Following in our mother's footsteps, we have been routed night after
night from our warm quarters, in the dead of winter, to kindle fires
and fill frosty kettles from water-pails thickly crusted with ice,
that we might get the writhing pedal extremities of our little heir
into a tub of water as quickly as possible. But lately we have learned
that all this work and exposure is needless. We simply wring a towel
from salted water--a bowl of it standing in our sleeping room, ready
for such an emergency--wrap the limb in it from the ankle to knee,
without taking the child from his bed, and then swathe with dry
flannels, thick and warm, tucking the blankets about him a little
closer, and relief is sure.
Good Housekeeping.