ame at the last, soap grease. Bones even were
thrown into kettles of lye, which ate out all their richness, leaving
them crumbly, and fit for burying about the grapevines. Hence the
appositeness of the darkey saying, to express special contempt of a
suitor: "My Lawd! I wouldn't hab dat nigger, not eben for soap grease."
Which has always seemed to me, in a way, a classic of condemnation.

Soap making came twice a year--the main event in March, to get free of
things left over from hog killing, the supplement in September or
October, to use up summer savings. Each was preceded by dripping lye.
This necessitated wood ashes, of course--ashes from green wood. Oak or
hickory was best. They were kept dry until they went into hoppers, where
they were rotted by gentle wetting for a space of several days. Then
water was dripped through, coming out a dark brown caustic liquid,
clean-smelling, but ill to handle--it would eat a finger-tip carelessly
thrust in it to the raw.

But even thus it was not strong enough for proper soapmaking, so it was
boiled, boiled, until it would eat a feather, merely drawn quickly
through it. Grease was added then, a little at a time, and stirred well
through, changing the black-brown lye into a light-brown, bubbly mass.
Whatever the lye would not eat of the grease's components, was skimmed
out with the big perforated ladle. Even beyond candle-molding,
soap-making was an art. Mammy never would touch it, until "the right
time of the moon." Also and further, she used a sassafras stick for
stirring, put it in the first time with her right hand, and always
stirred the kettle the same way. If a left-handed person came near the
kettle she was mightily vexed--being sure her soap would go wrong. She
kept on the fire beside it a smaller kettle of clear lye, to be added at
need, without checking the boiling.

Boiling down lye took one day, boiling in grease another. The third
morning, after the fire was well alight, she tested the soap, by making
a bit into lather. If the lather were clean and clear, without a film of
grease on top, she knew it remained only to cook the soap down thick
enough for the barrel, or to make into balls by the addition of salt.
But if the film appeared--then indeed there was trouble. First aid to it
was more lye, of feather-eating strength--next a fresh sassafras
stirring stick, last and most important, walking backwards as she put
the stick in the kettle, though she would never admit