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Table of Contents

(Time—The cook’s “afternoon out.”)

It is the Christian duty of every housemother in this comfort-loving land to provide a commodious, well-appointed kitchen and laundry, where daily household work is done, and clean, airy, comfortable chambers for workers, where they may take rest in sleep when that work is over. I should fail in observance of the Golden Rule if I were to oblige them to work where I could not work, or to sleep where slumber would be an impossibility to me.

My own preference for a kitchen floor-covering is really good linoleum of conventional design and light in color, therefore cheerful in effect. Many housewives insist upon oiled hardwood or painted floors. Not one cook in twenty takes proper care of an oiled floor, and paint soon wears off. It is economical to buy a prime quality of linoleum, and to lay the same pattern on kitchen, laundry and hall. When it wears out in one room it can be replaced from another. Inlaid linoleum will last for years.

Thick, strong rugs should be laid before the range and by the tables, one under the table at which the servants eat. Linoleum is cold to the feet, and one takes cold readily when over-heated.

I read, last year, that kitchen tables are now, as “a taking novelty,” covered with zinc. Over a score of years ago I covered what may be called the work-tables in my kitchen with this useful metal, tacking it neatly under the edges, lest a loose point might tear hands or clothes. I have kept it up ever since. The tabletops are cleaned easily; they never “take” grease or stain of any kind, and they outwear wood by many years.

Another invaluable invention which I wish I could place in every kitchen is a sheet-iron hood and asbestos curtain, fitted to the top of the recess enclosing the range. It works so easily upon pulleys that a little finger could pull it down. When raised, it is entirely out of the cook’s way; when down, it shuts in the range like an impervious screen. Sliding doors in the center allow one to look into pots and kettles simmering behind it, when oversight is advisable. If left closed, it will lower the temperature of the kitchen twenty degrees within two hours. It cost twenty dollars when new, twelve years ago. If I could not get another, twelve hundred dollars would not buy it.

I long ago discarded the old-fashioned tin and iron cooking utensils in favor of agate-nickel-steel ware, which is as easily washed as crockery bowls and plates; is light and neat in appearance; never rusts, and is altogether satisfactory. All of my kettles have covers, and we use covered roasters—another boon to housewives—for cooking meats. They keep in flavor and juices, and lessen the labor of basting.

Always have a rocking-chair convenient into which the cook can drop for rest between the times of active duty, and one apiece for maids in the laundry. For yourself, follow the rule I laid down imperatively a quarter-century ago in Common Sense in the Household—“Never stand at your work when you can sit.” A chair suited in height to the mixing table will save you many an ache in the feet, back and head.

Do not allow servants to jumble their table crockery, etc., up with pots, saucepans, kettles, colanders and the like. There is no reason why the dresser or closet in which the kitchen tableware is kept should not be as daintily arranged as the dining-room buffet. It should hold no commerce with the pot closet.

The servants’ chambers must be furnished with iron bedsteads, good mattresses, plenty of clean blankets and white spreads. The “honeycomb” spreads are absurdly cheap and easily washed. The rest of the appointments of the dormitories need not be elaborate. If they are neat and comfortable the occupants are more likely to try and make them attractive. When one pins up a crucifix over her bed, her mother’s or sister’s photograph against the wall, or even a colored lithograph of a patent medicine—notice it pleas antly. It means that she is catching the home feeling. Muslin curtains cost next to nothing. Hang them up at her window; give her a pretty cover for her bureau-top and a plain one for her washstand, and plenty of towels. The Golden Rule works well here—where does it not?

RANGE-SCREEN PARTLY RAISED

I read a little story many, many years ago—before you were born, I think—a slight, commonplace affair, that has furnished two generations of busy housewives with a hard-worked mot de famille.

Excuse the foreign phrase! We have none in English that exactly translates it. “Household word” comes nearer to it than anything else, without quite covering it.

The tale was of a fidgety housekeeper of the sort stigmatized in the rough parlance of the sensible vulgar as “nasty particular.” A friend, calling upon her soon after breakfast, found her fairly beside herself with worry because guests she had expected at noon had telegraphed that they would be with her at eleven o’clock that morning. Distracted Martha “could never in the world be ready for them. There was so much to do that she did not know what to take hold of first. It was enough to drive a woman out of her senses,” etc., etc., etc.

“But what have you to do?”

“Do! Do! Do! Why—everything!”

The visitor drew off her gloves.

“I will stay and help you. Shan’t I get the spare room ready?”

A gesture of disdain.

“As if I would have put that off until today!”

“Can I help about luncheon?”

“Well! I should be ashamed of myself if the cook hadn’t her orders and materials and all before this!”

“Perhaps I could dust the parlors? or polish silver? or—” glancing around the perfectly appointed dining-room, where the luncheon table was already laid—“I might arrange the flowers in the vases?”

It finally transpired that the frantic and “forehanded” hostess could specify but one thing that remained to be done before everything should be in order for the visitors. She had “butter-balls to make” for luncheon. She always kept the paddles in ice-water for hours beforehand.

