"If you have a tub lined with zinc remember that needs even more care than a white one, if it is to be kept shining bright. You can scrub it out with gasoline if it seems greasy, then with vinegar, if it is dark, then with metal polish, and so on; zinc tubs are really difficult to care for. A better way is to paint it all over with two coats of white paint and when it is dry enamel it. It costs only a dollar to do it, and it does save so much work; besides, a white tub always looks best of all. Now we will do the wash-stand."

They took off the soap-dish and tooth-brush mug and bottles of tooth powder, because, as the aunt explained, one must always wipe under things, not around them. The marble slab and bowl were scrubbed and dried, and the mugs and soap-dish washed, wiped, and replaced. After this they cleaned the closet by pulling the handle and letting the water run while they put in the long-handled brush of twigs and brushed out every inch of china, even down into the pipe as far as possible. Margaret was told that when she used ammonia in the tub she must put some in the closet, too, and once or twice a week a little disinfectant must be poured down to keep the pipe perfectly clean. The woodwork was wiped off with a cloth kept for that purpose, and then they turned to the polishing of the faucets and pipes.

This was hard, but as Margaret and her aunt both worked it made it easier. They put some polishing paste on a flannel and rubbed and rubbed till they could see the metal shining through the paste; then they wiped it off with a dry cloth. "If this was all rubbed a little every single day," said the aunt, "it would never be such hard work. I should say that this nickel had been just a little bit neglected lately, but see how bright we have made it! Now for the oilcloth on the floor."

They set the hamper and a chair out into the hall, and Margaret went to the kitchen for a basin of milk with a little warm water in it. Out of the cupboard she brought the Japanese seat she had learned she must always use when she got down on the floor, partly to save her dress, and partly because there was a painful disease called sometimes "housemaid's knee," which one could get by kneeling and working on a hard floor with nothing underneath one. When she was all ready her aunt wrung out the cloth for her in the milk, and told her to begin at one edge and work straight across the floor, wiping every part well, but especially under the tub and wash-stand, because those were likely to need it most. "The milk will freshen the oilcloth and make it shine," she said. "Always try and have some when you wipe up an oilcloth, for water alone is not good for it."

When the floor was dry they set in the hamper again, folded the towels neatly, and hung them straight on the rack, and dusted around the window and the wood around the sides of the room. "We are done here," the aunt said, as they put away all the things they had been using, "but the lesson isn't over yet, for while we are in the scrubbing business you may as well learn how to take care of steps and vestibule. You may get the old broom from the kitchen Bridget keeps for this, and ask her to bring a pail of water; you will need the scrubbing-brush, too, and the sapolio, and two cloths; the Japanese seat, some more metal polish, a flannel, and a duster."

Margaret got them all, and brought them out to the vestibule. The door-mat was taken up, shaken well, and hung over the balustrade outside, and, after sweeping out the vestibule, Margaret knelt on the seat and scrubbed the marble floor, especially in the corners, and then wiped them dry. The steps had already been swept once that morning, so all they needed was a good bath. A little water at a time was poured over them and swept off with the broom, and while they dried in the sunshine, she rubbed the door handles and bell with polish, and gave them a beautiful finish with chamois leather. The woodwork of the doors was pretty dusty, and before it could be made to look just right it had to be rubbed off with a damp duster and a little stick used in the cracks of the wood. When the rug was laid down once more Margaret and her Other Aunt stood and admired their work.

"A good housekeeper always has nice, clean steps and a well-cared-for vestibule," said the aunt. "They are like a sign-board on the front of a house, telling the sort of people who live inside. That thought ought to make you keep your vestibule in nice order."

"Yes, indeed," said Margaret. "I'd be ashamed to have a sign-board in front of my steps, saying, 'An untidy girl lives here!' Now what do we do?"

"Well, let us see if we can find any brass to polish. There are the andirons in the hall, for instance, and the shovel and tongs." So out came the metal polish once more, and, after putting down a newspaper, they rubbed them all well. They found out, however, that some of the brass about the house had an enamel finish over it to keep out the air, and all this needed was wiping off with a cloth instead of rubbing, which was a great saving of time; though this brass was not quite as nice looking as that which they rubbed till it shone like a mirror, in the old-fashioned way. It happened that the chandelier in the hall was covered with the enamel, and here her aunt told Margaret she did not dislike it, because it would have been nearly impossible to rub a chandelier clear up to the ceiling every week. They brought out the step-ladder and wiped it off with a dry duster, however, and then they washed the globes nicely in warm water, and dried them. Globes often got very dusty, the aunt said, and nobody remembered to wash them off instead of merely dusting them once in awhile, and then the family thought the gas must be very poor because the light was dim.

"Now, auntie, what next?" Margaret asked, when this work was done.

"The sitting-room fireplace," her aunt replied. "It is full of wood ashes."

Margaret went once more to the broom closet and got a shovel, a dust-pan, a whisk-broom, a damp cloth, and a newspaper.

There were andirons in the fireplace and the ashes lay all over and around them, so her aunt first helped her lift these heavy things out on the newspaper at one side. Then she told her to sweep most of the ashes into a small pile right in the centre of the hearth, at the back.

"But, auntie, they won't burn any more; why don't I take them right out!" asked Margaret.

"Because they make the fire burn better and last longer. You can take up part of them and put them in the scuttle, but leave some, and especially all the bits of charred wood; it would be wasteful to take those away."

Margaret carefully swept up the greater part of the ashes, working from the edges of the hearth toward the middle, and put them into the scuttle. Once she spilled a shovelful, but as a newspaper was spread on the carpet it did not matter. Her aunt told her to be sure and always have plenty of papers ready to use in housework, because in the end they saved so much work. "Suppose you had to sweep up those ashes," she said, "and clean the carpet, too, would not that be a bother! Now if the hearth is clean, wipe it with the damp cloth, and dust off the andirons well. If there had been a grate here you would have had to polish it with the blacking from the kitchen stove. When you have finished you can get more paper and kindling and lay a fire."

They put crumpled paper between the andirons, covering all the ashes which lay there so they did not show. On this they laid kindling, crossed, and then some pieces of wood. When they gathered up the newspaper there was nothing to brush from the carpet, and everything was neat.

"There," said her aunt, "that's all for to-day. Run and wash your face and hands,—they need it!"



