“I’m sure the little sink must be handy,” said Aunt Jerusha, amiably looking for merits where Jill saw only defects.

“It might be if there was room enough at each side for drainers and for dishes to stand before and after washing.  I don’t wonder that Jack’s china is ‘nicked’ till the edges look like saw teeth; glass and fine crockery can’t be piled up into pyramids even by the most experienced builders without serious damage to the edges.  There ought to be four times as much space at each side.”

“I suppose there wasn’t quite room enough.”

“There was always room enough.  There’s enough now outside, and would have been inside, if the house had been well planned,” said Jill rather sharply.

“These are proper, nice, large drawers.”

“They are too nice and too large.  Even when they are but half full I have to tumble their contents all over to find any particular thing, unless it lies on top.  Some drawers ought to be large and some small, but I don’t believe there ever was a man,” said Jill vehemently, “who knew enough to arrange the small comforts and conveniences for housekeeping.  Every day I am exasperated by something which Jack never so much as noticed.  When I explain it he laughs and says it is fortunate we have so good an opportunity for learning what to avoid, and all the time I am certain he thinks there will be a great many more faults in the new house.  If there are I shall be sorry it is fire-proof.”

[Illustration:  “THE OAKS.”]

“Why, Jill, my dear, don’t be rash!  That doesn’t sound like you.  You mustn’t set your heart on having things exactly to suit you in this world.  I’ve lived a great many years, and a good many times I find it easier to bring my mind to things as they are than it is to make everything come just to my mind.  I’ve seen plenty of women wear themselves out for want of things to do with, and I’ve seen other women break down from having too many; trying to keep up with all the modern fashions and conveniences, and to manage their houses with the same kind of regularity—­’system’ they call it—­that men use in carrying on a manufacturing business.”

“Well, why shouldn’t they, Aunt ’Rusha?”

“I’ll tell you why, my dear.  A business man has a certain, single, definite thing to do or to make.  Every day’s work is very much like that of the day before.  He may try to improve gradually, but, in the main, it is the same thing over and over again.  Our home life ought not to be like that.  A man ought not to be merely an engine or a cash-book; a woman ought to be something more than a dummy or a fashion-plate; our children should not be like so many spools of thread or suits of clothes, turned in the same lathe, spun to the same yarn, and cut according to the same pattern and rule.  I’m sure I could never have done my work and brought up six children without some sort of a system, or if your uncle had been a bad provider.