HOUSEKEEPING. 87 



store-room was the grand emporium of the establish- 

 ment. To some girls that apartment would have been 

 a perfect paradise. To Wildie it was a purgatory, 

 through whose tortures she had to work her way to 

 the heaven of out-of-door delights in which her soul 

 rejoiced. Was it so very unnatural, so extremely 

 unfeminine, in her to shrink from the duties which 

 sovereignty of that store-room involved ? I think not ; 

 and I believe you will not be surprised at her absolute 

 dislike to that which some of you consider " jolly fun " 

 in ordinary circumstances. 



For, my dear girls, I beg leave to state, that to be a 

 housekeeper in Shetland, at the time and in the place 

 of which I am writing, was to be under very extraor- 

 dinary circumstances indeed. For one thing, it meant 

 to be beyond the reach of " butcher, baker, candlestick- 

 maker," though, alas ! " gentleman, ploughboy, thief," 

 were all within easy range — the two former ravenously 

 demanding to be fed, the latter always on the alert to 

 defy the key-basket. Also it meant to be frequently at 

 one's wits' end for the common necessaries of life. 



Somewhat depressed in spirits with what lay before 

 her, Wildie entered her hall of state. It was not a 

 closet by any means, but a room. On the left stood a 

 row of large barrels containing meal, rice, &c. On the 

 right, another row of casks held salted and smoked 

 beef, mutton, and fish. There were boxes of candles, 

 hampers of biscuits, jars of butter, flasks of colza oil and 

 paraffin. There was a curious foreign box, which stood 

 out from the rows as if it felt itself to be an interloper. 