CHAPTER VIII

HOUSECLEANING; CELLAR AND ATTIC

Margaret's Saturday morning lessons were interrupted at this point by the spring housecleaning. Everybody was so busy taking up and putting down carpets, hanging curtains and pictures over, putting away winter clothes and getting out summer ones, that the lessons seemed forgotten. The grandmother, however, remembered, and one day she took the little girl around the house while the cleaning was going on, showing her how the work was done. They found the guest-room had been finished, so they sat down there and talked.

"Housecleaning is very different nowadays from what it used to be," she began. "We used to take up all the carpets at once, and keep everything upset for a week or two, and then get all to rights. Now we take a room at a time, and so do the whole house gradually and comfortably. Perhaps the work is divided, and part done in the spring and part in the fall, to make it still easier. Then we do not take up every carpet every year, as we did. This guest-room carpet, for one, does not need beating and cleaning and putting down again, because the room is not used all the time, and once or twice a year it has a scrubbing with warm water or turpentine or ammonia after it is swept."

"Yes," said Margaret, "I learned about that in my sweeping lesson."

"When this room was cleaned," her grandmother went on, "the curtains were taken down, and the pictures wiped off and put into the storeroom. The furniture was well dusted and put away also, and the bed all taken apart, the mattress beaten gently, the springs dusted and wiped off; the bed slats were washed in hot soap and water, and put away, too. Then the bed itself was taken to pieces and washed in warm soap-suds, because being white iron they could not hurt it. If it had been a wooden bed it would have been wiped with a damp cloth. And then, Margaret, what do you think? a brush dipped in turpentine was put in all the corners of the bed and the springs, so that if by any chance a little bug should have crept in there to hide, it would be driven out."

Margaret looked disgusted. "We don't have bugs in our beds," she said, indignantly. "Nice, clean people never do."

Her grandmother smiled. "Even a very nice, clean person may bring home a bug from a crowded street-car," she said. "And if it happens to be on a coat which is thrown on a bed, it may crawl quickly into a corner without anybody's seeing it, and presently the bed will have half a dozen bugs in it. Of course a good housekeeper would never let them stay in a bed a single minute after she finds out they are there, and she always hunts occasionally, at least as often as every few months, so that she may be perfectly sure everything is all right. If ever you think you are perfectly safe, my dear, and do not look to make sure, you will be the very one to be surprised some day! You must often put the mattress on a sheet on the floor, and look all along the edge and in the corners and under the ties. The spring must be painted with turpentine, especially in the hidden places, and so must the corners of the bed. It is a good plan to use only metal beds with iron spring frames, for bugs like wood much better; they seldom stay where there is none. If you ever find a bug, or the tiny black speck it makes, get the white of an egg and beat it with a teaspoonful of quicksilver, and paint everything with it, and you will have no more trouble.

"After the bed is cleaned and taken down, the floor is to be swept twice over, and the carpet taken away; the paper under it may be swept clean in the yard. The walls are to be swept down with a soft brush, or a broom covered with a duster. The closet is to be emptied entirely, the drawers, shelves, floor, and baseboard washed well, and the closet floor washed also. The windows must be cleaned and all the woodwork washed in warm water with a little nice soap, and rinsed well. When all is fresh and the floor dry, the paper can be laid, the carpet put down, the furniture wiped again, the bed put together and made, the pictures hung, and the fresh curtains put up, if they are used in summer, and the room will be thoroughly done. All rooms are alike in the way they are cleaned. First do the closets, remember, all the drawers as well as shelves; then, shutting this up, empty the room, and do walls, floor, paint, and windows. If there is a matting down, this must be wiped off with salted water, which freshens it. Now I think we can go down to the cellar for the next part of the lesson."

The cellar proved to be rather chilly, but they stayed long enough to learn a good many things about it. There were two rooms, one for the coal and wood, and one for vegetables and preserved fruit and such things. All these, Margaret was told, must be looked after. The fuel room should have several bins, one for kitchen coal, one for furnace coal, and one low one for wood; it was untidy to leave any of these lying in heaps on the floor. The vegetables had to be constantly looked over for fear any should decay, and so bring sickness to the family, who might never know why it came. The preserves must be examined, lest any begin to leak, and the whole place must be kept cool and dry by having a window open a little at the top, with a good bolt or a few nails to keep any one from opening it from the outside. The windows did not need to be washed quite as often as those up-stairs, but they should never be left grimy and dirty. "A good housekeeper always keeps watch of her cellar," said the grandmother. "She sees that the air is fresh, the floor clean, the walls free from cobwebs, and that no rubbish is allowed to accumulate. The wood and coal must not get too low in the bins; the grocer's boxes must be kept chopped into kindling, and, most important of all, every cellar should have a good coat of whitewash every spring to make it all sweet and clean."

Margaret said she thought she knew this part of her lesson now, and that cellars were not so very interesting.

"Well, suppose we take the attic next," grandmother said, smiling; "that is, if you are really certain you can keep your own cellar clean and nice when you have one." Margaret promised to try.

The attic was a nice, dusky room, with some old furniture, trunks, and boxes, rolls of carpet, and bags of pieces. It had a dry, comfortable sort of smell in the air. "I like attics," said Margaret. "I mean to have a great big one some day, all full of interesting things, like the girls in story-books."

"The more things in your attic the more trouble you will have to be a good housekeeper," said her grandmother. "Let us sit down on this sofa for our lesson, and suppose that was really your own attic. What would you do to put it in order and keep it so!"

"Well," said Margaret, thoughtfully, "I'd move everything out and sweep it; then I'd brush off the walls and wash the windows; then I'd arrange things—and then it would be done."

"Oh, no!" her grandmother replied. "That isn't half. I see you needed the lesson on the attic, as I thought. Now listen:

"You see it is rather dark up here, and so moths love the place, and if it was left to them they would eat up all that is in the trunks. The first thing in cleaning an attic is to empty all the trunks, one at a time, and look everything over. There are pieces of clothing which may be used again which have to go outdoors on the line in the sunshine and be beaten, and furs, especially, require this done frequently. Your pretty little baby things are in one trunk, and those your mother wishes to keep always, so she airs them and refolds the dresses so they will not get discolored streaks by lying always one way; the flannels are aired, too, and folded in papers with perhaps a bit of camphor or a moth ball, though these are not as much protection as the constant airing and shaking is.

"In that large trunk there are some old silk dresses, and such things, which are also to be kept. Moths do not touch silks, but these, too, must be taken out and shaken and refolded once in awhile to keep them from cracking in the places where they have laid. Once a year, at least, all trunks must be emptied, wiped out, and relined with fresh papers, the things aired and put back freshly.

