Molly was busy ironing the ruffle of a child’s petticoat as she spoke, and Mrs. Lennox said, partly in explanation perhaps: “I dare say you think I’m foolish to trim my children’s clothes and make myself so much work; but if you use cheap materials they look really quite mean without it. Mr. Lennox constantly quotes the beauty of simplicity, and points to the pictures of English children, as if I couldn’t see the beauty as well as he. But simplicity is costly or dowdy. A shilling calico or crossbar made ‘Kate Greenaway’ fashion would look a poverty-stricken effort, while in linen or fine nainsook or India muslin they are charming. Flimsy materials won’t hang well unless they are trimmed; at the same time I do think I am wearing myself out for the sake of appearance, and often resolve that I will never make or iron another ruffle.”
Molly had no experience as a mother of a family to offer poor strenuous Mrs. Lennox, whom she found a much brighter and more sensible woman than she had at first supposed. Yet she felt that the ruffle question was a very serious one.
“I hardly dare say anything about the matter, because I have so little experience, but I do feel that you are not strong enough to do such ironing as this; and yet, as you say, poor material plainly made looks mean. How would it be to give up wash goods for every-day use and wear dark blue flannel for a while? Even wealthy people do that at the seaside, and one flannel frock will cost no more than the four calico ones that take its place.”
“I have thought of it, and I do believe I will make an effort another summer; but when you’ve so many children the frocks come down from one to another, and the only one I have ever to get new for is the eldest, but next year I’ll get her a flannel frock and see how it works; but though light flannel is really cool, she will fancy she’s hot if she sees her sisters in cotton.”
“Now, if you’ll tell me where your cold meat is, I will show you how the cold mutton may be made a very nice dish.”
The meat and broth were soon before her, and by her direction Mrs. Lennox peeled and sliced two large onions and put them on to boil.
“What vegetables did you intend having?”
“I’ve been so busy ironing that I did not think of anything but potatoes, though Mr. Lennox does like a second one.”
“I see you have cabbage in the garden, and corn.”
“Yes, but the corn is too old, and the cabbage there is no time for; besides, we have it so seldom, because I have to cook it in the morning so that the terrible smell may be out of the house before Mr. Lennox comes home, he is so fastidious; though, I must say, the smell of cabbage is something any one not fastidious might object to.”