MRS. RAYNOR'S SYSTEM

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 31, 1881

MRS. RAYNOR'S SYSTEM.

MRS. RAYNOR'S neatness was a proverb in the neighborhood in which she lived; her brother called her "painfully neat," and sometimes thought, when driven almost desperate by her "system," that he would buy a farm for himself, and never again take any of his brother-in-law's land on shares. But once when he spoke about it while haying in the field, Aaron seemed to feel so bad, that he promised not to make the change for some time, anyhow.

"Poor Aaron," thought Jack, when he saw how troubled was his brother-in-law's face, "he is worried at the bare idea that I might go off and leave him to that rigorous system of Emma's. For his sake I'll wait awhile; and I owe him some consideration, for if it hadn't been for me, he would never have met Emma."

Aaron Raynor was a very quiet man, but never had much to say on any subject; it was seldom, indeed, that he gave vent to his views on anything save the farm work, but he thought a great deal, and if Emma had only been able to read his thoughts, she would have been saddened, perhaps, by their desponding and regretful tendency. He was, however, a faithful, kind husband, who did all in his power to lighten his wife's burdens, and had he not lived in an atmosphere of fault-finding, would have been both genial and affectionate.

The unhappiness and regret which pervaded the atmosphere of the Raynor home had its rise in the system, that terrible system which was the one law which governed Emma's life. She ate, drank, and slept by it, and never guessed that she made the lives of her husband and brother unhappy by her strict adherence to it.

Every Monday morning the washing was done, rain or shine, and frequently on a rainy day, Jack and Aaron coming into the big kitchen wet and tired, and longing for seats by the fire, found the stove surrounded by chairs, all filled with damp clothes from which a steam rose slowly, while across the room were stretched ropes on which hung the "small pieces." It wasn't very cheerful, certainly, but Aaron never complained, for it wasn't his way to complain about anything, and Emma never took any notice when Jack found fault.

On Tuesday the ironing was done, and well done, too. Every towel, no matter how old and worn, was faithfully smoothed, and folded evenly; the shirts were ironed on both sides, and the neighbors often remarked that the linen worn by Jack and Aaron would have done credit to a Chinese laundry.

On Wednesday the baking and churning were done; on Thursday the house was thoroughly swept and cleaned from garret to cellar; on Friday the mending and little jobs were scrupulously attended to, and Saturday was devoted to baking and cleaning generally. Delicious bread, cakes and pies came forth from the capacious oven to be stored away on the pantry shelves, and the kitchen and hall floors were made marvelously white and clean by the vigorous use of soap and sand.

No matter what happened, the system went on as usual—nothing was allowed to interrupt that.

Aaron never thought of such a thing as coming into the house without first removing his boots in the little entry by the kitchen door, and putting on his slippers, which were always in readiness in a neat bag; and he submitted to his wife's rule of retiring precisely at nine P. M., without a word of rebellion.

If Jack, in his careless indifference, sometimes crossed the white kitchen floor in his muddy boots, his sister, much to his annoyance, followed close behind him with a cloth in her hand, and carefully wiped up his tracks, with an expression on her face which spoke volumes, and distressed him more than a good round scolding would have done.

Emma was unaware that her system was rapidly destroying her good looks. She had been a pretty, pleasant girl in the days when Aaron had courted her; a little prim and precise, perhaps, but not given to lectures on neatness and order. She lived with two maiden aunts, who had taken pains with her bringing up, and thoroughly imbued with their system of housekeeping.

Mrs. Raynor would not have a servant, for servants were so "slack and disorderly," and she preferred to see after her household affairs herself, unconscious that her voice was from much fault-finding becoming a fretful, querulous whine; that lines were marring the beauty of her white forehead, and crow's feet gathering around her eyes; that her elasticity and energy were less with every day, and that she was deteriorating both physically and intellectually.

"If I ever marry," said Jack, one evening, suddenly dropping on the floor the newspaper he had been reading by the center table, "I shall insist upon my wife's keeping a stout girl to help her. You don't seem to be aware of it, Emma, but you are working yourself into your grave."

Mrs. Raynor rose from her seat to pick up the newspaper, folded it neatly and laid it on the table. Then she took up her mending again, saying as she seated herself:—

"I could not endure a hired girl in the house, Jack. They are all so slovenly and neglectful. Mary never could remember to rub off the kettle in the morning when she filled it; Bridget always forgot to hang up the broom, and Hannah used to spill things over the stove. I tried all three thoroughly, and decided never to have another girl."

"Well, those are only minor evils compared to your becoming a fretful invalid, or dying of overwork. Brooms are cheap, and what it matter if the kettle was dusty occasionally."

"Jack!" Emma's tone was one of horrified disapproval. "It is the principle of the thing more than all else. I never could, if I tried fifty years, find a girl with any system about her."

Jack only smiled grimly in reply.

"And I will say this in my own praise," pursued Emma, "nobody could gather a teaspoonfull of dust in my house after I have swept it, if they searched from garret to cellar."

"True," said Jack. "It would be a waste of time to try."

"If you ever do marry," said Emma, paying no attention to her brother's sarcastic tone, "I hope your wife will be orderly and neat. You have no system about you, and if she is no better, I pity the house you live in—it will always be at sixes and sevens."

"I would rather it would look like a pig-sty than you do in keeping it clean and neat. Aaron, you really ought to put a stop to Emma's perpetual trifling with her health and strength."