"If there are any clothes which are being kept which, after all, are not needed, it is always best to give them away before they are out of style or moth-eaten. It is wrong to keep things one does not want when so many are cold. One always keeps certain things like your mother's wedding-gown, and some handsome pieces of velvet, too valuable to give away, and other things which would be of no use to any one else; but your father's old clothes, and your outgrown dresses, and my heavy winter coat which I shall not wear again, must all go before they are half-spoiled by lying.

"You see there are several piece-bags hanging up; those we must go over, too. We always keep bits of our dresses to patch with, or to use in re-making them. But sometimes we keep the pieces long after the dress is gone, when perhaps some one would like them for patchwork, or to make a pincushion or needle-book out of. The pieces must be sorted often, the woollen ones put by themselves with moth balls, and the silk and cotton ones divided, some to keep, and some to give to anybody who needs them more than we do.

"The roll of old carpet is to go away, too, this time to be made into a kitchen rug. Carpets must not be left in the attic or they will surely make a nice home for moth-families. The broken chairs are to go to-day to be mended, I heard your mother say this morning. Some she will use again, and the rest she will pass on to somebody who wants chairs and has not enough. This old sofa, of course, she will keep, because some day she will have it re-covered; it is a strong, good piece of furniture, and she knows we can use it.

"The summer clothes are kept in those two large trunks under the window; in a few days they will go down-stairs, and the winter ones, all shaken and beaten on the clothes-line till they are fresh and clean, will be packed away carefully in their places after the trunks have had fresh paper put in them. Do you know how to put away winter clothes, by the way?"

Margaret said she did not think she did, so they stopped the lesson for a minute to put this in.

"After the things are aired well, fold each dress or coat or suit of clothes up by itself, and pin it snugly in newspapers, which moths do not like. Tie a strong string around the bundle to lift it by, and paste a slip of paper on the top, and write on this plainly just what is inside. If you have anything very nice to put away, such as a broadcloth suit, put it in a new paste-board box and paste a strip of paper all around the edge of the cover; use good mucilage, and the moths cannot possibly get at it. Put furs in paper bags after they are clean, and hang them from the rafters. Hats and such things may go into boxes, and you can lay a paper over each box before putting on its cover, to keep the dust out. Summer clothes do not need so much care; just fold them neatly and put them in a nice clean trunk, and they will take care of themselves. Now do you think you know how to keep a cellar and attic in good order? Suppose you make up a rule to give me."

Margaret thought a moment. "Keep the cellar clean," she said at length, "and give away the things in the attic."

Her grandmother laughed. "Keep both the cellar and attic clean, and don't hoard uselessly," she corrected.



CHAPTER IX

LAUNDRY WORK

Margaret's teachers held a meeting before her next lesson. They could not decide whether she should be taught to wash and iron or not.

Her Pretty Aunt said, "Certainly not! She will never need to know. Even on a desert island she will find some Woman Friday to do her laundry work!"

"But," suggested her Other Aunt, "suppose she had a very beautiful thin dress to be washed, and had a very poor laundress to do it who might spoil it; don't you think she would wish she knew how to do it herself?"

"Besides," said her mother, "however could she teach an ignorant servant to wash and iron if she did not know how?"

"Of course she must know," said her grandmother, sternly. "I will teach her myself."

So on Friday night Margaret made up a bundle of clothes as she was told; "samples," grandmother called them, because there were some of every sort of thing found in a regular washing; these they took down to the laundry.

"The first thing is to sort the clothes," the lesson began. "Put the white, starched things in one pile; the bed and table linen in another; the flannels by themselves; the stockings by themselves; the handkerchiefs and colored things in two more piles.

"Many people do not soak clothes over night, and it is not necessary to do so, but I am going to teach you to do it because it is the easiest way. If you are ready, look over the white things first for spots. Coffee, tea, and fruit stains must have boiling water poured through them till they disappear. Rust must be rubbed with lemon juice and salt and laid on a new, shiny tin in the sunshine till the spot disappears; some people use acid, but this is apt to eat the cloth. Blood stains must be soaked in cold water; get the handkerchief you had on your cut finger and put it in this pail. Now wet the white things only, rub on a little soap, and get out every spot; put them in nice rolls, the soapy side turned in, and lay them all in the warm water in these two tubs, clothing in one, and table and bed linen in the other—never put the two together. Do not soak the flannels or they will shrink; nor the colored things, or they will fade; nor the stockings.

"The handkerchiefs, well soaped and rubbed and squeezed, go into a pail of water all alone with a tablespoonful of kerosene to kill any germs of cold in the head which may be in one of them, and would spread to all the handkerchiefs. The oil boils out and does not smell after they are ironed. That is all for to-night, but be up bright and early in the morning, for only lazy people hang out their washing at noon."

The next day Margaret came into the laundry with her biggest apron and her sleeves rolled up and pinned to her shoulders, ready for work.

"Flannels first," she was told. "Draw two tubs of warm water, one just exactly as warm as the other. Put in some nice white soap and make a good suds, and then take it out and put in the flannels; rub and squeeze them with your hands till they are clean, but never rub them on the wash-board, or put any soap directly on them or they will grow hard and stiff; as soon as they are clean, wring them out and rinse them in the second water. The reason why they must be washed and rinsed in the same sort of water is that if they were dropped from cold to hot or hot to cold water they would shrink all up and be spoiled at once. A little ammonia or borax in the rinsing water makes them soft and white. You cannot take too much care in washing flannels, for they are expensive and easily spoiled; think how often your winter undervests are shrunken before they are half-worn, and how once Bridget spoiled a pair of beautiful new blankets she washed for the first time, all because the two waters were not just alike, and because she rubbed soap on them and made them hard and yellow. Now you may wring yours out with your hands and hang them out on the line."

When Margaret came in again her grandmother had put the white apron into the water the flannels had been rinsed in, for its first bath. She said it was still fresh and warm and soapy and ought not to be wasted. The first tubful, however, she had thrown away as useless any longer. She told Margaret to put a little more soap on the apron and gently rub it on the board, turning it over and over till it was clean; then she dropped it in the wash-boiler, which her grandmother had filled with fresh water and put on the fire. The linen was washed in the same way, rubbing and turning it till it was all fresh, and putting it in the boiler. The water was allowed to boil up well for a moment, the clothes pushed down and turned around with a stick as they rose to the top. They were lifted out with the stick into a tub of fresh, hot water, and rinsed till all the soap was out, and dropped in a tub of cold water which had a little blueing in it. Here they were rinsed once more, and wrung out dry and then put out in the sunshine.

