SWEEPING AND DUSTING
Margaret could hardly wait for the time for her sweeping lesson, because
she wanted so much to wear her sweeping-cap. When she heard her mother
say one Saturday morning that the lesson that day would be on the care
of the parlors and hall, she asked to be excused from the
breakfast-table, and ran up and put on her long-sleeved apron and the
pretty little cap with the red bow in front, and came down proud and
smiling.
The halls and stairs were of hardwood, so Margaret selected from the
broom-closet the long-handled floor-brush, the large dust-pan and the
small one, a flat wicker beater for the rugs, the bottle of floor oil,
and the flannel cloth which was with it, a certain small dish kept
especially for the oil, and some of her new dust-cloths. She tried to
remember all the things her mother had told her to get, but, after all,
she forgot the broom, and had to go back twice for it, the second time
because she brought the wrong one. The very best broom, used only on the
freshest carpets, had a red tape tied around the handle, so it would not
get mixed with the one used in the dining-room, or the rest of the
house.
Bridget helped carry out the rugs and put them over the clothes-line,
and Margaret gently struck them with the wicker beater till all the dust
was out. She knew she would injure them if she pounded as hard as she
wanted to, so she was very careful to hit them softly, but to do it so
often that they were clean when she was done. She laid them on the back
porch, and brushed them with the whisk-broom afterward until they were
like new; then they were folded and left in a corner of the dining-room,
ready to go down when the halls were done.
Her mother told her to go to the very top of the house and shut the
doors of the rooms all the way down that no dust could get in. Then they
moved the table and chair and umbrella jar out of the hall, and carried
the coats and hats to the closet, and shut them up. The upper hall was
very dark with all the doors closed which usually lighted it, so the gas
was lit, that the corners might be easily seen. Beginning at the top of
the house Margaret swept down the halls and stairs all the way, using
her long-handled brush and taking a little whisk-broom, which was also
soft for the corners and the stairs, putting the dust into the pan as
she went along, especially on the stairs.
Her mother wanted her to let Bridget wipe off the wood with oil, but
Margaret begged to be allowed to do at least one floor and the lower
stairs, so she would know just how to do it in her very own house, when
she had one! She put on a large, strong pair of gloves, put a little oil
in the dish from the bottle, dipped in her flannel cloth, and was going
to begin when her mother stopped her. "Wring out the cloth," she said;
"you are not going to wash the floor, only to wipe it." Then she went
away until this part of the work was done, so she might not step on the
wood while it was wet, and perhaps spoil the whole floor.
The work was not very pleasant, perhaps, and the oil did not smell very
nice, but it was interesting to do something new, and Margaret did not
mind it at all. She wiped up one floor and one flight of stairs, and
then wiped also the baseboard around the floor and the balustrades of
the stairs, and when she was done it all looked so fresh and nice she
wished she had done all the halls. However, she put away the oil and
cloth and floor-brush, and, setting the front door open to let the air
come in and dry the wood and carry away the odor of the oil, she dusted
the rest of the halls with her ordinary dust-cloth, wiping the tops of
the pictures well, and the hall table and chair, which Bridget helped
her put back. They brought in the step-ladder, too, so that Margaret
could get to the chandelier and the top of the doors, and wipe these off
thoroughly.
The vestibule had been swept and dusted early in the morning, and there
was nothing to do outside, but the glass in the front door looked dingy,
and Margaret wiped it off with a clean, damp cloth and polished it with
the chamois duster and shook out the lace which hung over it, and dusted
the edges of the glass and the wood of the door. Then she ran and got
the rugs and spread them down, and called her mother to come and see how
beautiful the halls looked.
"Beautiful! I should think so, indeed!" her mother exclaimed. "I could
not have done the work better myself. What made you think of the glass
in the door? I forgot to tell you about that."
"Oh," said Margaret, "I pretended I was a new maid, and that you were
showing me all about the work, and first I said to myself, 'Next, Mary
Jane, the front door,' and then I was Mary Jane, and did the front
door, you see!"
Her mother smiled. "Well, certainly, Mary Jane does her work
thoroughly," she said. "I am sure I shall keep her. Now if you are not
tired we will do the parlors."
These two rooms took all the rest of the Saturday morning lesson. The
window-curtains and portières were pinned up and put into bags, long,
loose ones, which kept them off the floor and out of the dust, but did
not muss them. They dusted the piano and large sofa and covered them
with strong sheets. They wiped off the book-shelves, and tucked
newspapers in and out until all the books were entirely covered and
protected. They brushed off the cushions of the chairs with a
whisk-broom as they had the sofa, and wiped their woodwork, and then
carried them into the dining-room; the sofa-pillows were shaken and
beaten and put there also. All the ornaments on the tables and mantels,
and the lamps, were wiped and put on the dining-room table.
When the rooms were as empty as possible they shut the doors and
sprinkled bran on the carpets just as though they were sewing garden
seeds, which Margaret thought was great fun.
"Some people use tea-leaves on their carpets," her mother explained,
"and as they are damp they do take up the dust nicely; but they will
stain delicate colors so, I think it is safer to use bran, which also
takes up dust but never hurts any carpet. Now I will show you how to
sweep."
Beginning at one side of the room near the wall, she made long, even
strokes with the broom, not bearing on too hard, and sweeping toward the
centre all the time. "Don't give little jerky dabs at the carpet," she
cautioned, "for that is bad for it, and don't sweep from one side to the
other, but always toward the middle. But we forgot to open the window."
Margaret pushed up the one nearest to her and instantly in rushed the
wind, scattering bran and dust all over the floor. Her mother hurried
to shut it. "You must find out from which way the wind comes before you
open the window," she said. "That one did more harm than good. Try the
other one."
