“I think they are very good notions if they are old-fashioned.  If we have cupboards inside the pantry, drawers inside the cupboards, and boxes and cases inside the drawers, finding the spices is like opening a nest of.  Chinese puzzles.  A mechanic would never hide the tools in his workshop in that way.”

“How do you reach the upper shelves?”

“I never reach them, and all that room is wasted.  It is worse than wasted.  It is a reservoir for dust and cobwebs.”

“Wouldn’t it be well, dear, if all the upper part was made into cupboards for things seldom used?”

“Indeed it would.  I think I will have the new pantry made something like this:  low cupboards next to the floor, for things that; need to be shut up and yet must be handy; on the top of these, which will be not quite three feet high, a very wide shelf; over this several open shelves, as high as I can easily reach; and above the shelves, filling the space to the ceiling, short cupboards entirely around the room for cracked dishes that are too good to throw away, but are never used:  for ice-cream freezers in the winter, and a great many more things that belong to the same category—­a sort of hospital for disabled or retired culinary utensils.  Now we will look at the china closet, but we shall need the gas in order to see it in all its glory, and you can tell Jack it is lovely with a clear conscience.”

“I never speak without a clear conscience,” said Aunt Jerusha mildly.

CHAPTER XV.

A DANGEROUS RIVAL.

“Dear me,” said Aunt Jerusha, as Jill, after displaying the kitchen pantry, showed her the windowless china closet, elegant with varnished walnut, plate-glass and silver-plated plumbing, “dear me, this is as fine as a parlor.  It seems a real pity to keep it all out of sight.”

“The pity is that it was made so fine.  I should not object to polished walnut in a light room, although cherry, birch or some other fine-grained, hard, light-colored wood is preferable; but all this ornamental work, these mouldings, cornices and carved handles are worse than useless—­they are ugly and troublesome.  If I can have my own way—­I’m glad Jack isn’t here to make comments—­I shall have every part of the new pantries as plain and smooth as a marble slab, with not a groove or a moulding to hold dust, and never a crack nor a crevice in which the tiniest spider can hide.  The shelves will be thin, light and strong; some wide and some narrow; a wineglass doesn’t need as much room as a soup tureen; the cupboard doors shall be as plain as doors can be made, and shall not be hung like these, to swing out against each other at the constant risk of breaking the glass and of pushing something from the narrow shelf in front of them.  They ought to slide, one before another, and the front shelf should be wide enough to hold lots of things when they are handed down from the upper part of the cupboards.”