I was young then and read the little story aloud to my mother—a woman blessed with a keen sense of humor and as keen a perception of the fitness of things. She adopted the phrase on the spot. “Butter-balls to make” became with us the synonym for needless hurry and flurry and worry. When used interrogatively, it was the cabalistic formula that caused a precipitate and a settlement of many a muddy whirl of anxieties, the open sesame to a “chamber the name of which was Peace.”

Half of the perturbations that chase the housemother “clean out of her wits” are as purely imaginary as those that beset the heroine of our wee scrap of a story. That other American Martha who cried out on Monday morning: “Washing to-day! Ironing on Tuesday! Baking on Wednesday! Bless my life, half the week gone and nothing done!” is hardly a caricature of the national housewife. Worry is a whirlwind that throws the weightier matters of the law of life out of plumb, and raises such a dust of minor duties and possible hindrances that the blinded victim can see nothing aright.

One of the fixed principles of the universe is that two objects can not occupy the same place at the same time. Another, which we are more slow to admit, is that no two duties are cast for one and the same instant. The throngs of homely tasks that obscure our toiler’s vision in the anticipation of “another day’s work,” drifting and dancing in the light of the new day—a flood of elusive moths—have really sequence and order. Let her take hold of her astral or inner self, by the shoulders, and hold her steady until she can weigh and classify the importunate atoms. The pretty fairy-tale of the tasks set for Graciosa by her wicked stepmother supplies another and a pat illustration. The poor girl had to sort a roomful of feathers of all colors and sizes. After laboring vainly for hours, she called tearfully for her fairy lover, who, with one stroke of his wand, laid each kind in a separate heap from the rest.

RANGE-SCREEN LOWERED TO SHUT IN HEAT

Your wand—and my wand—dear Martha, is the cool, long breath of sober reflection that gives us time to say: “All these things can not be done at once. Some of the less important can be laid over into the convenient season which must fall into the lot of even an American housekeeper. I must keep each in its place. I will”—a strong “will,” a long “will,” and many “wills” altogether—“I will think of but one thing at a time, and do it as if there were nothing else in the world for me to do.”

The discipline of thought and nerves that must attend upon such a moral and mental effort will train lawless impulses and teach concentration of thought as well as the much-vaunted higher mathematics could. Work need not, of necessity, be worry. Industry does not imply haste.

“Count five and twenty, Tattycoram!” entreated Mr. Meagles, when the foundling’s temper was likely to get away from her.

In the same tone of affectionate warning, I pass on my homely test of facts and values—“Butter-balls to make!” First, make sure of what you really have to do, and to do today. Secondly, having screened and sifted the mass, assort the ore before you begin to smelt it—and yourself!

In place of counting five and twenty, accept my formula—“Draw ten deep breaths” before you make up your mind that you have not time for one.

The world is full of fresh air and it owes us all we can take in leisurely and thankfully.

No matter how heavy your burdens, your experience reflects that of hundreds of others. It may be a mean kind of misery that loves company. The knowledge that others are fighting and toiling bravely along the same line with ourselves; that others have conquered the circumstances which oppose us, braces us for renewed effort. What woman has done, woman may do again.

You are far from being hopelessly “mired;” you have what is called “a good fighting chance” for life and usefulness. You have one tremendous advantage, a solid foothold to begin with, in the certainty that you are in the right path.

The confident assurance of this is half the battle. The other half is in doing your work as it comes to your hand. Don’t cultivate “a long reach.” It never pays. You “don’t get ahead one inch.” Perhaps God means for you to move by quarter-inches. He has ten thousand ways of disciplining His children, and so teaching them to make the very best of themselves. It is as certain as that He rules the heavens, that He knows just what sort of training is good for you. Your husband, your children, your home, are your working capital, a loan from Him—your talents, if you like that figure better. They are more than worth all the labor and the worries that fall into your lot.

Husband, children, home, work and worry fill to-day full. Hence the folly, and the danger, and the sin of “the long reach.” The one coming guest whom you should never welcome is to-morrow’s possible troubles. The children are not to be educated today, nor is John ill or dead at the present moment, and the “lonesome” maid does not go until her month is up. The faith that removes mountains wears short-sighted glasses and brings them to bear upon the work in hand.

This is not preaching, but practical philosophy. Try how it will work for a week—then a month—then a year.

Keep your house as well as you can for John, for the babies, for yourself, and let the neighbors run theirs to suit themselves. Comparisons, according to Dogberry, are “odorous.” Comparison of this sort savors of discontent and trouble. Mind your own business and take your business in sections.

“Magnify your office.” You are as important in your kingdom as was Queen Victoria in hers, and have not one worry where she had a thousand.

Dust may be disease in embryo, and should be done away with by the use of all reasonable means. Overwork and worry kill more women in one year than the neglected deposit upon picture cords slays in a century. “Let all things be done decently and in order” is a capital working motto, but reserve the right of private judgment in determining what constitute order and decency. Study what you can leave undone, or what may be laid over for another day with least discomfort to yourself and others.

Spare yourself, and study Slighting (so-called) as a Useful, Life-lengthening Art.