Soap was also attempted,—staggered at, Marian said. She knew little about it, but had seen Bobbie’s mother making it, and she happened to know that ashes contained lye. The bottom of the wickerwork around the good demijohn had worn clear through. Marian carefully broke it away at the neck as well and took it off entirely. Then, tipping it upside down, she had a basket forsooth. She lined the sides with green banana leaves and filled it full of ashes.
She rigged it up where she could slip under it the old broken demijohn they had found in the cove and had used so much, which would hold about a gallon. Then she poured a little water on the ashes, and when that soaked in, a little more, and kept it up till she had it dripping through into the old demijohn below. Thus she leached out her lye. And if it did not seem very strong, she could boil it down in the porcelain kettle, which was the only thing she had that she dared use for that purpose, though she could boil things and even try out her grease in Mr. Cunningham’s pail.
When the lye was stout enough to suit her, she put it into the two-quart glass jar or the bottles, and finally she started in with the soap-making. Well, she made it, but don’t imagine it was nice white, sweet-smelling soap, such as you can buy, for it certainly was not. She made, first and last, a good many batches. Some of it would harden, and some would not.
What did harden she cut into cakes and put on a shelf to dry, where it would proceed to do so, shrinking itself up into the most absurd shapes of about half its former size. And what would not harden, she put into broken bottles or great shells or hollowed-out pieces of wood, but it was nearly all black in color and smelled—oh, like nothing in the world but very strong-smelling soap, but it would make a lather, after a fashion, and would take out dirt and grease.
CHAPTER XI
WHEREWITHAL SHALL WE BE CLOTHED?
Marian’s grandmothers had known how to spin and weave, and as a little girl she herself had seen the old wheels and looms of her ancestors and had had their workings explained to her. But her childish mind had understood little, and the intervening years had wiped out much of that. Still, there remained a little, a wavering memory that she called up now and caused to supplement her grown-up knowledge of how such things must needs be worked out.
“I need two wheels, Delbert,” she said, “and a band to go from one to the other as on mother’s sewing-machine. One wheel must be small, and I think this spool will do. Jennie, you can wind off what’s left of the thread on to this little stick instead. But where can I get the other wheel? It must be big.”
“There’s the bottom of the old barrel,” suggested Delbert. “We can make something else to put on the Muggywah to carry things in.”
“That’s so,” said Marian; “I could burn a hole through the center to run an axle through and another one to stick a handle in near the edge to turn it by.”