Bone-, wood-, or pearl-handled knives should never go into the dishpan, but be stood, blade down, in a pitcher containing a little water and soda, the blades having first been wiped off with paper, and left till everything else is done.  They are then washed singly with clean suds, special care being bestowed upon the juncture of the blade with the handle, rinsed, and dried immediately.  If stained, rub with half of a potato or with a cork dipped in powdered pumice stone, wipe dry, wash, and polish with a little bath brick or sapolio.  Clean carving knives and forks in the same way, going around the joinings with a rag-covered skewer.  Spots can be removed from ivory handles with tripoli mixed with sweet oil; from mother-of-pearl with sifted whiting and alcohol, which is washed off and followed with a polishing with dry whiting and a flannel cloth.  Cover rusted knife blades with sweet oil, rub in well, and leave for forty-eight hours, then rub with slaked lime.  Britannia, pewter, and block tin in table use are polished the same as silver.

CHAPTER IX

THE BEDROOM

The bedroom is very like an old familiar friend:  it sees us as we really are, tempting us to throw off all veneer of pretense or worldliness and rest in just being ourselves—­a rest so sweet and wholesome and good that we go from it recreated and strengthened.  In the spirit of truest friendship it exacts nothing, but by its subtle, quiet sympathy charms away our restlessness and presents us anew to that person known as our better self.  The friend of our choice is the one who wears well; who never intrudes, never wearies, never pains us; whose influence is one of rest, of restoration, of reinspiration—­the embodiment of the true mission of the bedroom.  It, like our friend, must be able to survive with honor the test of that familiarity which comes with intimacy—­whether it shall breed contempt or content.  And so as we plan it, let us endeavor to temper our likes and dislikes with judgment until we can be reasonably sure that it will be a room pleasant to live with, and companionable, which will not irritate our moods into becoming moodier, nor our weariness into becoming wearier.

LIGHT AND AIR

Of first importance, of course, are light and air; these we must have, and sun if possible.  One good warm ray of sunshine is a more effective destroyer of disease and “dumps” than all the drugs on the market; while good ventilation is one of the most valuable as well as one of the cheapest and most ignored assets of the home, particularly of the bedroom, where our hereditary enemy, the microbe, loves especially to linger.  Given air and light, we have the best possible start toward our rest room and upon its exposure and size depends largely what we shall add unto it in the way of furnishings and decorations.  Dark walls and floors wrap one in gloom and have