Bridget had hung a low clothes-line for Margaret between two small trees, so she could easily reach it. The clothes-pins were in one of her aprons, in a pocket made by turning up the bottom almost half-way to the belt, so none could fall out. This apron was made of heavy ticking, and none of the water reached her dress as she carried out the wet things to the line.

When she came in this second time she found her grandmother ready to make starch. As there were only a very few things to stiffen she measured a heaping tablespoonful of dry starch, wet it with just as much cold water, and added a cup of boiling water, with a half-teaspoonful of sugar, to make it extra nice and glossy. The white apron was dipped in this and wrung out; then more water was added till the starch was like milk, and the pillow-cases and gingham apron were dipped in.

"I never starch table or bed linen," said her grandmother, "but you may, if you wish to, if you use very thin starch. I know a better way to make such things look nice, however, and when we iron I will teach it to you. Now we must finish the washing. Wash and rinse the stockings in hot water, but do not boil them; wash and rinse and boil the handkerchiefs by themselves. When these are all on the line, and you have made the laundry tidy, you can rest for an hour, while the irons get nice and hot, and then we will take the second half of the laundry lesson."

The sunshine had made everything dry and sweet when Margaret brought in the clothes from the line and heaped them on the laundry table. She spread the napkins and pillow-cases out smoothly, and from a nice white bowl of clean water she sprinkled them, one at a time, and smoothed out the creases as her grandmother showed her. "The fewer wrinkles, the easier ironing," she said. Each was made into a tidy roll and laid in the basket again. The handkerchiefs were sprinkled also, and made into one roll and laid by them. The flannels were still damp, and so just ready to iron as they were, and so were the stockings. As the irons were hot, Margaret now spread the ironing-pad of flannel over the table, and laid the ironing-sheet very smoothly over it. She put the iron-stand on one corner on a square, white tile, so the heat would not burn the cloth underneath and got out a thick, soft holder.

She also got out the ironing-board, because the flannel petticoats were easier to manage on this than on the table. She tried the iron by holding it to her cheek, and found it quite warm. Then she wet the tip of her finger, as she had seen Bridget do, and quickly touched it. It seemed just right, hot, but not burning, so she began on the stockings, and ironed them flat, on the right side, turning each one over and pressing both sides. She did not turn in the toes, because some of them needed to be darned, and whoever did it would have to turn each one back to see if there were any holes in it; but she made them into pairs, folding each once, and hung them on the little clothes-horse standing before the fire.

The flannel skirts she slipped over the skirt-board, and ironed them by beginning at the hem and working toward the belt, pulling each one around the board to bring the unironed part up. These, too, she hung near the fire, because flannels take so long to grow perfectly dry.

The table napkins were a real pleasure to do. Her grandmother taught her why they needed no starch—because if they were ironed over and over, with a good hot iron, first on one side and then on the other, they grew a little stiff, and became very glossy and beautiful, like satin, while if starch was used they easily got too stiff. These were folded very carefully indeed, so the edges exactly matched, and laid in a pile by themselves.

By the time these were done the iron was again cool and had to be changed for the second time for a hot one. Linen, the grandmother explained, needed hot irons, but one should always be very careful not to have them so hot that there is any danger of scorching, because linen is very expensive, and easily ruined.

The towels were ironed exactly as the napkins had been, on both sides, and again and again, till they were dry and shining. Then they were folded carefully, not in four narrow folds, but in three parts, so they would "look generous," grandmother said. The side edges had to match exactly, and the lower edge had to be a tiny bit longer than the rest, so that when hung on the towel-rack it would be perfect. This took time, but when once Margaret learned how they should look, she said it was no trouble.

The white apron also took some time to do because it had to be polished, and the gatherings and ruffles were bothersome, but still it was done presently, and also the gingham apron, which was easier. The handkerchiefs were only play, but they had to be carefully folded, so the edges would be even. At last everything was done, and there was a whole clothes-horse full of beautiful clothes. It looked like a blossoming tree, all white and fragrant, and Margaret felt very proud and happy as she ran to call the family to come and admire.

"I knew she could learn!" said her grandmother, nodding to her mother, as they all came in to look and praise the little laundress.



CHAPTER X

THE LINEN CLOSET; PANTRIES; POLISHING SILVER; THE CARE OF THE REFRIGERATOR; CLEANING THE LAMPS

"I think," said the Pretty Aunt one day, "we must be coming to the end of the Saturday morning lessons. We have had the kitchen and dining-room, the bedrooms, halls, and parlors, the bathroom, cellar, attic, and vestibule. I really can't think of anything else to teach Margaret about the care of the house."

"Why," exclaimed the Other Aunt, "I can! I can think of five or six things you have not said a word about; all important ones, too!"

"How nice!" laughed the Pretty Aunt, "because now you can give the lesson!"

Margaret had felt disappointed when she thought the lessons were over, for she liked to learn something new each week; so when she was told to put on a clean apron and be ready in half a minute, she ran off in a hurry.

Her aunt was in the upper hall when she appeared, with the door of the linen closet open, and she told Margaret they would begin here.

"This little room is the one good housekeepers are especially fond of," she began. "Clean, white linen, polished and beautiful, is a joy to look at and handle, and every woman is proud if she has a quantity, all nicely kept. Let us begin with the shelves, taking them in order, and see what is on each."

The top one held blankets, each pair folded together smoothly and pinned up in a clean, strong piece of white cotton cloth, and labelled. The first label read, "Guest-room blankets," and when they were opened there lay a fresh, soft, fleecy pair, with a lovely border of pale pink, and edges of broad pink ribbon.

"This is your mother's very best pair of blankets," began her aunt. "They are cut in two and bound alike at each end, you see; they have never been washed or cleaned yet, so they are still very white and soft. By and by they will begin to look a little soiled, and then they will be cleaned perhaps, once or twice, and presently they will be washed, and they will not be nearly as nice as they are now, though well-washed blankets should still be fleecy and white."

"'Soft, warm water, with suds of white soap,'" murmured Margaret, reviewing her laundry lesson; "'rub with your hands, rinse in the same sort of water as you used in washing, with a little borax or ammonia, and they will look like new.'"

