Trials and Confessions of a Housekeeper

one of the Experiences of my sister's hus

som or wristband happened to be minus a button, than I am at present. But continual dropping will wear away a stone, and th

t let that be imagined for a moment. Mrs. Jones is a woman who has an eye

l come a time, when, from some cause or other, she will momentarily abate her vigilance, and that wil

hibiting much feeling. But it fretted her more than she permitted any one to see. At length, the constant recurrence of the evil-I didn't know as much then as I do now-annoye

s. Jones, this

r a shirt with a full co

s on my shirt, Mrs. Jones, I

irt button trouble has crossed my mind. My wife took it so much to heart, and so earnestly avowed her constant solicitude in regard to the shirt buttons, that I resolved from that time, to bear the

gain, Mrs.

see th

the ol

of constant care, a shirt had found its way into my drawer, lacking its full complement of buttons, was something too serious for a smile or a jest, and my words, no matter how lightly spoken, would be felt as a reproof.

ys had not passed after this resolution was taken, before, on changing my linen one morning, I found that there was a button less than the usual number on the bosom of my shirt. Mrs. Jones had been up on the evening before, half an hour after I was in bed, looking over my shirts, to see if every thing was in order. Bu

was a button off of the bosom of my shirt. But, when I came in at dinner time, her

the shirt on this morning. But it makes no difference-yo

e of my surprise, then, to hear Mrs. Jones exclaim, with a flushed face, "Indeed, Mr. Jones, this is too much! no difference, i

you see that the edges lie perfectly smooth

hing; Mrs. Jones was hurt at

ready to do anything for you. I never

our needle and thread, and you can have it all right in a minute. It's but a tr

thout buttons," she sighed deeply, and in a little while I saw her handkerchief go quietly to her eyes. Again and again I tried the say-nothing plane; but it

es I jest about it, and sometimes I bear the evil in silence. But the effects produced upon Mrs. Jones are about the same. Her equanimity of mind is disturbed, and she will look u

ttons were, on one occasion, conspicuous. To record all that was said about them would fill pages, and I will not, therefore, attempt even a brief r

lean shirt. Mrs. Jones had risen half an hour before me, and was down stairs giv

d me of the conversation the previous evening, and I felt an irresistible desire to allude to the missing shirt button as quite an apropos and amusing incident. So, speaki

triumph passed over her face. She pushed back her chair quickly, and rising up, came round to where I sat, took hold of

l on her side. I have never, you may be sure, heard the last of this; but it was a lucky incident, for it has given Mrs. Jones something to fall back upon, and have her jest occasionally, whenever I happen to discover that a button is among