Bancroft School - Blue Moon Yearbook (Worcester, MA)

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32 THE BLUE MOON and they begged him to share his tasty secret. They even offered him gifts and made great promises. When the little fellow decided he had the upper hand of his neighbors, he promised them a big dish of his delicacy that night. In the evening, all the village gathered around Oslow's hut. As usual, he appeared from behind his abode, but this time with a huge horn full of fulvous snow. They tried the mixture cautiously, a finger here and there thrust inside the horn and stuck into the mouth. The fingers increased from one to two- from two to three - until there was a general rush, and the frozen dainty disappeared, The strange treat was thoroughly enjoyed. In fact, the hamlet went quite honey-snow crazy, until so much wood had been consumed in warming people after frequent chills, that the supply became dangerously low. Thus came the first ice cream. New methods for making it have been discovered, and its quality has improved steadily until the smooth, rich cream of to-day has been contrived. Oh! what is better on a sweltering summer's day than a heaping dish of luscious ice cream! Cold, creamy, sweet! Refreshing as a breeze in summer, delicious as the sweetest honey! Give me a sprawling deck chair under a shady maple with a plate of frozen sweet. Or an open roadster beside the ocean: balmy breezes, silvery sails- soft lapping water-and always, a cone of ice cream, oozing-dribbling down the sides. Let the children laugh and-squeal at pink frozen Santas, round red apples, funny orange fish wreathed with spun sugar-wiry, prickly, chewy. Ice cream in any form pleases me! Think of the possible variety from which one may choose. There are strawberry, orange-pineapple, chocolate, maple-walnut, coffee, vanilla, frozen-pudding: tart, saccharine lemon sherbet, or velvety, fresh strawberry mousse. - Everyone to his taste! The child prefers chocolate or strawberry because of its color: his elders ask for frozen pudding or coffee to satisfy their sophisticated palates. The stout take mousse as a diversion from their diets: the skinny are prone to sherbet, and worry over their appetites. A woman always prefers the least beneficial kind, and fumes later because she has not made good her intentions to improve her figure. A supreme delight for me as a child, was a party at which we would have ice cream. I looked at my invitation, struggled through a properly written acceptance, dressed in my best frock, and played the games with enthusiasm, but the big moment was the drawing aside of the curtains, and the announce- ment, A'Now we will have a little ice cream and cake. How my mouth watered! But, be it added, if the ice cream failed to appear, my face was not the sole one to drop. , That night when answering questions at home, I would comment, 'AYes, it was a very nice party, but we didn't have much to eat qmeaning, as mother knew, that there was no ice creamj, Another exciting hour of my childhood came on Sunday morning.

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THE BLUE MOON 31 A DISSERTATION ON ICE CREAM CkWritten after reading Lamb's On Roast Pigj ICE CREAM, says the History of a Cook, was an accidental discovery of cen- turies ago. Some twenty odd years after the ejection of Lief the Lucky from his beloved land, the volume explains, Oslow, an idiot goat-herd, so much given to sweets that he often carried stolen honey in his pocket, awoke one evening to find himself half buried in snow, his goats shivering, and night approaching fast. He hastily gathered his fold together and made for home. The daft wretch stumbled along for hours, blinded and frightened by the sudden storm, until Hnally, hungry and exhausted, he sank down under the brow of a hill. Catching one of the animals, he prepared a shell Cfor there were no cups in those ancient daysj full of warm, rich milk, adding, of course, a plentiful supply of honey. The portion he had prepared was so bountiful that he drank only part of it and set the rest aside on the freezing snow. Thus warmed and soothed, he lay down for another nap. It was not long, however, before shivering bleats awoke him, and he jumped guiltily from his icy bed, muttering a cry of distress. Now I shall catch it! Where is my shell? He found it barely protruding above the newly fallen snow, which he brushed briskly aside and found to his dismay the concoction of milk and honey frozen. Why lug this stuff along? he grumbled. Now my drink is spoiled. Shaw! -the mess sticks like spruce gum, and is cold as anything! But suddenly the sweet odor of the mess assailed his nostrils, and he was tempted to taste it. He smacked his lips, then sampled a larger portion. Mumm, he muttered, not bad. Don't run away, you goats. - Guess l'll try a bit more. ln short, he sampled so much that he could hardly walk for shivering. As he approached the village, a small crowd of men rushed toward him, waving their sticks and shaking their fists. 'Tm in for it now! he groaned. The master's discovered my absence. Here they all come. Wonder if this honey-snow would appease them? He tried to greet them nonchalantly, grinning from ear to ear, and extending his shell of snow-cream. But they sneered at his novel dish, and dragged him home, scolding and threatening him. Some minutes later, a good deal warmer, he staggered towards his hut, and noisily sobbed forth his indignation. I'll keep its making all a secret now! he cried. 'iIt's different, and it's good! You'll wish you hadn't whipped me, you will. Although stupid, Oslow was also stubborn. He kept his word. The neighbors constantly saw him slink from behind the cabin, wiping his mouth, rolling his eyes, and patting his stomach, and they grew more and more curious, Finally their curiosity grew into longing which could not be stayed,

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THE BLUE MOON 33 Returning from Sunday School, I would inevitably lind the faithful Margaret whacking ice in a brown cloth bag. She would groan and grunt, murmuring indignation over this Sunday dessert-making, and would acquiesce readily to my offer to churn it. That was the fun! .lust to sit and churn- and churn - watching the salt dissolve with the melting ice, and pondering how I could open the can for a sample without endangering it with the enveloping salty ice and water, a not unknown tragedy in the case of home-made ice cream. But at last the job would be finished. Then two hours until dinner was announced, and an interminable time, it seemed, before the eagerly awaited last course was served. The pink, yellow, and blue figured bowl steaming from its frozen contents was at last set in front of me. I can still taste the fresh strawberries, and feel the smooth cream sliding deliciously down my throat. Is there anything better than ice cream made at home? Sandwiches, salads, punch, puddings, candies, cakes: he is indeed a generous host who supplies any kind of refreshments. But when you do a thing, 'ADO it up brown, say I, serve ice cream! AMY LUCINDER LYSETH, 1932 ANDRIE ANDRE had been courting our French maid in his own gallant fashion for many months, and had ultimately persuaded her to marry him. I attended the marriage ceremony, a purely legal and unromantic affair, and was disappointed not only in Maria's wedding, but also in her husband. The newly-married couple secured a position in Florida for the summer but migrated North to work for us in the fall. When I saw Andre in our kitchen, I observed him carefully for the first time. A stocky man just over five feet tall, with muscular arms swinging ape-like at his sides, a small bullet-shaped head encircled by a fringe of brown hair upon which rested a starched chef's cap-that was Andre. As he smiled, I perceived a few widely separated teeth beneath his small mustache: his eyes visible behind uncommonly thick lenses, smiled too. Bonjour Mademo:'seIlel Du cafe ou du Init? Milk, please! And immediately Andre began discoursing upon the incomparable virtues of that beverage. He lit a Lucky Strike- Zey are better for ze sroat -and began to make breakfast. In the midst of buttering the toast, he commenced to sing Marie Madelaine in a rich baritone voice, stopping only to wipe his hands on his large white apron before he started preparing the cereal to Gounod's Berceuse. Andre felt at home. ' People often feel at home although the home does not suit them perfectly. Before Andre had resided with us many days, he had a list of utensils needed to make his culinary accomplishments the height of perfection. Mother,