stuffs, was employed to superintend the black weavers."[9] [9] "Life of George Mason," by Kate Mason Rowland. To carry on these operations--to cure and preserve meats, fruits, and medicinal herbs, make vinegar and cordials, and to prepare constantly for a great deal of company, coming incessantly to stay at the house--required unceasing attention and strict method. This is a large pattern which was repeated on a smaller scale by Mary Washington. Method became, with her, almost a mania. Her neighbors set their watches by the ringing of her bells. She was never the fraction of a minute too late at church. She was punctiliously exact in her observance of all appointments and prompt to the minute in meeting those appointments. By the well-regulated clock in her entry--the clock which is now preserved at "Kenmore"--all the movements of her household were regulated. Her illustrious son had also such a clock. He graciously allowed, at dinner, five minutes for the possible variation of timepieces. After they expired he would wait for no one. If an apologizing guest arrived after the dinner was advanced, his excuses were met with the simple announcement, "Sir, I have a cook who never asks whether the company has come, but whether the hour has come." His mother had taught him the value of time. Her teaching followed him through life, and was obeyed after he was President of the United States. The chaplain of Congress records that the hour of noon having been fixed for hearing the President's message, he usually crossed the threshold exactly as the clock was striking twelve. A contemporary observer relates that "Mrs. Washington never failed to receive visitors with a smiling, cordial welcome," but adds quaintly that "they were never asked twice to stay, and she always speeded the parting guest by affording every facility in her power." Perfectly sincere herself, she believed them sincere when they declared themselves unable to remain. She was said to possess a dignity of manner that was at first somewhat repellent to a stranger, but always commanded thorough respect from her friends and acquaintances. Her voice was sweet, almost musical in its cadences, yet firm and decided, and she was always cheerful in spirit. "In her person she was of the middle size, and finely formed; her features pleasing, yet strongly marked." Her young friends and grandchildren often visited her. Lawrence Washington, her son's cousin and playmate, said: "I was more afraid of her than of my own parents--and even when time had whitened my locks I could not behold that majestic woman without feelings it is impossible to describe. She awed me in the midst of kindness."