Abrash is a most interesting word. In Persia, if father, son and grandson have Roman noses, then a Roman nose is the abrash of that family. If gluttony is characteristic of generation after generation, then is gluttony the hereditary abrash. If it is a strawberry mark on the left shoulder, then the strawberry mark is an abrash.

The abrashes of a rug are the stripes or bands that run partially or entirely across the pile. When seen for the first time by Americans accustomed to admire and insist on the death-like uniformity that characterizes machine products, abrashes are apt to impress them as defects, particularly if wide. It takes experience and acquaintance with the art industries to grasp completely the significance and artistic value of individuality.

No two rugs are marked alike. The abrashes in number, in width, in tone, combine themselves in as many different ways as there are rugs. It is possible that in some cases the abrashes are intended by the weaver, but in general it may be said that they are due to accidental variations of wool, structure or dye. Between the wool of different provinces great differences exist. Some of the staples have deep serrations, others are comparatively smooth. Between the wool of different sheep in the same province differences undoubtedly exist, though too small to detect except as they manifest themselves in abrashes. Dyeing is also responsible for abrashes. The skein that hangs in the sun a little longer will betray the fact in the form of an abrash. The failure exactly to match the red of one dyeing to the red of another will cause an abrash.

The process of washing brings out the abrashes most interestingly. It enables the rug to achieve its character and tell its story early, and it does it without inflicting on the rug the infirmities that age produces.