Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1881-06-21

mother did the work for us all, l don t
know how she managed it but she
did. Milly was the only one who had
ever taken to housework, and mother was
one of those domestic burden bearers
who never consider their burden so heavy
but that they can add another trihe.
Father had never been fortunate, Pc
cuniarily; and being anxious to give all
their children a good education, the la
Dor of saving for this end was added to
their other toll. And then, like many
another good and unselfsh, but unwise,
mother, she allowed us our own way,
and spoiled us through indulgence and
as We had often heard her say she would
rather do thing herself tnan take the
trouble TO teach us how, We felt as If
we were actually comforting favor upon
her by letting things alone.
To be sure we could sweep dust. wash
dishes, and make beds, and were famil-
lar with some of cookery; but to be able
to keep domestic machinery well oiled and
in constant motion was TO us like trying
to converse in an unknown tongue.
And SO now, without any adequate
knowledge OF work and It's responsible
ties, we found ourselves with a mountain
of difficulties TO surmount, and pretty
mess we made of it for few days, too.
II was not difficult TO eat through supper,
for, thanks to mothers provident hands,
there was plenty prepared for that meal !;
but when, next morning, we found the
bread was out, the cookies all gone, and
not stray pie for dinner, our troubles
bcgan-and they btoadened and deepen
Cd with every passing moment, as we
became painfully aware that making
bread and pastry was branch Of our
education which had been terribly neglect
cd and when, about ten o clock, father,
in blissful ignorance of the novices in
charge at home, sent up sir!oin roast
and the information that a stranger
woud dine with Us, and fifteen minutes
later the washer-woman brought in the
clothes for us to iron, | was ready to
melt into tears, and Kate was so cross
it was dangerous to speak to her
o, that weary, weary day But only
the beginning of many similar ones that
followed it, How we longed Cor mother 5
skilful hands TO straigbten out the tan
gled threads our awkward fingers had
managed to produce. There was some
thing to be done from early morn till late
at night so that no sooner did we fancy
ourselves free for half an hour than some
duty undone would stare US in the face,
or the children would come with clamor-
ing tongues and empty s;omachs, and in
few days became addicted to chronic
frettulneSs, while Kate was transformed
into a yeritable scold. John scowled
over the miserable meals, Ross teased US
at every vulnerable point, but poor, pa
tient father pitied our often infrmitles,
and ate what was set before him for con
sciences sake.
1t went on in this way for about fort
night. when, after a very trying day, we
took our books and sat down for quiet
evening. But, alas for our hopes only
ten minutes Of peace, and then an omi-
nous "ahem" from father causcd US to
look up.
ado you know, girls" he inquired,
whether mother mended my pants be-
fore she went away: should like
them to put on IN the morning. She
generally did her mending every week,
| believe"
There ~ burst out Kate, shutting
her book with bang, while |, after one
desponding glance at the fascinating pag-
es OF David Copperfeld,' went to ex-
anime the mending basket.
1t was full to the brim: shirts, socks,
little gingham coats with the pockets
torn down and buttons pulled half off,
with shreds OF cloth hanging to them /;
fathers pants, and Nellie's school dress
with great rent clear across the front.
With doleful sigh | lifted the basket,
and without word we sat down 10 the
unwelcomc task.
Nine, ten clock came and went, and
the basket was not half emptied of It's
content. Father, John, Ross, and Mel
lie gaped, and stretched, and one by one
followed the children off to bed. Eleven,
and still we sat,silent and grim as ghosts,
solemnly stitching away at the endless
rents.
Cad said Kate, at last, jerking out
the words as if she hated them, "how do
you like it =
Like WHAT asked in astoni.h-
ment.
This life Of slavery. This humdrum,
everlasting stick-to-it, unsatisfactory ex-
istence. With not speck of spice in
the way of variety about it. Just over
and over, round and round, until we seek
our rest 'low in the ground"
"Oh, Kate" l exclaimed almost
shocked, mot so bad as that not nearly so
bad as that
"Ies, worse than that with many,
very many, Cad Rouncewell. My plain
opinion, very plainly expressed, is that
women are FOOLS"
"Why Kate"
Don't why Kate me. Just look
at the mending basket. 1t has been
filled and emptied year after year filled