The prospective housewife buys them eagerly and devours them with avidity.

She and John are boarding now, but are soon to have a home of their own, and after perusing their newly purchased volumes, they decide that their limited income will amply enable them to live in comfort although, perhaps, not in luxury.
The tiny house or flat is rented, and they settle down, as Mrs.
Whitney's Emery Anne would say, "to realize their geography," or, more properly speaking, to live their recently acquired knowledge, which is, in many points, very useful.
But--and here comes the mischief wrought by over-sanguine literature--the authors of these books leave too many things out of the question.

The expenses of moving and the purchase of necessary furniture are, of course, omitted, but Mary finds to her chagrin that fuel--no slight item in any family,--and light,--also absolutely essential,--have not been taken into account.

These make a big hole in the income which had seemed all-sufficient.

It is expedient, also, occasionally, to have a woman in to do a day's cleaning, and the weekly wash is a bugbear which makes our young people shudder.