LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
old-time flourish, whereupon his hostess was apt suddenly to lose her vivacity, becoming abstracted to the neglect of her duties. In spite of her best efforts, her eyes would fix themselves upon that square of linen, until the offender, hypnotized into consciousness of his breach of etiquette, refolded and laid it far beyond the reach of temptation. The feast over, behold Mary and me, with smiles “childlike and bland,” “gathering our sheaves,” still in their original folds, calmly speculating upon the length of time that, with care and vigilance, they might be safely withheld from the laundry. Free use of them was permitted, however, on holidays and anniversaries. It was really refreshing then to note the reckless abandon with which they were flung to the breeze. As all “habits gather by unseen degrees,” Mary and I have now about persuaded ourselves that the use of linen napkins between the beginning of the rainy season and the singing of the bluebirds is “bad form!”
While discussing our household problems, I must tell you about the care of milk, which is hardly the pleasant pastime once pictured by my imagination,—such a never-ending straining, skimming, and washing of pails and cans!
Unfortunately we had bought cans much too large for our needs,—which is only one among many of the mistakes of our inexperience. Having been told by the books that “deep setting” was desirable, we went in for it,—and we’ve got it; the washing of one of these tall
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