When, at six o’clock, another meal is required, the range is opened, lungs perforated through its crust, some knots of coal allowed, and a liberal use of the “curate” recommended.
For toasting or ironing purposes we utilise a heap of clean cinders which has gradually been accumulating in a corner of the yard. The dews of heaven have kept these damp, and the raindrops have cleaned them before we shovel them on to the fire. Ram them into the grate, and thus provide the best (because most smokeless) fuel for laundry work. Our flat irons, heated by these cinders, are not smoke begrimed or sooty, but keep bright and smooth all the year round.
In the ingle-nook of mine house open fireplaces are, in two rooms, replaced by American stoves. One of them stands about two and a half feet high and cost only 15s. It juts well out in the study—close to the writing-table—and keeps my toes and fingers warm and comfortable at a minimum cost of fuel. An iron arm elbows its way up the closed chimney, and a sheet of zinc nailed over the ordinary grate gives a good draught. The fire-space in this stove is very tiny—a handful of shavings and a spoonful of coal makes it light up cheerfully, and a little damp slack keeps it at furnace heat for hours.
This wee warming-stove has saved its cost over and over again, and is so easily lit up that I manage to have the comfort of a fire long before my house-maidens have quitted the beautiful land of nod. All undue dryness of the atmosphere is counteracted by keeping a pipkin of water steaming on its face, and it is so clean that even the most delicate curtains are not soiled by its use.
The value of having a smutless, smokeless, dustless fire can never be over-estimated in this uncertain climate. Even many evenings in July or August call for a small fire, and the easiness of lighting this stove in the ingle-nook of mine house prevents such a necessity (as I consider it) being considered a luxury.
I do not think I need speak of the virtues of gas as a heating agent. We all recognise the desirability of its use; but, alas! where economy has to be considered in our ingle-nooks, we cannot recommend it. In place of coal gas is desirable; but in addition to coal it is fearfully expensive. In mine house—when dog-days protest against any artificial heat—we use paraffin.
Rippingill has invented and patented so many excellent elaborate cooking-stoves that it is easy to do without our kitchen range. At the cost of about four farthings a dinner consisting of half a leg of mutton, boiled potatoes, peas, cauliflower, and a rice pudding can be cooked to perfection. Even after these are done the ovens will be still hot enough to bake a cake for afternoon tea or some pastry for supper.
The equable temperature maintained by an adjustable flame enables me to “rise” all kinds of fancy bread in my “A.B.C.” stove splendidly, and for making jam it is invaluable. No longer do I dread the annual eruption of stones of ripe raspberries or the arrival of hairy, sweet gooseberries by the gallon. The winter supply of jam in mine house is made without burnt brows or scalded fingers over the little Rippingill that stands in the store-room.
“But don’t the stoves smell fearfully?” is a question often asked. I answer truthfully that they are absolutely odourless when properly attended to. Loose particles of charred wick cause a loss of proper ventilation; drops of oil spilt outside the reservoir, clogged burners, all prevent proper combustion and produce a bad effluvia.
I find that constant supervision is necessary when we use oil in mine house. Then only are the wicks well rubbed, then only are scissors tabooed, then only fags and edges flame not, then only doth economy wait on comfort in my ingle-nook. It requires skilled fingers to keep chimneys clear enough to read by. A drop of ammonia added to the water in which they are washed helps towards this crystalline condition. Then no longer