"Splendid!" said her aunt. "I see you can wash blankets to perfection. But even so, some day there will be new ones for the guest-room, and these will be on one of the family beds. The next two or three bundles, you see, are clean, washed blankets, in pairs, laid away till they are needed. All blankets have to be put on the line in the sunshine frequently whether they are washed or not, or they may be eaten by moths.

"Here are a few clean comfortables next, on this second shelf, done up like the blankets. These have to be washed, too, and are more difficult to manage than blankets, because they are so heavy; they have to be aired often to keep them sweet, for the cotton holds odors easily. Then come the white spreads, the heavy Marseilles in one pile, the lighter ones in another, and the single ones and double ones kept separate.

"The third shelf holds towels, you see. This pile is for the best ones; notice how beautifully they are ironed and folded, and how the embroidered initials stand out. The ordinary bedroom towels come next; see how many your mother has, and how each kind is by itself: the hemstitched ones in one pile, the plain huckaback in another; those with colored borders in this one, and the bath towels in that. Any one could come in and get a towel in the dark, sure of taking just the right one. You must remember always to keep your own towels just this way; too many people mix them in in any careless fashion, and do not take the trouble to have them arranged neatly, but it's the best way to do.

"The sheets and pillow-cases are in these deep drawers. This top one has the double sheets and the best linen ones; notice how they lie in piles, each kind by itself, just like the towels. They are all marked on the narrow edge, and so they can be recognized at a glance; the large sheets have your mother's full name. In this next drawer are the single bed sheets, marked with her first initials, and her last name. The servants' sheets have only her three initials. You see how easy it is to tell which is which. The pillow-cases are marked in the same way, and put in piles. You must be sure when you have a washing to put away that you do not put the clean things on top of each pile, and then take them off again to use at once; put things on top and take them off the bottom of the pile, so they will all be used in turn. Now for the table-linen."

This was in another drawer, and Margaret exclaimed when she saw how beautiful it was. The cloths were like satin, the napkins which matched lay in dozens by them; the every-day cloths and napkins were by themselves, and the small lunch-cloths had a pile of their own. The doilies were in a smaller drawer, all in piles, too, and the pretty centrepieces were fastened around stiff paper made into rolls.

"If you ever have lovely table-linen you will want to keep it nicely," said the aunt. "I think it is high time you had some, too. I believe in the old German custom of making a linen-chest for each girl; so learn your lesson well, and when your birthday comes who knows what you'll get? Perhaps a lunch-cloth or some embroidered napkins!"

"I'd like some towels, too," Margaret said, soberly. "I guess I'd like to have some linen every birthday."

"Very well, I'll remember," said her aunt as they closed the drawers. "And when you really begin to fill your chest I will make you some pretty bags of lavender to lay among your sheets and pillow-cases to make them smell sweet. We will go down-stairs now."

The pantry shelves were looked over next; in the china-closet in the dining-room everything was in order; the dishes neatly arranged on white paper, with pretty scalloped flouncings hanging over the front. The plates were piled in sets, the platters were together, the glasses and small dishes on the sides of the closet where the shelves were short. There was really nothing to be done here, so they went into the kitchen.

The pantry where the pots and pans stood had rather dingy papers, and they decided to have a good cleaning. They took everything off and washed the shelves with warm water and borax and wiped them dry, and put on fresh papers. The tins and dishes which were seldom used, were then arranged on the highest shelf, and those which were used every day were put lower down. The little things, such as the skimmer, the small sieve, the egg-beater, and the spoons, were hung on nails driven into the edge of the shelf which was over the baking-table in the kitchen, where stood also the cups, bowls, and plates used in cooking, within easy reach. When they were done, the aunt said, "Always watch for ants in the pantry, and roaches and water-bugs in the sink. Ants hate borax, so you can put that on the shelves in all the corners, and it will help keep them away. Roaches come to the sink for food, and you must see to it that they do not find it. Keep it perfectly clean and scalded out, especially at night, and never let the sink-basket have any crumbs in it. If, in spite of everything, the bugs do come, put insect powder on the corners of all the woodwork and use washing-soda to flush the drain every day, and they will get discouraged and leave your house for somebody else's, where there is something in the sink for them. Now for the refrigerator."

Margaret helped empty this entirely, setting the things in it on the table, and putting the ice in a large dish. They looked underneath at the pan into which the ice drained and found it half-full, so they emptied it. Then the lesson began as usual.

"You see all these little covered bowls and plates with bits of food on them. We never put nice china dishes in a refrigerator, for fear of breaking them; this heavy, yellow ware is just the thing, and a saucer can go over each bowl. We do not put anything in which has a strong odor, such as onions or cheese, or they would make everything taste like themselves. Butter must be in a covered crock, and milk in bottles with a tight top. Warm food must never go in, or it will waste the ice. Let us look in the top; you see there is a nice piece of ice, all covered up with a bit of old blanket, so it will last. You must watch and see that you do not take more ice than you really need and use it economically. Some people never cover it at all, because it keeps the food colder if it is left so, but often it is unnecessary; there may be little food in the box, and that would keep as well if it were not quite as cold. Now you may get a basin of water, two clean cloths, and the borax, and I will show you how to clean a refrigerator."

Margaret put a tablespoonful of borax in the water, rung out her cloth, and washed out all the inside of the great box, poking a little stick into the corners, and scrubbing the shelves thoroughly, as well as the sides and bottom. Then she wiped them dry and the food was put in again neatly. There had been a small pan of charcoal in one corner, and this was emptied on a paper and the pan refilled from a bag near by and put back.

"What do you put black charcoal in the clean box for?" Margaret asked, curiously.

"Because it dislikes a disagreeable odor, and destroys it at once," her aunt replied. "We change this pan every few days because it will take up only so much, while fresh charcoal will keep everything sweet and nice; Bridget burns up what is not fresh, putting it in the fire when she wants to broil or toast, for it makes a clear fire without flame. It only costs a few cents for a large bagful, and we can always have it on hand.

"Remember to wash out your refrigerator at least three times a week. This is very important, indeed; if you forget it somebody in the family may be very ill. If you have not time to wash it out and still sweep the parlors, let the parlors go!"

Just as they finished they noticed the garbage pail outside the door and took a look into it. It was nearly empty, so Margaret got a dipper of boiling water and a handful of washing-soda and put them in, as her aunt told her, to keep the pail from getting greasy and sour. "The better the housekeeper the less she has in her garbage pail, and the cleaner it is kept," she said, as she put back the cover.

