Every Day in the Week

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Jan 30, 1913

Every Day in the Week

THERE is a kind of domestic affection which is like a mountain stream — full to overflowing in the spring, and as dry as dust in the summer. It is in contrast with the steady current of the river, fed from deep-hidden sources and good for all seasons of the year.

Of course there is something to be said in favor of each kind of devotion. “You shall tell me just what you prefer,” said a young husband to his wife. “Shall I bring you a rose every day, or two dozen roses once a month?” The little wife was actually puzzled by the question, and begged for time to consider it. Whatever decision the girl of twenty arrived at, one may guess that a woman of mature age would choose the priceless every-day-in-the-week flower.

The steady temper of mind which remembers little services and regards the small requests and minor tastes of members of the family, makes for joy in the household. By the same token, the generous, heedless man or woman makes large demands on patience and loyalty. “John is the best of husbands,” said his wife, “though it took me five years to get used to his virtues coming always like liquid from a narrow-necked bottle — steady by jerks. But it is a comfort to be sure that his nature is a large bottle, and full to the top.”

A little company of women were sounding the praises of their forebears. The grandfather of one of them had fought bravely in two wars. The great-uncle of another had taken two hundred passengers safely from a sinking vessel. One old lady was proud of her father’s victorious conflict with a pack of wolves on a Russian steppe. But the climax was reached when one young girl said: “My grandmother told me that she lived with my grandfather almost fifty years, and never had to remind him once that her fire-wood basket was empty.”—Youth’s Companion.