The wife and mother, more than any other, knows what a great part of life is made up of the little things, such as:—­

   “Sewing on the buttons,
   Overseeing rations;
   Soothing with a kind word
   Guiding clumsy Bridgets,
   Coaxing sullen cooks,
   Entertaining company,
   And reading recent books;
      Woman’s work!”

Strange as it may seem, the mind of the hireling cannot grasp the importance of the lesser tasks that go to make up the sum of existence.  If you allow Bridget to prepare your guest chamber for an unexpected friend, you will observe that she glories in Rembrandt-like effects,—­which, when viewed at a distance, assume a respectable appearance.  You, with brains back of your hands, will notice that there is a tiny hole in the counterpane, dust under the table, and—­above all—­that the soap-dish is not clean.  Your servant may do the rough work; the dainty, lady-like touch must be given by you.

You have an experienced waitress, and a jewel, if the dining-room and table are perfect without your supervision.  It may be only that a teacup or plate is sticky or rough to the touch, a fork or a knife needed, the steel or one of the carvers forgotten.  But when the family is assembled at the board, these trifles cause awkward pauses and interruptions.

Other little cares are to ascertain that the water with which the tea is made is boiling, that the alcohol lamp is filled, the flies brushed from the room, the plates warmed, and the sugar-dishes and salt-cellars filled.  One housekeeper says that attention to these duties always reminds her of the task of washing one’s face.  Nobody notices if you keep your face clean, and you get no credit for doing it, but if you did not wash it, all the world would remark upon the dirt.

Often the work which “doesn’t show” takes most time, and tries the temper.  And the hardest part of it all is that it is so frequently caused by others’ laziness or delinquencies.  If John would only use an ash-receiver, instead of strewing the veranda-floor with ashes and burnt matches; if he would “just think” to close the library blinds when he has finished looking for a missing book, instead of allowing the hot sunshine and flies to enter at their own sweet will, until, two hours after his departure for the office, you descend to the apartment which you had already dusted and darkened, and find it filled with heat and buzz!  If that big boy of yours could remember to strip the covers from his bed when he arises and if your pretty daughter could cultivate her bump of order sufficiently to refrain from leaving a hat of some description in every room on the first floor, and her jacket on the banisters!  Nobody but yourself knows how many precious minutes you expend in righting these wrongs caused by others’ carelessness.  John would advise grandly that you “Let Bridget attend to these matters.  Why keep a dog and do your own barking?” If he is particularly sympathetic and generous, he will inform you seriously that your time is too precious to spend on beggarly trifles, and that if one servant cannot do the work of the establishment, he wants you to hire another.  Perhaps you ungratefully retort that “it will only make one more for you to follow up and supplement.”