the hot, greasy water. Mother says one may do housework and look like a
lady if she has common sense.

I finished the pots and pans and set my cups and saucers in a row, my
plates scraped and piled together, my silver in the large china bowl,
and my glasses were all ready for the next step. I had two pans, one
half-filled with soapy, the other with clear water, and having given my
dainty dishes a bath in the first I treated them to a dip in the
second, afterward letting them drain for a moment on the tray at my
right hand. Veva and Marjorie wiped the silver and glass with the soft
linen towels which are kept for these only; next I took my plates, then
the platters, and finally the knives. Just as we finished the last dish
I heard grandmother's tap, tap on the floor over my head.

There's an art in everything, even in washing dishes. I fancy one might
grow fond of it, if only one took an interest in always doing it well.

Perhaps it is because my parents are Friends, and I have been taught
that it is foolish to be flurried and flustered and to hurry over any
work, but I do think that one gets along much faster when one does not
make too much haste.

I do hope I may always act just as mother does, she is so sweet and
peaceful, never cross, never worried. Now, dear grandmamma is much more
easily vexed. But then she is older and she has the Van Doren headaches.

Tap, tap came the call of the ebony stick. I ran up to grandmamma's
room.