When this was open they could not feel any breeze at all, and it seemed
as though it was not worth opening, but the mother said it was exactly
right, for it made a draught, and carried all the dust gently outdoors.
After a time Margaret took the broom and finished the floor, and when
the dust lay in a little pile in the middle, her mother held the pan for
her and she swept it all up, except a little which refused to come on;
this they brushed up with the whisk-broom; they also brushed out all the
corners of the room with the whisk and pan, because the broom was so
large that it would not go in easily, and a little bit of dust had been
left in each one. The carpets looked nice and fresh when they had
finished.
"Once in awhile," the mother said, "it is a good plan to have Bridget
wipe off the carpets quickly with warm water in which a little ammonia
has been put. She squeezes out a cloth almost dry and works quickly, not
to wet the carpet too much, and the ammonia brings out the colors and
makes the whole look like new. Some housekeepers like to put a couple of
tablespoonfuls of turpentine in the water instead of the ammonia, and
this is just as good for the carpet, and if there is any fear of moths
being in it, it is even better. Every two or three months a carpet ought
to be wiped off in one way or the other to keep it nice. Now while we
wait for the dust to settle we will make the marble mantel clean. You
can get a basin of water, the sapolio, a flannel cloth, and a white
cotton one."
They wet the cake of soap a little and rubbed the flannel on it and
scrubbed the mantel thoroughly, and then the hearth, rinsing them off
and wiping them dry afterward. They also wiped off the fireplace, using
a dry cloth here, too, for fear of rust, and then took a damp one to
wipe off the baseboard. If there had been a wood floor, that would have
had to be treated just as the halls had been--brushed up with the soft
brush, and wiped off with floor oil. And, her mother explained, if the
halls had been carpeted Margaret would have had to sweep them with the
broom and use the whisk in the corners and on all the stairs, one at a
time, carefully.
By this time there seemed to be no dust left in the air, so they wiped
the pictures off with a clean duster, especially on the top where
Bridget's duster sometimes failed to go. The sheets were taken off the
sofa and piano next, and they were lightly dusted again, "just to make
sure," Margaret said.
The piano keys proved to be very sticky, and in some spots there were
dark marks, as though a little girl had practised with unwashed
fingers,--though, of course, no little girl would really do such a
thing, the mother said. So Margaret got a little bottle of alcohol and a
flannel cloth and sponged off each key. If she had used water on the
ivory it would have made it yellow, but the alcohol did not injure it at
all.
The chairs were brought in after this, and the other things they had
carried out, and all arranged again. Some of the bric-à-brac was not
clean in spite of its dusting, and this had to be carefully washed in
warm water and wiped dry before it was put in place. "Anything but
soiled ornaments," her mother told the little girl. The curtains and
portières were taken out of their bags and smoothed, and the bags and
sheets folded and put away till the next sweeping day. The parlors
looked beautifully fresh and orderly, but something seemed missing.
"Why, the palm!" Margaret said at length. "Bridget took it out this
morning for its bath and did not bring it back."
They found there had been no time for the bath yet, so Margaret and her
mother said they would attend to it. They wet the earth well, and while
the water drained off into a large pan they washed the leaves, using a
soft cloth dipped in a basin which held a cup of water and a cup of
milk.
"I did not know plants liked milk," said Margaret, as she helped sponge
the large leaves all over, the back as well as the front sides.
"Palms love it," her mother replied, "and it pays to use it on them, for
it keeps them green and glossy; you will see how pretty this looks when
we have finished it."
Sure enough, when they were done the palm looked as though the leaves
had just opened, and they agreed that it should have a drink of milk and
water every week. Then they put it back in its pot in the window of the
parlor, and the room was all done.
The last thing of all was the lesson the mother repeated for Margaret to
remember for all kinds of sweeping and dusting. It was like this:
"First get rid of all the ornaments and furniture in a room; in a
bedroom you can put the things from the bureau and mantel on the bed,
provided you dust them all well first. The chairs can go into the hall,
and over the bureau, table, sofa, and bed, you must put sheets and
towels, or even newspapers; never sweep till everything is well covered,
or you will have to do double work when you come to dust. Pin up the
curtains, and put bran on the carpet, and get somebody to help you push
the heavy furniture about so you can sweep under it; there are some
people who do not move these things for months, because it is too much
trouble, but nice housekeepers always move them every single time they
sweep. Use the whisk-broom in all the corners; wipe off the baseboards;
dust the pictures thoroughly, and shake out the curtains, and when the
room is rearranged, dust all the little things and your rooms will
always look as though they had been housecleaned."
"My windows really and truly need washing," said Margaret. "When I sweep
my room next week I shall wash them all myself."
"Then you had better learn how now," her mother said. "That will be a
good ending for the lesson. To wash windows you need a basin of warm
water, a little ammonia, and two clean cloths. Wring out your first
cloth in the ammonia-water until it is nearly dry, and rub the glass
over and over from one side to the other, and around and around. Wipe
dry each pane as you finish it, so it will not be streaked, and when all
are done, polish them off with a handful of tissue-paper or a chamois.
When you wash plate glass, such as we have in the parlors, do not use
ammonia, but instead put a few drops of blueing in the water, and when
they are wiped dry go over the glass again with a cloth wrung out in
alcohol. Do mirrors in this way if they are very dim; if they are new
but dusty, do not use any water, only the alcohol, and polish them with
the chamois. Would you like to try one window or one mirror still, this
morning?"
Margaret said she thought she would rather wait a week, and as it
proved to be luncheon time she hurried to put all the things away which
they had been using, and get herself ready.