be used for anything else. One part of it is about eight inches lower
than the common height, where ever so many kinds of table-work can be
done sitting. Underneath the higher part are drawers and places for
all the things that are useful about the laundry-work. Her sink is in
the midst of a perfect cabinet of conveniences. There's a hook or a
shelf for every identical rag, stick, dish, or spoon that can be used
or thought of; shelves at each side, and drawers that never by any
possibility will hold what doesn't belong in them. One thing she won't
have; and that's a cupboard under the sink for pots and kettles. She
says it's impossible to keep such a place clean and sweet. Things are
shoved into it sooty and steaming to get them out of the way, and it
soon gets damp and crocky beyond all hope of purification. Hot and
cold water run to the boilers and kettles, and there's a funny
contrivance for sprinkling clothes. The washing almost does itself.
The tubs are of soapstone, at the opposite side of the room from the
ironing-table. Over the entire stove--she might have had a range, but
didn't want one--there's a sort of movable cover with a flue running
into the chimney that carries off every breath of steam and smoke from
the cooking. One would never guess at the dinner by any stray odors.
It is made of tin; the kettles boil quicker under it, and it makes the
room a great deal cooler in summer by carrying the extra heat off up
the chimney. She has a place for the bread to rise, and a cupboard
close by for all the ironmongery belonging to the stove, zinc-cloth
and blacking-brush included.

[Illustration: SISTER JANE'S KITCHEN.]

Her pantry I won't undertake to describe. It adjoins both dining-room
and kitchen. John says she never does anything in getting dinner but
just sit down in an easy-chair and turn a crank. That's one of John's