Fryeburg Academy - Academy Bell Yearbook (Fryeburg, ME)

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gg, . ,, j'111c,.4r:,1nEMY Blom, Indies or returning with rich merchandise, such as spices, silks. and shawls. Sometimes the sea captains would bring back boys with them to bring up in America. In a great many houses in Salem there are still beau- tiful pieces of furniture and shawls bought many years ago by the traders. If Hepsibah from her store window had looked in her day she would have seen horses and buggies going by. while today if one should look out on the street he would see street cars and automobiles. On the other side of the house she could see a garden of old-fashioned flowers. The recent owners have tried to make the garden like the ones they had when Hawthorne used to visit there, and the story is that he used to love to go out in the early evening and walk among the flowers and talk with the Pyncheon family. CAROLYN GANNoN, '29. WASNWI' IT BE'l'TEll! Merton Academy was a small prep school in Northern Michigan. Mertonville, the small town in which it was located, was typical, in that its interests centered about the school. It was drawing near the end of the girls' basketball season when a catastrophe fell upon the team--Jean Oliver, the left forward, sprained her ankle. That was the morning before the game. That day was mournful, everywhere there was wailing and gnashing of teeth. Jean Oliver was sixteen, small, and very pretty with blue eyes and jet hair. She came from a village about fif- teen miles from school. Her father worked on the river driving logs and there were many children. Jean, thus, hadn't been around a great deal. She was very self-con- scious and until basketball had scarcely been noticed. She roomed across from The Girl of the school, Constance Jacobs. Constance Jacobs! She was leader in everything, adored alike by boys and girls, tall, slender, with a red-gold curly bob, frank green eyes. and a disarming smile--the only daughter of an old professor, who, except for a weekly allowance and an annual summer visit to one of the four corners of the globe-might as well not have existed.

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Tull IC If A IIE M Y EE I. L W gwwgi THE HOUSE OF SEVEN CABLES It is a very interesting experience to visit The House of Seven Gables, which Nathaniel Hawthorne has made famous by his book of that name. It is situated in Salem, Massachusetts. I do not suppose that there is any house in America that has as many visitors as does this house. Some- times in the summer there will be as many as five hundred guests in one day. There are people there from every state in the Union at one time. A few years ago a wealthy woman in Salem bought the building, restored it, and used it for a community house, in which were held classes in cooking, sewing, and club work -mostly for the foreigners who live in that part of the city. It is at the foot of Turner Street, near the waterfront where the wealthy sea captains used to live. Now this part of the city is largely populated by Polish people. As you enter the house you pass through Hopsibah's store. There is a bell on the door which rings as you open it. They sell old-fashioned candies and gingerbread dolls like Hepsibah used to sell. They also have wooden toys and other gifts for tourists to buy. The kitchen is furnished as in the olden days. There is a mammoth fireplace on which there is a spit for cooking meats. There are also an old-fashioned foot warmer and pewter dishes. The dining room and sleeping rooms are furnished as nearly like Hawthorne's description as possible. The beds are great big four posters. Under one bed there is a trundle bed which pulls out for a child to sleep on. The most interesting thing every visitor wants to see is the secret stairway. The entrance to this is near the Hre- place in the dining room, one wouldn't notice it if he didn't know it were there. The panel opens by pressing a spring which is in the corner of the fireplace. You go up a very narrow stairway, where oftentimes fat people get stuck part way up and have to be helped through. Looking out the upper windows on the East one may see sail boats in Salem Harbor and off in the distance you can get a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean and Baker's Island with a lighthouse on it. We might possibly see an aeroplane dying overhead. but, of course, in Hepsibah's day they were never heard of and when she looked out of the window, she might have seen large sailing vessels going to the West

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'I'IIlC ,4c.ln1cMy BELL mg 23 You've met the two girls: Jean Oliver, young, self- conscious, worshipping blindly Constance Jacobs, two years her senior, poised, well dressed, and clever. The only other character is a boy, nineteen, a newcomer, good looking, and accepted leader, and the desired male attendant for the mid- year Prom, Foster Blake. The game-the big game with Saxtons Seminary! lt was lost-unless- That afternoon found the gym half filled with a mourn- ful squad when Constance dashed in in uniform. The girls clamored about her--for everyone knew her father refused, despite all pleas and prayers, to let her go out for any sport. Yet here she was! Connie, what are you going to do '? demanded the captain. Play, if you'll let me, young one. She served the ball, dribbled and shot a peach from behind the center. But how can you ? Miss Peters isn't here, is she? Who'll know? If l'm any good--can't I, Lon ? The captain was worried. Here was a chance of win- ning--a slim chance-admitted, but a chance-Miss Peters, the coach, would rave but- Yes-Connie. Connie learned the signals, practiced a bit on baskets --took a shower and went over to the dorm to rest. Everywhere people were whispering, What a good sport Connie is, and What school spirit, and all that- while upstairs Connie and Jean Oliver lay planning very carefully her campaign. School spirit-oh, yes! 'She had lots of school spirit, but besides that there loomed, only ten days away, the mid-year Prom. Would Foster Blake ask her? He was known to say, I like good sports-girls that go out for the teams. Well-she'd be a good sport. The Chapel clock struck seven. She dressed quickly and hurried to the gym. A few minutes' practice-the game called-the whistle blew-the ball was in play-the rest was a dream. She played well. Jean Oliver watching, worshipping anew at her shrine and Foster Blake, watching with a group of fellows, told