"We have still one pleasant thing and one disagreeable thing to do before we are done this morning; which would you rather take first?" asked the aunt.

Margaret said she thought she would keep the pleasant one to finish off with.

"Then get a newspaper," was the reply, "and spread it over the table, first of all."

"That's the way most kitchen lessons seem to begin," said Margaret, as she took one from the paper drawer. "'First get a newspaper.'"

"And very sensible, too," smiled her aunt. "It saves so much work if everything can be carried away and the table left clean at once. You may go to the closet and bring the box of things for the lamps while I bring the large one from the sitting-room."

The box proved to have in it two cloths, one of flannel, and a white one free from lint; a pair of scissors; a round brush with a wire handle, and a piece of soap.

The lamp was taken to pieces, filled with kerosene from the can kept in the cellar-way, and wiped off nicely. The charred wick was rubbed and trimmed, and the corners rounded a little to keep them from throwing the flame against the sides of the chimney and breaking it. The glass chimney was put in a basin of warm water with soap-suds, and washed with the flannel cloth, rubbed with the round brush, and wiped dry with the white cloth. Whenever a new wick was put in a lamp, Margaret was told, the burner should be boiled with washing-soda to free it from clogging oil, and if a wick ever smelled it was to be cooked a few minutes in vinegar and dried, and it would then be all right again. When the lamp was put back they gathered up the things used, and put the newspaper with the kindling for the kitchen fire.

"Now for the pleasant thing," Margaret said, as she carried away the oil-can and washed her hands. "I don't think doing lamps is very nice work."

"No, it is not," her aunt replied; "but it is certainly very nice to have a clear, strong light to read by at night, and you cannot have that unless the lamp is perfectly clean, so the work is worth doing. Look now on the closet shelf once more and find another box with the silver polish, while I go for the basket from the sideboard."

Once more a newspaper was spread on the table, and they set out the box of powder, a small flannel cloth, a little saucer of water, a soft brush, and a chamois. They dipped the flannel into the water, then into the powder, and rubbed the pieces of silver well, scrubbing them with the brush, except where they were perfectly smooth, as in the bowls of the spoons. When it was done they washed it in hot water, wiped it dry, and polished it well with the chamois, and it shone like new.

As they put it away again they counted it carefully, using the list which was kept in the bottom of the basket; every piece was there, fortunately, so no time was lost in hunting for it.

"Do you count the silver every time it is cleaned?" Margaret inquired, as she took up the basket to put it away.

"Every single time," said her aunt, firmly. "It must always be done. One can find a missing spoon when it first disappears, but not after it has been gone a month or more."

"We are all done," Margaret said, cheerfully, as they put the kitchen to rights. "Won't Bridget be pleased when she sees her clean refrigerator and pantry, and the nice shiny silver,—and the garbage pail too! That looks just as nice as can be!"

"Of course it does," said her aunt. "Everything looks nice when it is clean."



CHAPTER XI

MARKETING AND KEEPING ACCOUNTS

"I think it must be my turn to give you your lesson to-day," said Margaret's Pretty Aunt at breakfast-time, "because I have thought of something none of your other teachers have as much as mentioned. You can get ready as soon as possible."

"Which apron?" asked the little girl, curiously.

"No apron at all," said her aunt; "your hat and coat. We are going a-marketing. How can anybody be a good housekeeper without knowing how to buy a dinner?"

Before they set out they went to the kitchen with a small pad and pencil, and looked into the refrigerator to see what they had already, to know what they would need to buy. There proved to be several things which would be used for luncheon, and then they asked Bridget what she wanted them to get. She said she was out of flour and granulated sugar, and would want raisins and coffee and tea, beside a vegetable for dinner and some lettuce and meat. They planned the meals together, and decided on having a dessert of apple-tart, made with apples and cream, and these were added to the list Margaret wrote down so nothing would be forgotten; then they set out.

They stopped at the grocery first, and Margaret was told to order a seven-pound bag of sugar. While the clerk was getting it the aunt explained that this was a better way to buy it than to get it loose, as then it would be sent home in a paper bag, which might break and spill it; then, too, the nice cotton bag in which it would come home would be just the thing to strain jelly through. The flour was also ordered in a bag, this time a large one.

"Some things we buy in small quantities because there is danger of waste in the kitchen if there is an unlimited supply at hand. But flour is needed every day, and never wasted, so we buy a good deal of that at a time. If we had a very large family we would buy a whole barrel at once, and so save a little money; as it is, the big bag does very well for us. Now for coffee; tell the clerk to give you his very best Java and Mocha mixed, in a tin can. We will take it browned, but not ground."

"I thought Bridget always browned the coffee," said Margaret, who remembered the delicious smell which often had filled the house when the coffee came from the oven.

"So she did," her aunt explained, "until we found she would sometimes burn just a few grains each time, which made the whole taste burned. Now we buy it in a can, only a pound or two at a time, and of a man who has just had it browned for him. We keep the tin closely shut always so the odor cannot escape, and grind each morning only as much as we need, and have this heated very hot just before the water is added, and that gives it the same fresh odor you remember. It is the easiest way to manage, though, of course, freshly roasted coffee is the best of all. But remember always to get a good quality in buying, for poor coffee is not fit to drink. Order the tea, when the clerk is ready, and get that also in a package, because it is cleaner and fresher that way. You can pay anything you like for tea, from thirty cents a pound to about two dollars, but your mother gets a black tea without a bit of green mixed in it for from sixty to eighty cents, and buys it in half-pound packages. What is next on the list?"

"Raisins," said Margaret.

"Well, order those in a paper box, the kind which come already seeded, and when you get them home, take them out of the box and shut them up in a glass jar with a tight top, to keep them fresh. The vegetables come now, but before we buy those you must put down in this little book what we have bought already, with the price of each article opposite. I could wait till we got home, but I am afraid you may forget the cost of things, because you are not used to them."

She handed Margaret a cunning little book and a tiny pencil, and showed her how to find the right month and day printed at the top of the page, and to put down under a column headed "Groceries," just what they had bought so far and what each thing cost. After this they crossed the shop to the place where the vegetables and fruit were piled, and looked these over.

The apples were of all kinds, sweet and sour, big and little, red and green. Margaret said she would take the biggest red ones for the apple-tart.

