er mind is thorough,
logical, and comprehensive,--that's what Professor Jamieson said, up to
the High School. Them was his very words. Celandine is to graduate this
year: she's in the class with girls two and three years older than
herself, Mrs. Tarbell. It was a terrible strain on me to keep her at
school, ma'am, and again and _again_ I've thought I couldn't stand it,
what with her being in the shop only in the afternoon, and the washing,
and trying to keep her clothes always nice; though she's been as good as
_gold_,--making _all_ her dresses her_self_, and wearing a calico till
you'd have thought the stitches would have dropped right _out_ of it.
And she's ambitious, as I say. She don't seem to be able to face the
idea of going into a store; and, oh, dear me! they're terrible places,
those big stores, for girls. They're as bad as the factories; and
_often_ and _often_ when I see those poor creatures that stand behind
counters all day coming home at night and thinking so much about the way
their hair's done, and then consider what slaves they are, and what
they're exposed to, and how many wicked people are on the watch to work
them to death for no pay at all, and bully them, and to lead them all
wrong, if they can, why, it just makes me think how _sensible_ the good
Lord is, that he's able to take care of them so well and look after them
as much as he does. Professor Jamieson has been as kind as could _be_
about Celandine, and said he'd try to get a place for her as teacher;
but you can't do that, you know, Mrs. Tarbell, not onless you've got
friends in politics; and I haven't, not one. And a governess ain't often
asked for; and you need influence for that, too. And Celandine, though
she would take copying or typewriting, or be a telegraph operator, her
own idea is to be a lawyer. And I just thought, Mrs. Tarbell, that I'd
come to you and ask your advice; for I knew you'd sympathize."

"I--I don't know," gasped Mrs. Tarbell. The shock was almost as great as
if she had thought Mrs. Stiles was a client. And what was she to do?
Mrs. Stiles was not asking her to accept Miss Celandine as a student:
she was asking her whether Miss Celandine ought to study at all. Mrs.
Tarbell would have given anything to have a few platitudes at her
tongue's end, but her conscience rendered her helpless. "Well, you see,
Mrs. Stiles," she said at length, "we are trying a--hem--an experiment,
you know."

"An experiment!" cried Mrs. Stiles, a