Now, if you will be helpful to me in this, you may manage everything your own way.” “That I will gladly!” replied Grandmother, overcome with joy. That very day she climbed up the ladder into the garret to see about the flax, and the next day the children watched the process of making thread upon the spinning wheel.

The first thing of which Grandmother assumed full charge was the baking of bread. She did not like to see the servants handling “the gift of God” without any reverence or ceremony. They never signed it with the cross, either before or after taking it out of the oven; they handled it as if the loaves were so many bricks. When Grandmother set the sponge, she blessed it, and this she repeated each time she handled it until the bread was placed upon the table. While it was rising no gaping fellow dared come near it lest he should “overlook” it and make it fall; and even little Willie, when he came into the kitchen during baking time, never forgot to say: “May God bless it!”

Whenever Grandmother baked bread, the children had a feast. For each one she baked a little loaf filled with plum or apple sauce; this had never been done before. They, however, had to learn to take care of the crumbs. “The crumbs belong to the fire,” she used to say as she brushed them up and threw them into the stove. If one of the children dropped a bit of bread, she made him pick it up, saying: “Don’t you know that if one steps upon a crumb, the souls in purgatory weep?” She did not like to see bread cut uneven, for she used to say: “Whoever does not come out even with his bread will not come out even with people.” One day Johnny begged her to cut his slice from the side of the loaf, as he wanted the crust, but she said: “When one cuts into the side of the loaf, he cuts off God’s heels! But whether it be so or not, you must not get into the habit of being dainty about your food.” So Master Johnny could not indulge his appetite for crusts.

Whenever there was a piece of bread that the children had not eaten, it always found its way into Grandmother’s pocket; and when they happened to go to the water, she threw it to the fishes, or crumbled it up for the birds and ants. In short, she did not waste a crumb, and ever counselled the children: “Be thankful for God’s gift; without it there are hard times, and God punishes him who does not value it” Whenever one of the children dropped his bread, upon picking it up he was obliged to kiss it. This was a kind of penance; and whenever Grandmother found a pea, she picked it up, found upon it the chalice, and kissed it with reverence. All this she taught the children to do.

If at any time a feather lay in the path, she pointed to it saying: “Stoop down, Barunka!” Sometimes Barunka was lazy and said: “O Grandma, what is one feather!” But Grandmother at once reproved her. “You must remember, child, that one added to another makes more, and a good housewife will jump over the fence for a feather.”

The larger of the two front rooms was used by Mrs. Proshek as her bed-room. Here on occasions of domestic festivals the family used to dine or take their lunch. In this room they had modern furniture; but Grandmother did not like it here. It seemed to her impossible to sit comfortably in those stuffed chairs with their carved elbows, when one had to be constantly on one’s guard lest they should tip over or break in pieces. Once, only, had she made the experiment. When she sat down and the springs gave way, she was so frightened that she almost screamed. The children laughed at her and told her to come and sit down again, assuring her that the chair would not break; but she would not try it again. “O go away with your rocker, who wants to sit in it? it may do well enough for you, but not for me.” She was afraid to place anything upon the polished stands, lest they should be rubbed or scratched; and as for the large glass case that held all sorts of bric-a-brac, she declared that it was a nuisance; for the children were sure to knock into it and break something, and then get a whipping from their mother. Whenever Grandmother held Adelka, she sat by the piano, and when the little girl cried, she always quieted her by striking some of the keys; for Barunka had taught her to play with one hand the tune to the words, “Those are horses, those are horses mine.” While she played she kept time with her head. Sometimes she remarked: “What things people do invent! one would think a bird were shut up in there; it sounds like the voices of living creatures.”

Grandmother never sat in the parlor unless she was obliged to do so. She liked best her own little room, which was next to the kitchen and the servants’ apartments. Her room was furnished according to her own taste. By the side of the large stove that stood in the corner was a long bench. Next to the wall stood her bed, at whose foot was the large flowered chest. On the other side was a small bed, where Barunka slept; she had obtained this privilege as a special favor from her mother. In the middle of the room stood the large basswood table, the legs of which were bound together by braces that served as foot-rests.