There are many well-kept houses in Glasgow, but I think Jeanieville was one of the cleanest. Every room had its "thorough" day once a fortnight and was turned pitilessly "out." Every "press" in the house was a model of neatness; the very coal-cellar did not escape. The coals were piled in a neat heap; the dross was swept tidily into a corner; the briquettes were built in an accurate pile. "I must say," Mrs. Thomson often remarked, "I like a tidy coal-cellar;" and Jessie, who felt this was rather a low taste, would reply, "You're awful eccentric, Mamma." On the first and fourth Thursdays of the month Mrs. Thomson was "at home"; then, indeed, she trod the measure high and disposedly. On these auspicious days Annie the servant, willing but "hashy," made the front-door shine, and even "sanded" the pillars of the gate to create a good impression. The white steps of the stairs were washed, and the linoleum in the lobby was polished until it became a danger to the unwary walker. Dinner set agoing, Mrs. Thomson tied a large white apron round her ample person and spent a couple of hours in the kitchen baking scones and pancakes and jam-sandwiches, while Jessie, her share of the polishing done, took the car into town and bought various small cakes, also shortbread and a slab of rich sultana cake. By half past two all was ready. Mrs. Thomson in her second best dress, and Jessie in a smart silk blouse and skirt, sat waiting. Mrs. Thomson had her knitting, and Jessie some "fancy work." The tea-table with its lace-trimmed cloth and silver tray with the rosy cups ("ma wedding china and only one saucer broken") stood at one side of the fireplace, with a laden cake-rack beside it, while a small table in the offing was also covered with plates of eatables. There never was any lack of callers at Jeanieville. It was such a vastly comfortable house to call at. The fire burned so brightly, the tea was so hot and fresh, the scones so delicious, and the shortbread so new and crimpy; and when Mrs. Thomson with genuine welcome in her voice said, "Well, this is real nice," no matter how inclement the weather outside each visitor felt the world a warm and kindly place. Mrs. Thomson enjoyed her house and her handsome furniture, and desired--and hoped it was no dishonest desire--to be a social success; but her kindest smile and heartiest handshake were not for the sealskin-coated ladies of Pollokshields but for such of her old friends as ventured to visit her on her Thursdays, and often poor Jessie's cheeks burned as she heard her mother explain to some elegant suburban lady, as she introduced a friend: "Mrs. Nicol and me are old friends. We lived for years on the same stair-head." Except in rare cases, there was no stiffness about the sealskin-ladies, and conversation flowed like a river.