"No, those are not cooking apples, they are meant for the table," her aunt told her. "And do not take the yellow ones, because they are sweet and only good for baking. Take a nice green apple, not too large, because the smaller ones do just as well and cost less. Let us get half a peck of those greenings. We want oranges for breakfast, too, though Bridget forgot to say so. Can you pick those out, do you think?"

There were a good many boxes of these, some with rough skins, some with smooth, some with little bunches at the end. These last, her aunt explained to the little girl, were seedless and rather too dry for breakfast, though very nice for dinner. "The rough-skinned ones are light, as you will see if you lift one, so they would have little juice. Choose a heavy one of medium size and a rather smooth skin; but do not get those which are a very light yellow, for they may be sour."

The vegetables had to be looked over carefully. Spinach proved withered, so they passed it by; the cauliflower had tiny black spots on it; the green string beans would not snap as they should when they were bent; but they found a large egg plant, with a fresh, smooth skin, which they took. The lettuce was all dark green, with thick strong leaves, and the aunt said it would never do; lettuce must be in heads, like cabbage, and pale green. Instead they chose some chicory with a white centre, which seemed crisp and newly gathered. All these things were written down in Margaret's account-book under "Fruits" and "Vegetables."

A nice dairy was not far from the grocery, and there they ordered a little bottle of cream and put this down in the book before they went on to the meat market. As they entered this shop her aunt said the lesson here was so long it would take years to learn it, and they would only take the a, b, c, of it in one day.

"Buying good meat means learning day after day," she explained. "However, there are some things you can learn this morning, and one is to be sure you buy in a clean place. Look around the floor and see whether the sawdust is fresh; notice the odor of the place and whether it is disagreeable or not; look at the counter, too, and be sure it is white and freshly wiped off; and above all, see whether the meat is kept in the ice-box at the back of the shop, not hung up on nails, or left lying carelessly about. Don't buy any meat which has been hanging or lying around; insist that it comes from the box."

"But I can't think of the kinds of meat there are if I don't see them," Margaret said, anxiously.

"You will learn," the aunt smiled. "I am sure you will never be willing to eat meat which you are not certain is clean. Then look well at what the butcher brings out to show you. Beef ought to be firm, clear red and white, and not streaked with little lines; mutton must not be too fat; veal not too young—you can tell when it is because then it will be very small. Bacon must not be too lean nor too salt, and cut as thin as a wafer. Fish must be fresh, with nice, clear eyes. Chickens too often are buried in a barrel of chopped ice for weeks, and come out blue and clammy; such are not fit to eat. Suppose we buy a pair of roasting chickens this morning, and then you will see how they ought to look."

The butcher brought out a pair which were yellow and dry, showing they had not been covered with ice. The aunt bent down the breastbone to see if they were tender, and showed the little girl that if it had been too stiff to bend she would have known by that that they would not do. She also looked inside to see if there was a good deal of fat, for this, too, was a sign of age. She said they had few pin-feathers, were firm and plump, and the feet were clean, so she was quite sure they would be good, and told the butcher to send them home, and not to forget the giblets.

"Chicken liver gravy!" Margaret exclaimed at this. "I like your lessons, auntie!"

After they reached home and their things were put away the account-book was brought out again, and a lesson given in that. Margaret had to listen carefully, for it seemed rather difficult at first.

"It is best to know always how much you are going to spend on your table every week," her aunt began. "At first you may spend too much or too little, but by looking over your book you can tell in a moment where the trouble lies, and the next week you can make it right. Some things cost a great deal, such as turkeys, or strawberries too early in the season, or certain fancy groceries, and by seeing just where your money has gone you can remember the next time not to get these. Look at the different columns in your book. One says Groceries, the next, Vegetables; then Fruits; Milk and Cream; Butter and Eggs; Meat; Fish; Wages; Incidentals. You can put down under these exactly what you spend each day, and when the month is over you can put down in another book what each has amounted to. Let me show you:

"Suppose when you add up your columns in your day-book you find at the end of the month you have spent twelve dollars for groceries, fifteen for meat, four for vegetables, three for fruit, and so on. You simply open your second book at the right month and put down what the whole has been; the next month you do the same thing under the new date, and so on. At the end of the year you do not have to go over all the little sums spent each day, but by looking in the right book under each month you can see exactly what all the meat cost and all the vegetables, and so on. If your October bill for meat was larger than it ought to have been and more than it was in September or November, you can look back and see just why, if you care to. Under Incidentals you put all your car-fares spent in shopping for the house, and such things as dust-cloths, or new kitchen tins. When the last of December comes you can see all you spent during the whole year by adding what each month came to, and know exactly how much it costs you to live, and you can plan to spend more or less next year, as you think best. That is not hard to understand, is it?"

"No," said Margaret, "not to understand, but you see I am afraid I will forget to put things down, and then I will not know after all what I spent."

"But you must put them down at once," her aunt said. "Either taking a pencil with you to market, or writing them down as soon as you come home. You will soon learn, and you will like the plan more and more. It is so nice to know exactly where the money went, day by day."

"Sometimes the grocer has a little book to put things down, too," said the little girl. "If he has a book why do I have to have one?"

"Because he may make a mistake, for one thing," her aunt replied, "and because if you have him put things down and do not do it too, you spend more than you think, and grow extravagant. You can pay each day, if you prefer, or once a week, or once a month; some people like one way, and some another about this, but you should always keep your own accounts, anyway, and know what you have had and how much, and what it cost; and at the end of each month you must copy off the result of adding your columns, and see what the expenses of the month have come to, and so at the end of the year. That's the way a good housekeeper does!"

"Well," said Margaret, "then I will do that way, too, even if it is some trouble."

"That's right," said her aunt. "If you do, I'll give you the loveliest set of account-books and the prettiest silver pencil I can buy when Christmas comes."

"Oh, I truly, truly will!" Margaret exclaimed. "I'll put down every single penny."



CHAPTER XII

THE DAY'S WORK

It happened that just as Margaret was finishing her Saturday morning lessons Bridget had to go away for a few days, and the last lesson of all, which was given by her mother, was really a sort of review of what she had learned, such as she had in her school lessons.

It was hardly more than six o'clock in the morning when the little girl woke and jumped out of bed. She dressed softly so that she should not wake any one, and took her bed to pieces and set her closet door open, as she had learned in her Bedroom lesson. She threw up the windows and hung up her night-dress, and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

Her mother met her in the hall, and they went down-stairs together, tying on their clean gingham aprons as they went. The house was all shut up of course, so they opened the front doors, raised the shades in the parlors, and opened the windows a little to change the air. In the kitchen the fire was burning, shut up as they had left it the night before, and they first closed it to shake it down, and then opened the drafts and put on fresh coal, as Margaret had learned when she studied about the range. While the fire was burning up she pinned a little shawl about her head and swept off the front steps and sidewalk, and came in all glowing from the cold air.