Jack had expected only a smile and a sigh from his brother-in-law in answer, but to his surprise Aaron spoke:—

"I've talked to her about it often," he said, "but it will be necessary for her to have a severe lesson before she will learn common sense. I made up my mind a year ago that I would say no more to her on the subject."

"Common sense!" said Emma, "I don't understand you. Would you have me sit with my hands in my lap and see the dirt rot the floors through, and the stove go to pieces with rust?"

"No," said Aaron, "but I would have you rest whenever you are tired. I would not have you polish the stove every Wednesday and Saturday, no matter how much else there is to attend to; and mop the kitchen and hall floors at regular intervals, even if suffering under a severe cold, which is liable to be increased by any imprudence."

"I never had a severe illness, Aaron."

"That is no surety that you never will have one," said her husband.

"No; but I am well enough always. I've often felt under the weather, of course, but have always worked it off. There isn't a lazy bone in my body."

"If you were taken sick, the house would be handed over to the tender mercies of a servant. That fact, if no other, ought to make you prudent, and careful of your health," said Jack.

"And another thing; when we come in at night, you are completely tired out, and consequently depressed and often fretful. Now, if you husbanded your strength, you would feel bright and cheerful every evening. Women who work as you do, wear out before they reach middle age, or else go insane. Farmers' wives help largely to keep the insane asylums full. And it makes such a difference to a man whether his wife is glum and cross, or—"

"It seems to me," interrupted Emma, "that Jack has a great deal to say lately about wives. I hope he won't bring home one of those Hopson girls and ask me to welcome her."

"And why not?" asked Jack with a sudden flush.

"Your eyes ought to tell you why not," answered Emma, "their house is forever littered up with all sorts of trash. Books, newspapers, birds and plants scattered all around the best parlor, and no attempt to systematize the work of the house."

"The family is very large," said Jack, "and of course the girls can't keep things in such apple-pie order as you do. But they are all amiable and full of fun—it's a treat to go there."

"Less fun and more work would be better for the house," said Emma. "I don't mean to say that I ever saw soiled curtains there, or rusty knives, but there seems to be no system about the work. Now I should have each girl perform certain duties on certain days—"

"In short, make herself into a patent machine to go by regular winding," interrupted Jack. "Well, Emma, perhaps it is as well to tell you now as any time that I am engaged to Fanny Hopson, and we are to be married in May."

"Jack!"

It was all Emma could say, so shocked was she at this piece of news.

"Of course you pity me from the bottom of your heart," said Jack, "but no machine woman for me! I've had enough of systems, and I should hate Fanny if she followed me around to wipe up the tracks I made on the kitchen floor, or made a point of washing the windows at a certain hour on certain days of the week."

And with this parting shot Jack walked out of the room.

The first thing Emma did when the door closed, was to set Jack's chair in its own particular place against the wall, next to remark to her husband that she hoped Providence would interpose to save Jack from the certain misery which would be the result of a marriage with a girl who had no system about her.

One Monday morning Aaron rose as usual at day-break, and went out to attend to the chores. He left his wife asleep as he supposed, and was glad that she should have the rest, for she had complained of a severe headache the night before. He expected, however, to find her at work in the kitchen when he came in with the milk; but she was not there, and no preparation had been made for breakfast. Surprised and alarmed, he went upstairs to the bedroom.

"Are you sick, Emma?" he asked, going to the side of the bed.

She turned restlessly on her pillow, an anxious expression on her face.

"Don't throw away those soap suds," she said, "I want them to mop the floor when I get these clothes out."

Even in her delirium she knew the day of the week and washed as usual.

But the washings were done without her for many weeks to come. It was Fanny Hopson who took charge of the house, claiming it as her privilege to do so, and Jack and Aaron were only too glad to have her instead of an ignorant domestic. It is to be feared that the stove was not polished quite so often as it had been under Emma's reign, and the kitchen floor was not quite so white, but Jack and Aaron were made thoroughly comfortable in every way.

At last Mrs. Raynor was pronounced out of danger; but it was long before she was well. There were months of weary convalescence more trying than her dangerous illness had been; days when she could not hear a door closed without pain, and hour upon hour when she wept over the slightest jar to her quiet and calm. She had ample time to review her past, and recall to mind its many mistakes and follies; more time than she needed to become convinced that she had acted without wisdom or discretion; time to think of the wreck she had become through carrying out the system she had so thoroughly believed in; time to learn to loathe that system, and to resolve to be a different woman and a better wife should she ever regain her health.

She learned to love Fanny, who, in May, had quietly married Jack, and continued her duties as if nothing had occurred, and had long talks with her young sister-in-law to whom she confided her most sacred thoughts and desires.

In midsummer Jack and Fanny moved to a home of their own, and again Emma took in her hands the reigns of household government. But she had learned a lesson. Her long and expensive illness had taught her that she could not trifle with her health as she had done, and much thought during her convalescence had convinced her that she had no right to trifle with her husband's happiness either. Many things were now neglected, the performance of which had once been considered a sacred duty, and the servant whom Aaron had hired to help in the house was not dismissed for allowing the dust to gather occasionally on the kitchen mantel, or scolded roundly for inattention to the rainmarks on the window panes.

In short, the house on the old farm became truly a home to Aaron, and happiness reigned where once discontent had been king. No further lectures were needed from Jack; for Mrs. Raynor's system had taken wings to itself, and flown away forever.—The Household.