Dexter High School - Signet Yearbook (Dexter, ME)

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30 THE SIGNET Nevertheless, even though she refused to admit it, knitting and patchwork were becoming absorbing occupations to her, and ia rocking-chair by a sunny window held hitherto unknown charms. Sometimes the knitting needles w-ould be still for a mo- ment, and Grandmother would look out over the hills with a dreamy expression and a half-smile. It was then that we knew that she was living over some scene of the past, or callin-g up some bright dre-am of her youth, so m-any years -ago. We children hailed these moods with demands of Tell us a story and were seldom disappointed. We crowded closer, in order not to lose a word of these enchanting chronicles of yes- fterday which 'she was unfolding to us. Brightened by her keen sense -of humor and clarified by her sympathetic understanding of children, the :tales held us spellbound, and the end of each was immediately greet- ed by Now 'tell us another one! Of course, we ,always wanted to hear about her own childhood, and so sh-e told us many interesting incidents about her sichool-days in the little white country schoolhouse. After a while, though, she didn't say much about her home life when she was small, for, if we didnft actually cry, we always wanted to, because we felt so sorry for the mowtherless little girl who had had to work so much harder than we could ever imagine. Sometime-s, in connection with these rem- iniscences, she showed us her daguerreo- typos in their faded red plush cases. We could hardly believe that 'she had once been the misehie-v-ous-looking, black-haired girl in the dim old picture. Then, as we watch- ed Grandmother's brown eyes soften as she looked at the picture of 'the young man with the mutton-chop whiskers sitting so stiff- ly at her side, we knew that these were in- 'dee-cl likeness-es of our own grandfather and grandmother. She t-old of -them calmly enough, but we realized 'that -the first few years of her mar- ried life were not easy ones. First, the farm had to be cleared, and the evolution from virgin forest to smo-oth, ferti-le fields was not accomplished in a d-ay. Then, the mortgage- muslt be paid -off. After fourteen hours -of weaving, baking and the various other tasks which made up her day, Grand- mother must spend the evenings -preparing dried apples to sell, for every penny count- ed. No wonder, we thought, that even six- ty years afterwards, sh-e considered idle- ness one of the cardinal sins. The stories that we liked best of all, and fthe ones Grandmother most enjoyed telling, were those about her own children, our father and his older brother and sister. We laughed at the pranks of the little boys, but we never lteased to hear about their sis- ter. Granfdnwther still che-rished a sweet- faced china doll, resplendent in yellowed old-fashioned silk and ruffled pa,n't'alette-s. She didn't say much about it, but we knew that the doll had been the favorite play- thing of the little daughter who hard slowly choked to death with diphtheria, one spring day so many years. ago, in spite of the efforts and pra-yers of her agonized parents. As Grandmolther's' future became more and more limited, the past became more de- sirable, and -memories and recollections took an increrasingly important place- in her thoughts and cionver-sation. It was a long, long ste-p from her generation to ours. We could not always understand her willingness to -return to the days of the past, but she knew. She knew that, for her, life could hold no pleasures equal to those which she had experienced, that there were bright memories which would remain with her fore-ver. Her year-s of hard work had not dimmed her love for beauty and nature. One of her hobbies was her garden of bright, ald- fashioncd flowers. From the time when the first che-ery daffodil appeared to the cutting -of the hast frost-bitten aster, bouquets from Grandmother's garden brightened many sick rooms. She was a most satisfying com- panion on woodland excursions, for she knew and loved ea-ch flower and bush. And -the -most infiallible itest of a kindred spirit -she could always pause to look sa-taa sun- set. 'Sometime-s we grandchildren took h-er somewhat for granted. 'She had always be-en there, ready as any time to sew on ia button or tell fa slt-ory, or, when we were sick, to dose us with que-er concoctions steeped from the dried herbs hanging in the attic. But, somehow, on the infrequent oc-

