"Sewing," said Martha agreeably.
"Sheeting?" Mrs. Peckett inquired.
Martha considered. "Well, I s'pose you might call it sheeting," she admitted. "Down home—I should say in New York City—we call it muslin, but up here it's cotton-cloth. I'm trying to remember the differences. I don't believe in lettin' things go into one eye, an' outa the other ear, so you never profit by your exper'ences. I believe in livin' an' learnin', if you die in the attemp'."
"This ain't very fine quality," observed Mrs. Peckett, stooping and picking up an end of the material to examine it critically through her thick-lensed spectacles.
Martha sighed. "Dear me! how sorry I am. But I never was much of a cornersewer, as Mrs. Sherman says, on white goods, an' that's a fack."
"I'm afraid you won't have much wear out of it," pronounced the oracle. "You'll have to get new sheets in no time. These'll go through before you know it. The next time you want to buy sheeting, or anything of that sort, you just come to me. I'll advise you."
"Thank you," said Martha.
"I always heard tell, city folks wa'n't much of any in the housekeeping line, and I suspicion it's true. They're too busy gallivanting the streets to look after their houses. For myself, I don't mind telling you, I don't set much store by city folks."
"You don't say!"
"We get a good mess of 'em up here, summers. Rich and poor, and if we 'natives,' as they call us, ain't glad to see them go away every fall, I wouldn't say so. I don't like 'em!"