Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper | Page 4

be given
to the poor, and they'll do some good. There isn't a housekeeper in
moderate circumstances that couldn't almost clothe some poor family,
by giving away the cast off garments that every year accumulate on her
hands."
How sharply did I feel the rebuking spirit in these words of aunt
Rachel.
"What's done can't be helped now," said my husband kindly,
interrupting, as he spoke, some further remarks that aunt Rachel
evidently intended to make. "We must do better next time."
"I must do better," was my quick remark, made in penitent tones. "I
was very thoughtless."
To relieve my mind, my husband changed the subject of conversation;
but, nothing could relieve the pressure upon my feelings, caused by a
too acute consciousness of having done what in the eyes of my husband,
looked like a want of true humanity. I could not bear that he should
think me void of sympathy for others.
The day following was Sunday. Church time came, and Mr. Smith went
to the clothes press for his best coat, which had been worn only for a
few months.
"Jane!" he called to me suddenly, in a voice that made me start. "Jane!
Where is my best coat?"
"In the clothes press," I replied, coming out from our chamber into the
passage, as I spoke.
"No; it's not here," was his reply. "And, I shouldn't wonder if you had
sold my good coat for those china vases."
"No such thing!" I quickly answered, though my heart gave a great
bound at his words; and then sunk in my bosom with a low tremor of
alarm.

"Here's my old coat," said Mr. Smith, holding up that defaced
garment--"Where is the new one?"
"The old clothes man has it, as sure as I live!" burst from my lips.
"Well, that is a nice piece of work, I must confess!"
This was all my husband said; but it was enough to smite me almost to
the floor. Covering my face with my hands, I dropped into a chair, and
sat and sobbed for a while bitterly.
"It can't be helped now, Jane," said Mr. Smith, at length, in a soothing
voice. "The coat is gone, and there is no help for it. You will know
better next time."
That was all he said to me then, and I was grateful for his kind
consideration. He saw that I was punished quite severely enough, and
did not add to my pain by rebuke or complaint.
An attempt was made during the week to recover the coat, valued at
some twenty dollars; but the china ornament-man was not to be
found--he had made too good a bargain to run the risk of having it
broken.
About an hour after the discovery of the loss of my husband's coat, I
went quietly down into the parlor, and taking from the mantle-piece the
china vases, worth, probably, a dollar for the pair, concealed them
under my apron, lest any one should see what I had; and, returning up
stairs, hid them away in a dark closet, where they have ever since
remained.
The reader may be sure that I never forgot this, my first and last
speculation in china ware.
CHAPTER II.
SOMETHING ABOUT COOKS.

WAS there ever a good cook who hadn't some prominent fault that
completely overshadowed her professional good qualities? If my
experience is to answer the question, the reply will be--no.
I had been married several years before I was fortunate enough to
obtain a cook that could be trusted to boil a potato, or broil a steak. I
felt as if completely made up when Margaret served her first dinner.
The roast was just right, and all the vegetables were cooked and
flavored as well as if I had done it myself--in fact, a little better. My
husband eat with a relish not often exhibited, and praised almost every
thing on the table.
For a week, one good meal followed another in daily succession. We
had hot cakes, light and fine-flavored, every morning for breakfast,
with coffee not to be beaten--and chops or steaks steaming from the
gridiron, that would have gladdened the heart of an epicure. Dinner was
served, during the time, with a punctuality that was rarely a minute at
fault, while every article of food brought upon the table, fairly tempted
the appetite. Light rolls, rice cakes, or "Sally Luns," made without
suggestion on my part usually met us at tea time. In fact, the very
delight of Margaret's life appeared to be in cooking. She was born for a
cook.
Moreover, strange to say, Margaret was good-tempered, a most
remarkable thing in a good cook; and more remarkable still, was tidy in
her person, and cleanly in her work.
"She is a treasure," said I