I may burn this some day, but still I will put down the story, or, at least, those parts that are most essential. I have no literary attainments fitting me to write a long book, though my memory would furnish me with plenty of material. I was in comfort and luxury in my first place, yet I longed to go back to my humble home and to my wee brother, who had not got into "pants" yet.

Miss Isabel got married before I left, and as I continue my story I will have to tell some more about her. I got to like her so much that I would do anything she asked me. I knew she liked to see things look bright and clean, so I felt happy to be able to shine anything that I could. They gave me some wages, and the time came when I was to leave. I had on my best things, with the rest of my clothes tied up in a parcel, which was not very heavy. So I walked from Denny to Falkirk to spend my first money. It was not the only time I had been to that town. I used to visit it with father when he bought things for us, so I bought something for everyone at home, and my dear brother in particular.

I can remember my thoughts yet. I was a good deal worried about my prospects. If I only had an oven I could make Scotch mutton pies to sell in the village. The face that I made some subsequently serves to show that knowledge and perception can be stamped on the mind of youth.

And so I found myself at home. My sister went to a place close by at a farm. She had to help with cows and work in the field.

I remember I used to go and see her. They had all sorts of things growing. Corn, wheat, and flax, which I liked to see. They pulled it up by the root and let it stand tied up in bundles. When it was dry it was thrown into a pond of water, formed by an inlet from the stream, and left there till it got soft and pulpy. Then it was drawn out and left on the bank to dry. The Scotch named the flax lint, and when the water in the lint hole was drained off the smell was something awful. I think I can smell it yet. What excited my imagination was that they told me that the beautiful fine white linen was made from flax, or otherwise "lint." It was taken in to the barn or hay house and thrashed by means of a "flail," an instrument used then for thrashing corn or wheat. There was no machinery for that purpose, at least in that district. This "flail" looked like two broom-handles, and was as long with a hinge in the middle. I never saw a woman doing the thrashing. It was always done by a strong man, but the women did a lot of work from the first. Quite young girls, from 12 years old [Pg 8]upwards, were employed in pulling up the "lint." They got 4d. or 6d. a day. It seemed hard work. I never tried it, but I used to look on. Then, after it was thrashed, both old and young women would be employed tousing or pulling it out. After this "flailing" it was no longer a plant nor lint, but was called "tow." Then it had to be carded. I helped with the carding, which is slow work. Then I saw them spinning this tow into threads. It was no uncommon sight to see several women carry their spinning-wheels to a neighbor\'s house in the long winter evenings, and spin and laugh.

I never got the length of trying to spin. I did love to sit and watch those that spun. There was the nice humming of the wheel, with no noise to distract the reason or the nerve. When I think of it I see the women sitting upright. It looked so easy, the wheel being very light, and made of wood for the most part. There was no bending over. I have compared the attitude since then with the attractive way a lady sits at the harp. It is so graceful, and just like the spinning-wheel.

I may add here that a river in Scotland is always known as a "burn." The water is not hard, and the people did not have water taps in their wee houses, so we had to go to the burn for water. That would do for odd things and washing. Just think of it. This lint water went into the burn! Nobody wanted to wash clothes till that rolled off to the sea.

In the summertime the housewives would bring their washing to the burnside and make a fire, and that was quite a picture. They would have a big tub, and they washed the blankets in this way. They had the water hot with soap melted in it. Then they put in the blankets, and a woman would take off her shoes and stockings (that is, if she had any on), and go in and tramp on the blankets. Young children were there as well as their elders, as the mothers could look after them, or they could be otherwise protected. We were not afraid of anybody with a camera taking snapshots, as such a machine was then unknown. I have also washed in that fashion.

I would not have anyone think that the burn was the only water we had. Close by there were more than one beautiful well of spring water, but we had to carry it. Those who lived near the wells were best off. We had a yoke with a wooden frame shaped to rest on the shoulders. A portion of rope hung from each end with an iron hook to hold the vessel for water. The rope could be adjusted so as to make it suitable for a tall or short person. I have seen Chinamen carrying their wares as we once carried the water. It was the same in all the country places. But as if to make up for the water carrying we had no wood to chop, the coal being so plentiful and cheap. There were numerous coalpits all round and ironstone. We had not long lived there.
 

I could just remember the nice home we had when my mother lived. Everything seemed so changed. The little house we lived in was at the end of a long row of houses all of the same size. The railway going through from Glasgow to Edinburgh passed close by. How I used to look out for the train, and particularly if the Queen was expected to pass. I only saw her once with Prince Albert. That was at the inauguration of the Loch Katrine water supply. Previously Glasgow had obtained its water from the River Clyde.