ABOUT the time of our recovery, the housekeeper, “Irish Mary,” took the
measles and was quite sick for some days. She had been in the habit of
giving out the linen and towels for the bedrooms and always carried the
key to the linen closet, a large wardrobe which stood in one end of the
hall. During her illness each lady boarder looked after the supplies for
her own room, and would obtain the key when anything was needed. One day
a doctor’s wife, an intimate friend of ours, came to our room in great
excitement, saying she had found a large jar of peach preserves in the
wardrobe, and that she “was going to have some of them.” She rushed down
stairs to the dining room, secured a saucer and spoon, returned and
dipped out a bountiful supply. By this time several other ladies had
“caught on,” and they all swarmed about that jar as flies around a
molasses barrel. One lady with a “down-east” accent, who always said
“gude” for good, ate her portion, smacked her lips and said, “My, but
they are gude!”
I do not mention these ladies’ names, but it is not because I have
forgotten them. I remember their names and faces distinctly, and should
they ever see this word picture they will readily recognize themselves
and their part in it. It is needless to say that I came in for my share
of the “stolen sweets.”