On the top of the rocks, which were almost as flat as the top of a table, were little closely-clinging patches of moss that we called our rugs. There were queer-shaped hollows in the tops of these rocks. In one little moss-lined hollow I used to cradle my baby-doll. Another hollow was my kitchen sink. I used to fill up my sink with bits of broken dishes, turn on some water from the brook, and then such a scrubbing as my dishes got!
At the rocks, kneeling down on the planks that formed our bridges, we used to wash our dollies’ clothes. Then we would spread them on the grass to dry. Didn’t we use to keep our babies clean and sweet!
Afterwards, pinning our short skirts up about us, we would wash the floors of our little rock houses until they shone. When everything was spick-and-span, we would unpin our skirts, pull down our sleeves, rub our rosy cheeks with a mullein leaf to make them rosier, and with a big burdock leaf tied on with a couple of strings for a bonnet we would go calling on our lazy neighbor, Mrs. Pippy, and give her a serious “talking-to.”
Or, perhaps, we would call on each other and talk about the terrible illnesses our poor children were suffering from. Or, perhaps, we would go to market. The market consisted of a long row of raspberry bushes along the meadow fence.
Percia V. White.
WASHING-DAY AT THE ROCK-HOUSES.
BUT WHEN TO-MORROW
But when to-morrow, down the lane,