There, now, plump lady, are your rules! Abide by them and your woes will surely disappear with a swiftness that will make you laugh.
THE WORKING GIRL
"Labor is life!—'Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth;
Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust assaileth."
—Mrs. Frances S. Osgood.
It has often occurred to me that there are a vast number of plucky little bread-winning girls and women to whom even a tiny jar of creme marquise is a hopeless impossibility. For them is this chapter written.
In the first place, we all feel pretty sure that—in the great, wonderful beginning of things—it was never meant that women should work. We can't help knowing this when we look about us every night at six o'clock and see the weary, patient, brave little faces that line either side of the elevated trains or the crowded street cars. Women are not given to the solving of problems, so we won't go into the great "whys" or the "wherefores." That's a loss of time anyhow. But we will do heaps better than that. We will try to be hopeful and cheery, and learn how to make the best of the little happinesses that do come our way.
The working girl—and we all take off our hats to her pluck—needs more than any other class of womankind to take care of her health. She is out in all kinds of weather, she works hard, and ofttimes struggles through a daily routine that is harrowing beyond everything. After hours there is mending to be done, or a thousand and one little duties to keep her busy until, tired out and nerve-weary, she goes to bed to gain rest and strength for the struggles of the morrow. She cannot afford the little luxuries of the toilet that are so dear and near to the heart of womankind the world over. The joys of having her hair "done" or her pretty cheeks massaged are not hers—and the pity of it is that often enough the fault lies not within herself, but in the unhappy circumstances of fate that have placed her among the less fortunate sisterhood.