LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
your table linen, use plate doilies and paper napkins.” Telling Mary of this advice, she said, “The lady has forgotten that we are agriculturists. Now just fancy these men clad in blue-jeans and cowhides, confronting a doily of Mexican drawn work!” It was rather absurd; but still the advice was not quite lost, and the result was that some of our long cloths were cut into luncheon cloths, exactly fitting the top of the table; with a wide hem on the four sides they looked reasonably well, and saved much labor. Emboldened by this success, the Japanese napkin was then introduced,—not without protest, however, as Tom remarked, “I’d much prefer a paper bag to this thing!”
“You would find it harsh, Thomas, and rather unyielding,” replied his determined spouse.
“Now isn’t that a dandy affair for the use of a robust farmer?” he continued, holding out a hand with the delicate paper squeezed into a tight little wad that would scarcely have filled a thimble. It certainly did look small, but there was no relenting in the heart of the washerwoman.
When we visited each other, linen napkins were brought forth—for custom’s sake—though it was tacitly understood that they were not to be used, and we women never forgot. I have often been moved almost to tears to see how promptly and carefully Mary laid hers aside.
Sometimes one or the other of the men, forgetting the unwritten law, would shake out his napkin with the
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