candy cobwebs

In this world, life centres in the kitchen, round the fire, where Tom Kitten’s mother sets her dough to rise under a clean blanket and Tiggy-Winkle airs her linen and heats her irons. There is always a polished steel fender and a rag rug; there are tin canisters along the mantlepiece, a crown-lidded teapot (relic of Edward the Seventh’s coronation) on the hob, and a kettle-holder hanging from a nail. Crochet wool antimacassars in faded colours soften the backs of the favorite chair and the hard horsehair sofa under the window. There are geraniums and Creeping Jenny on the sill; and tea, when it is spread on a clean cloth on the kitchen table, will include a nicely baked pie in a pink and white dish, milk in a patterned jug and a pat of yellow butter on a dinner plate. One feels that the diary, with its stone shelves and whitewash, is not far away, and that upstairs the bedrooms will have flowered wallpapers covering the beams, and will be fresh and tidy, with decent china ewers and basins and cane-bottomed chairs.

from “The Tale of Beatrix Potter, a Biography”

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