The story of The Log-Cabin Lady is one of the annals of America. It is
a moving record of the conquest of self-consciousness and fear through
mastery of manners and customs. It has been written by one who has not
sacrificed the strength and honesty of her pioneer girlhood, but who
added to these qualities that graciousness and charm which have given
her distinction on two continents.
I have been asked to tell how the story of The Log-Cabin Lady came to be
written. At a luncheon given at the Colony Club in 1920, I was invited
to talk about Madame Curie. There were, at that table, a group of
important women.
When I had finished the story of the great scientist, whose service to
humanity was halted by lack of laboratory equipment, and of the very
radium which she had herself discovered, one guest asked: “Why do you
spend your life with a woman's magazine when you could do big work like
serving Madame Curie?” “I believe,” I replied, “that a woman's magazine
is one of the biggest services that can be rendered in this country.”
My challenge was met with scorn by one of the women upon whose education
and accomplishments a fortune had been spent. “It is stupid,” she said,
“to print articles about bringing up children and furnishing houses,
setting tables and feeding families--or whether it is good form for the
host to suggest another service at the dinner table.”
“There are twenty million homes in America,” I answered. “Only eight
per cent of these have servants in them. In the other ninety-two per
cent the women do their own housework; bring up their own children, and
take an active part in the life and growth of America. They are the
people who help make this country the great nation that it is.”
After luncheon one of the guests, a woman of great social prominence,
distinguished both in her own country and abroad, asked me to drive
downtown with her. When we entered her car she said, with much
feeling--“You must go on with the thing you are doing.”
Believing she referred to the Curie campaign, I replied that I had
committed myself to the work and could not abandon it. “I was not
referring to the Curie campaign,” she replied, “but to the Delineator.
You are right; it is of vital importance to serve the great masses of
people. I know. It will probably surprise you to learn that when I was
fourteen years old I had never seen a table napkin. My family were
pioneers in the Northwest and were struggling for mere existence. There
was no time for the niceties of life. And yet, people like my family
and myself are worth serving and saving. I have known what it means to
lie awake all night, suffering with shame because of some stupid social
blunder which had made me appear ridiculous before my husband's family
or his friends.”
This was a most amazing statement from a woman known socially on two
continents, and famed for her savoir faire. There were tears in her
eyes when she made her confession. She was stirred by a very real and
deep emotion. It had been years, she said, since the old recollections
had come back to her, but she had been moved by my plea for service to
home women and to the great mass of ordinary American people.
She told me that while living abroad she had often met American
girls--intelligent women, well bred, the finest stuff in the world--who
suffered under a disadvantage, because they lacked a little training in
the social amenities.
“It has been a satisfaction and a compensation to me,” she added, “to be
able sometimes to serve these fellow country-women of mine.”
And right there was born the idea which culminated in the writing of
this little book. I suggested that a million women could be helped by
the publishing of her own story.
The thought was abhorrent to her. Her experience was something she had
never voiced in words. It would be too intimate a discussion of herself
and her family. She was sure her relatives would bitterly oppose such a
confession.
It took nearly a year to persuade this remarkable woman to put down on
paper, from her recollections and from her old letters home, this simple
story of a fine American life. She consented finally to write fragments
of her life, anonymously. We were pledged not to reveal her identity.
A few changes in geography and time were made in her manuscript, but
otherwise the story is true to life, laden with adventure, spirit and
the American philosophy. She has refused to accept any remuneration for
the magazine publication or for royalties on the book rights. The money
accruing from her labor is being set aside in The Central Union Trust
Company of New York City as a trust fund to be used in some charitable
work. She has given her book to the public solely because she believes
that it contains a helpful message for other women, It is the gracious
gift of a woman who has a deep and passionate love for her country, and
a tender responsiveness to the needs of her own sex.