By this time the fire was hot and bright, and the cereal was put on to cook in the double boiler, the kettle filled with fresh water and put on to boil for coffee. Her mother said she would stay out in the kitchen and make muffins for breakfast while the other rooms were put in order, so Margaret went into the parlors and sitting-room and straightened the chairs, put away books and papers, and dusting a little here and there, leaving the regular dusting until later in the day. The windows were now shut, and the rooms looked very tidy, so she went to the dining-room to prepare that for breakfast.

She brushed up the crumbs, aired the room, and put it in order. She arranged the doilies on the table, one under each plate, with a round of felt under that, laid the silver, put on her mother's tray with the cups and saucers, set the tumblers and napkins around, and the plates with the finger-bowls and fruit-knives, and the bread and butter plates with the spreaders. She filled the salts freshly, and last of all put on a vase of flowers. Then she took the cereal dishes, platter, and plates out to heat in the oven.

She found her mother was getting ready the eggs and other things for breakfast, and she need not help, so she carried into the dining-room the butter balls and put them around; filled the finger-bowls and tumblers with cold water and the coffee-cups with hot; arranged the fruit on the sideboard, and put cream into the pitcher on the tray as well as in another pitcher for the cereal. By the time breakfast was ready she had on her white apron and had washed her hands, and when the family came down she was ready to show them all what a well-trained waitress she was.

"Do sit down with us," her father begged. "You have done so much already!" But Margaret felt a little proud that she knew her waiting lesson so well, and said she would rather not. She really enjoyed moving very quietly around the table, bringing in and taking out things, passing everything to the left, and laying down plates at the right, and generally remembering just what she had been taught.

After all had finished she ate her own breakfast, and found she had been up so long and worked so much that it tasted twice as good as usual. When she had finished she put on her gingham apron again and cleared the table. She took up the crumbs carefully and used the carpet-sweeper all over the rug. She scraped and piled the dishes in nice, neat piles, and, drawing the hot water, she washed and wiped them all nicely, and put them away. She swept the kitchen, wiped off the tables, shut up the range and washed out the dish-towels exactly as her grandmother had taught in the lesson she gave on the kitchen. Then she went up-stairs.

Her grandmother, mother, and aunts had been afraid she would get too tired with such a long day's work as she had planned to do, and they had made their own beds, but they left Margaret's room for her for fear she would be disappointed. She closed the windows first, and while the room warmed she made the bathroom neat, washed and wiped out the tub and scrubbed off the wash-stand.

Her room was put in beautiful order, to her closet and shoe-bag, and she even stopped to put a clean cover on the bureau and dust nicely, to show she had not forgotten a single thing. The halls and parlors had to be thoroughly dusted now, but as none of them needed sweeping it did not take very long, and there was still time to go to market. She got out her jacket and hat, took her pencil, account-book, and kitchen pad, and went out to see what was in the refrigerator. Here she had to stop, for Bridget had gone away in such a hurry she had quite forgotten to wash this out and arrange it properly, so on went the gingham apron again, and out came all the things from the box. She gave it a good scrubbing with warm water and borax, and put in a fresh dish of charcoal before she put back the ice and dishes of food. Then she got her pad again, and with her mother's help, planned the meals and wrote down what she must buy.

The walk to the grocery and meat market was pleasant, and Margaret quite enjoyed ordering the vegetables, chops, fruit, and fish, which were needed, and watched to see if she was getting fresh things and good measure, and wrote down the prices as though she had been an old housekeeper instead of a new one.

When she got back again she found there was an hour until lunch, and she at once wiped off the shelves in the pantry and put fresh papers on them and arranged the tins in a more orderly way than she found them. By the time she had finished her Pretty Aunt came out to help get luncheon, and together they laid the table and got the meal. She put on her waiting-apron again, when it was ready, but this time she sat down with the family because her mother said she must surely be tired.

Her grandmother insisted on helping with the dishes, and watched with pride when afterwards Margaret poured boiling water down the sink after laying a bit of washing-soda over the drain, and scrubbed off all her tables until they shone, and blacked her range until it was like a mirror. "You surely are going to make a wonderful housekeeper!" she said.

Margaret laughed as she took off her apron. "But I just love to do things, grandmother," she replied, as she went up-stairs.

Bridget always found that she had an hour or two to rest in the afternoon after her work was done, and so did the little girl, but after she had taken a walk and read in a new book for a time, she suddenly remembered that the silver needed cleaning, and she might surprise the family at dinner with it all polished. She got it out and rubbed it well, delighted to see how quickly it grew bright. As she finished her mother came into the kitchen with her Other Aunt, and said they meant to help get the dinner.

The mother looked around her. "Everything is very nice," she said. "The sink is clean, and so is the pantry, and so are all the dishes. The range is bright; the dish-towels are washed; the dining-room is in order. I noticed as I came through the other rooms that the bedrooms, bathroom, and parlors have all been looked after to-day, too. Margaret, I do believe you are as good a housekeeper as I am already."

"Well," said the little girl, thoughtfully, "I didn't sweep any to-day, nor wash any windows; I didn't shine the faucets in the bathroom, either, because I forgot them till this minute. I didn't have time to oil the floors in the hall this morning— I only brushed it up; and I haven't looked at the cellar or the attic at all."

Her mother laughed. "But nobody does the whole house from top to bottom every single day," she said. "We sweep twice a week, only, and we wash windows when they need washing, not all the time. The attic and cellar are to be kept in order, but not put in order daily, you know. The really good housekeeper does a little putting to rights all the time, and every day she takes a certain part of the house and makes it clean, but she never tries to do more in one day than belongs to that one. To know how to keep a house nice is quite as necessary as to know how to make it so. The most important thing of all is knowing what you have learned to-day—to quietly go through the work, taking one thing after another, each in its turn, and to do all well, without hurry or worry. To be able to do this is to make housework pleasant."

"Well," said Margaret, earnestly, "I like to keep house. When I am a woman I mean to have the nicest, cleanest house in all the world!"

"Suppose you help me keep this one nice till then!" said her mother.

THE END