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THE SIGNET 29 then, I never had the money to get the kind of training he 'must have had. I am t-he man y-ou refer to but what money I had -came -only through hard labor of my mother's -and of min-e. .My teacher was my father while he lived and later a s-chool teacher with some musical -ability. You are mistaken, not money bwt hard la- bor and my mother put me where I am. Then you are a man. You are really great. You appreciated and worked for what you had. Oh, how I wish I had not put oif my opportunity! H-ow I wish I had realized how fatal it is to put -things off! I thought I. had plenty -of time for music and now I will never be more than a jani- tor. How I wish I could -play now! Mut- tered the janitor as he shambled hopelessly from the platform. X The artist watched the man go, a-nd shook his head sadly. Wh-at a pity such -a man had never be-en able to conquer himself and master an art fthat w-as almost second nature! 'That night an en-thusiastic audience ap- plauded th-e great master again and again. Th-en they called for the piece that had made hi-m famous, What the Trees Say. I will play it for you, he said in reply to their dem-an-ds, I will play for you what I think the trees are -saying to me tonight. He played, -but not to success, not to the dazzling lights and crowd, no, the trees' did not say tha-t tonight. Instead he played to a lit-tle thatched cottage across the sea and to a m-other standing in the doorway listen- ing, listening. Downstairs 'the janitor li-stened, 'list-ened and forgot his own' bitterness, forgot his disappointments, forgot himself -an-d wor- shipp-ed the man, worshipped the success that might have been his. Hel-en Palmer '28. -.lil MY PICTURE OF PEMAQUID I can -see it now, a round stone fort with deep parapet for fthe cann-on, -as cl-early as when ll Hrst s-aw it on a sunny day, its whitewa-sh-ed walls standing out against the waters of t-he bay, giving me the impression of great size. I remember that I walked -on the .top of the wall that en-closes the original site of the first fort. -I thought of it and its capture and de- struction, and the building of others and their fates. I thought of the settlers as they gazed at a -ship as it stood -out clearly in the bay wondering whether it would be friend or foe. I seemed to see a flash through the 'trees as some too adventurous youth rushed toward the fort followed by a -storm of ar- rows. I -held my breatih -until I saw .the big gate -cpe-ning to receive him and then clos- ing. Then my dream ended and I entered the fort. -Around the sid-es I -saw musket balls and -cfther relics .picked up around the fort. By going up stairs I was able 'to en- joy a won-derful view of the ocean. I gazed at the bay until I -seemed to see a large ship entering the harbor and then there shot from the shore a score or more canoes laden- with -skins and furs for trad- ingg then as the Indians climbed the side of the ship, the vision- faded. I heard -a horn and after several moments realized my father was Wai-ting for me. We drove -away but -I took with me -a men- tal picture shall always keep. Stanford Blake '32. GRAN DMOTHER Grandmother was n-ot a celebrity. No monuments have ever been erected in her honorg her name is -not found in the Whois Who. No biographies or eulogies- con- cerning her have ever been .pnbli-shed. But she is not unknown, she has achieved that most la-sting and worthwhile memorial--a place in the helarts of countless friends whom -she has helped. When I knew her, -she had -already reach- ed an age at which it -is permis-sable to -sit back with fold-ed hands and watch others work. Grandmother knew this, but she only laughed at anybody who tried 'to tell her so, and said that she oal'lated to keep round as long as -she was -able. And so, from morning till night, she was busy. Sometimes she admitted fthat she was tired, but we knew that she didn't min-d .that sort of tiredness, for wit-h it went the knowl-edge of a day well -spent, -and to Grandmother, who had been from h-er -childhood, .a disciple of -all -the old .proverbs of diligence and in- dustry, this knowledge was the most satis- fying reward.

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THE SI casions when she could be induced by some of her friends 'or relatives to make fthem a visit, the house- seemed more bleak and for- lorn than formerly, and no amount of sun- shine could 'brighten the chill around Grand- mother'-s empty chair. And now, that chrair is empty for all time, and we are left with on-ly the memories -of Grandmother, and a deeper realization of what she has meant to us. Doris' 'Hutchinson '29. THE WRITING OF COMPOSITIONS FOR SCHOOL Of all the things 'most distasteful to me, I think -that the writing of compositions, either for school or for any other purpose takes first place. How casually the teach- er .gives out the assignment! You will write a five-hundred word essay on .such and such a subject tomorrow. Just like that! And then when open dis- may fails to produce anything except -smiles, 'tho-se concerned spend the rest of the day awaiting inspiration. The end of the day usually finds the ispfrilation still A. W. O. L. If a subject is given, it's sure to be some- thing we never heard of, much -less th-ought of before, and if no subject is given that is YVOTSC. Evening finds us reading the article we are to imitate -over -and over again, and knowing less about it with each reading. We chcw up pencils, glare alt the inoffensive cat, and make a dozen- false starts, none of which resemble in the least what we are supposed to imitate. Th-en we chew up another pencil, and, in despair, throw away what we hlave- Written. We go t-o bed, but find thoughts of the essay we have not written recurring more and -more frequently. 'By the time dawn arrives we are sure that .nothing short of down right cruelty on the part of th-e teach- er would -have prompted her to assign such a lesson. And then, as usual, comes school time. All the way to -school we puzzle over whsat we shall write about. Inside the build- ing a smiling teacher at the desk greets us, and with 'trepidation we remember that un- done work, and how teacher's smiling face can straighten out unftil it says plainly, GNET 31 you can't fool me that way. Then we at- tempt to give plausible excuse, which some- how doesn't seem asf -plausible when we try to give it to her. Two minutes. before the bell rings an idea pops into our he-ads. Oh! There it is. Now for some paper, quick, before we lose that thought! And so we 'finally find what we have wanted and then it's a race with the bell to get at least, the rough draft done, and once more we are saved from the disasnter of an absolute failure. We like the teacher again, and can appreciate the humor of the situatilon, and smile- at the remains of our last night's search for in- spirations-the scraps -of paper scattered by an impatient hand, the wood splinters- 'all that n-ow remains of an otherwise per- fect pencil. Ten minutes after English class begins we have forgotten the anxious moments we have spent, and vow never again to get worried over an assignment of written work. An-d then our dear teacher says- I Since you did so well on your w-ork for today you may write another for tomorrow, this time one of 'a thousand words. We start all over again. Ruth Haseltine '29. i CLAMMING What is the most disgusting yet the 'most irrtereslting job in the world? I say dig- gin-g clams. As you walk along -over those unseen slippery seaweed-cover-ed rocks with a fork in one hand and ta clam hod in the other, h-ow much easier it would seem to go without those ex-asperatinvg squirting things. Ah! There must be a quantity of them here, you say a.s you perceive the many' miniature fountains -gushing forth from the sand. Quickly you thrust the 'fork deep- ly into that place and just as quickly you re-c-eive ia vast amount of salt water in your eyes. How helpless you seem, to be unable even to wipe that smanting liquid from your face-, but, with yo-ur hands covered with mud, how can you? Finally, somehow you regain your sight and with added vigor again attack the clam bed. This time your fork grinds 'against a rock and a shiver runs up and down your back, which by this time is ach-