, true and good,
An honor to the land.
And here’s to all her children true.
Tho’ scattered wide they be,
In years to come, we know their love
Will be unchanged for thee.
And for her colors floating there
Send up another cheer,
The black and orange gleaming fair
To her are very dear.
So keep them ever pure and bright
Untouched by hint of shame
For they’re the symbol of the school
And ne’er must bear a stain.
CHORUS
For M.H.S. we’ll cheer
For M.H.S.
We’ll make the echoes ring with cheers
For dear old M.H.S.
B.A.A., ‘14
Now, here’s a toast to M.H.S.
Long may she ever stand,
For all that’s noble, true and good,
An honor to the land.
And here’s to all her children true.
Tho’ scattered wide they be,
In years to come, we know their love
Will be unchanged for thee.
And for her colors floating there
Send up another cheer,
The black and orange gleaming fair
To her are very dear.
So keep them ever pure and bright
Untouched by hint of shame
For they’re the symbol of the school
And ne’er must bear a stain.
CHORUS
For M.H.S. we’ll cheer
For M.H.S.
We’ll make the echoes ring with cheers
For dear old M.H.S.
B.A.A., ‘14
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