The citizen. (Honesdale, Pa.) 1908-1914, 1913-07-15
| Some Citizens We Greet

|
When H. F. Nicholson, of Hamlin,
came into the office the other day it
took some little time to remove the
various layers of the past before we
could just place him and say, Hello,
Frank, / knew it was you all the
time!" When the last layer of men,
ory was tenderly raised, there was
revealed the original picture with
circle of years surrounding it as
sort of frame, and that picture was
of a little old school house at Ledge
dale, on the Wayne county side of
the Wallen-P -Paupack, in the winter of
1923. That little school house was
just packed full of children, for
Ledgedale at that time was very
busy little tannery town, and it was
before race suicide" was talked
about in the papers.
When the fresh young school mas
ter went there he was almost fright
ened out of years growth over the
assurances that the scholars of that
particular school did things to the
teacher occasionally. There were
lots of "big boys" also goodly
number of "big girls" and Frank
Nicholson was almost as old and
fully as large as was the teacher.
1t is the unexpected that invari-
ably happens, and the Ledgedale
school was no exception. Instead of
being hard school it was one of
the incest and pleasantest PROPOSE
tions that ever came down the pike.
That was in the days of spelling
bees, donation visits, Good Templars
and singing schools. The night when
we all went in big sleighloads across
country through the huge drifts to
Arlington where we had oyster soup,
cake, pickles and pie; played Co
penhagen" and needles eye" for the
benefit of preacher R. G. Gill, leaving
behind more than one hundred dol
lars in good greenbacks for that indi-
vidual as the sleighloads returned
home in the gray of cold winters
morning, will not soon be forgotten
Neither shall we soon forget the
trips on Saturdays to the hemlock
forest after bark; nor the trip over
to "Hardscrabble" where Nicholson,
the teacher, and Bert Chamberlain
feasted on friend eggs for dinner,
then had their pictures taken. Every
one of the trio had a violin in his
hand, all ready to play; but the
teacher couldn't play a note on any
| h.,
er could young Chamberlain. With
their hats trimmed with laurels and
with those fiddles gripped desperate
ly, those were some pictures, and
| don't forget it.
Nor can we forget the fact that
Bert's father put in a barrel of fine
cider and didn't tap it. Bert called
| the teacher in one day to look at
| a
plug from the big bung hole so that
the delicious aroma might escape.
Then he fished out of his pocket a
glass tube whose proper work was to
| indicate the amount of water in the
little upright boiler that was used in
the tannery in winter and on a boat
that hauled leather down the river
to Wilsonville in the warm months.
Bert put the gauge into the hole,
tried it to see if it would work"
then handed it over to the teacher,
and, like real Southern gentleman,
turned his back, first cautioning the
teacher not to drop the thing into the
barrel, "for," said he, "if you should
l couldn't get it out, and father
| would give me Hail Columbia when
he ran across it sometimes" Need
less to say that S-inch glass tube was
not dropped! That was in the days
when gray hairs, or no hair at all,
were not worn by the teacher
as a regular thing, when he didn't
have to sigh and cry, and
wish was Yankee boy,
And was at home again,
Ia suck sweet cider through a straw
And fish in every rain"
Nor, is it easy to forget the st.
Patrick's day after school was out
and the start for home was made. |
There was heavy satchel to tote all
the way to Salem Corners. The daily
mail for Honesdale had gone. There |
was dinner at the tavern, then anoth-
er six miles were walked to No. IL
on the gravity railroad. Say, man
dear, but that satchel was heavy! |
The snow was deep and the drifts |
were so high that the tops of fence
stakes only showed a little WAYS
above the surface. When No. ~ was |
reached the gravity cars were not |
running, for it was st. Patrick's day,
and that used to be a holiday on the |
gravity roads in those good old days.
The satchel was by that time so |
heavy that the teacher fairly ached
to throw it away. Six miles more.
down the track, 18 miles in all,
weighted down with that old satcheli
1t was surely heart breaking!
After Robertson's tannery was left
in the rear, and it seemed that the
bones in our legs had been driven up
wards until they stuck up over our