Making Over Martha

Martha Slawson sat at her sewing-machine, stitching away for dear life. About her, billowed yards upon yards of white cotton cloth, which, in its uncut length, shifted, as she worked, almost imperceptibly piling up a snowy drift in front of her, drawn from the snowy drift behind. This gradual ebb and flow was all that marked any progress in her labor, and her husband, coming in after some hours of absence and finding her, apparently, precisely where he had left her, was moved to ask what manner of garment she was making.

"'Tain't a garment at all, Sam. It's a motta."

"A motto?" Sam fairly gasped.

Martha put on more speed, then took her feet from the treadle, her hands from the cloth-plate.

"I guess you forgot what's goin' to happen, ain't you?" she returned, sitting back in her chair, looking up at him amiably.

Sam squared his great shoulders. "Going to happen? Oh, you mean--you mean--Mr. and Mrs. Ronald coming home?"

"Sure I do!"

"Well, but I don't see----"

"I didn't suppose you would see. Men ain't much on seein' where sentiment's concerned. They go it blind, an' that's a fack. I s'pose a man would let a gen'lman an' lady come back from their weddin'-tour (which they been gone 'most a year on it), and never think o' givin' 'em a welcome home, any more than to find their house an' grounds kep' up, an' their bills kep' down, an' everything in tip-top order. But, with a woman it's different. I'm goin' to give Miss Claire an' Lord Ronald a reception that is a reception. Somethin' they won't forget in a hurry. I'm goin' to have lantrens in the trees, an' a arch of laurel over the gateposts, an' then, as they come on in, they'll see my motta strung acrost the driveway--

HAIL TO THE CHIEF!

in big yella letters, hemmed down on this white. An' the childern, all four of 'em, is to sing it, besides. Don't you remember, they learned it at school down home--I should say, in New York, that time the president come back, an' all the public-school childern sung'm a welcome?"

Sam bit his lip. "Yes, but that was a little different. Somehow, I think HAIL TO THE BRIDE might be better, don't you?"

"No!" said Martha, with decision. "First place, she ain't exackly a bride by this time. When a lady's been married almost a year, an' traveled 'round the world in the meanwhile, I wouldn't call her a bride. An', besides, it wouldn't be polite to single her out, an' sorta leave him in the cold. Everybody knows bridegrooms don't cut much of a figga, but you needn't rub it in. No, I thought it over careful, an' HAIL TO THE CHIEF is what I decided on. HAIL TO THE CHIEF lets us out on responsibility. It's up to them to prove which it hits, see?"

Whether Sam did or didn't, he made no further comment. He went and sat himself down in his own particular chair, took up from the center-table the latest number of The New England Farmer, and commenced studying it assiduously.

A second later, the machine was in motion again, running with great velocity, impelled by Martha's tireless foot.

Mrs. Slawson did not look up, when the eldest of her four children, just home from school, came in, and made straight for her side.

"Mother-r-r!"

No answer.

"Say, mother-r-r!"

"For goodness' sake, Cora, let go that R. The way you hang on to it, you'd think you was drownin', an' it was a lifeline. Besides, d'you know what I decided to do? I decided to strike. For the rest o' this week, I ain't answerin' to the name o' 'Mother-r-r.' See? There ain't a minute in the day, when some one o' you childern ain't shoutin' it--you, or Francie, or Sammy, or Sabina--an' it's got on my nerves, as Mrs. Sherman says. You can call me 'Martha' or 'Little Sunshine' or anythin' else you got a mind to, but 'Mother-r-r,' not on your life."

"Say, moth----!"

"Look out, now!"

"What you sewin' on?"

"The machine."

"Pooh, you know I don't mean that. What you making? Anything for me?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well, what are you, then?"

"I'm a perfeck lady, an' I'm makin' a motta that proves it."

"Mother-r-r, I think you're real mean. All the girls at school have fancier clo'es 'n I got, an' I think you just might make me some new ones, so there!"

"Sure I might!" admitted Mrs. Slawson blandly.

Cora's lip went out. "Then, why don't you? You got as much time as any other girl's mother. Ann Upton's mother makes all Ann's dresses 'n' things, an' she's got twice's many as I got. She had a new dress, when school took in, in September, an' she got another new one, 'round about New Year's, and now she's got another new one for summer."

Martha stroked down a seam with deliberation. "That's nice for Ann, ain't it, havin' so many? She can spell 'm, as they say here. When she gets tired o' wearin' one dress, she can change to another, an' look like one o' them fashion-plates from mornin' till night, an' feel like----"

"I been wearing the same old thing ever since I was born," continued Cora, disregarding her mother's irrelevant remark, continuing her lamentation as if it had not been interrupted.

"Which shows it was good mater'al to begin with," retorted Martha. "Ann Upton's mother prob'ly buys cheap goods with no wear in 'em."

"She don't either. It's just she wants to have Ann stylish. You don't care a bit if I ain't stylish."

"Certaintly I don't. I got other things on my mind. I don't care a fig if you're stylish or not. I never was much on style myself, an' I get along all right. I mixed with the best s'ciety in New York City, I can tell you, young lady. Nobody coulda went to the houses o' tonier folks than I did, an' was made welcome too, an' don't you forget it. An' the complaints, if I missed a day! You'd be surprised! These young ladies that think o' nothin' but style, you can take it from me, their outsides is all there is to'm. They got nothin' else to think of, an' nothin' to think of it with, if they had it."

"Well, I don't care, I wisht you was like Mrs. Upton!"

"Now, what do you think o' that! D'you hear what Cora says, father? Cora don't like the style o' mother you picked out for her. She's just fairly disgusted with your taste in ladies."

Sam Slawson did not hear, or, if he heard, did not heed, and Cora proceeded, unabashed:

"Mrs. Upton does her own work, an'----"