Now, who has the charge of all these royal children at the time when their characters are forming? Who gives the first direction to the minds of those who will in time control the affairs of our country? Woman. And it is my business as an American citizen to learn what are her qualifications for an office of such responsibility.
It was this last consideration which induced me to listen so attentively to my friends at Piper’s Mills, and to my friends at the sewing-circle, when the talk ran upon children; for it bore directly on a theory of mine. I suppose every scientist has a theory connected with his science. My theory connected with my science is this: that a mother’s chief duty is the taking care of her children. I believe that she should prepare herself solemnly for this duty, and that she should have every possible facility for its performance.
How came I by this theory? I came by it through the newspapers. I never took up one that did not have news to tell of dishonest clerks, corrupt officials, of drunkenness, theft, and murder. And I would say to myself, “Oh, how much badness there is in this dear country! And how do so many people become so bad?”
And one day I went, with my theory upon me, into Mrs. Fennel’s kitchen, where I found the women-folk in a state of great consternation. The cakes were all fried for tea; but the salt had been forgotten. “Sprinkle some over them,” said I; “’twill strike through, won’t it?” “Oh, no!” said Mrs. Fennel. “The salt must be mixed into the dough at the beginning of it.”
“There,” thought I, “that’s the very ‘figure of speech’ I want! Yes, it comes just right. Let salt stand for goodness, and dough for the children. The goodness must be mixed in at the beginning of it: it is too late when the world has baked the dough up into men and women. It will be of no use then sprinkling it on outside: it won’t strike through. All this illustrates my theory exactly. Yes, yes, mix it in at the beginning: that’s it! And mothers must do it.”
This point being settled, there arise three questions; namely, Is she qualified for this duty? Has she facilities for performing it? Does she feel that it is her chief duty?
IX.
“TURN ’EM OFF.”
IT was because I had my theory under consideration,—the theory of child-training being the chief duty of a mother,—that I was so much impressed by our neighbor’s remark concerning the “three meals.” “Now, how is this?” said I to myself. “If ‘the three meals take about all day,’ and making and mending, the evening, where is the children’s time coming from?”
And, indeed, where is it coming from? I see that they get scraps of attention, when, for instance, as in Mrs. Fennel’s case, a bit of a sermon is thrown at them now and then in the intervals of cooking, but not often a good square meal. I see that all things else are attended to before the children; not meaning before they are clothed and fed, but before time is taken to talk or read with them. I see that mothers and children are, in a measure, strangers to each other; that they have too little opportunity of becoming intimate. I see, that, with the mothers of Tweenit, life is one prolonged hurry. Feet and hands are hurrying to “get things done.” The mind is ever on the stretch, planning how to “get things done,” or fearing things will not “get done;” and things do not “get done.” One day’s work laps over on to the next, one week’s on to the next, one month’s, one year’s; and so there is no pause, no let-down. Rest, quiet, leisure, are here unknown terms with the mother of a family; yet these are just what a mother of a family needs, and must have, for accomplishing what I think is her chief business; for this business of hers requires thought, study, earnest preparation. It requires the mother. Yes, it requires herself personally.
But how shall the children of Tweenit get their mothers, or the mothers their children? No doubt both would enjoy each other’s nearer acquaintance. I remember hearing Mrs. Melendy talk one day to her little two or three years old Rosa.