fteen-year-old girl who that day made paper boxes, feathers, flowers
or shirtwaists, toiled in the laundries or the cotton factory, or walked
with heavy heart from place to place searching for work. They are
dependent upon one another, these two. They do not know it now, but if
each is to be her best, they must know.

How to lead her daughter to value and help this _other girl_, that sweet
mother told me as we talked in the library that night she felt was her
great problem. "We women are responsible for so much," she said, "and
our daughters will be responsible for still more. We must help them
estimate things at their right value." With that thought and spirit in
her mother's heart the girl I had watched all day with such pleasure
seemed doubly privileged.

Last September I saw another privileged girl. She showed me her trunk
packed for college. Every member of the family was interested in it,
perhaps most of all her father who had put into the bank that first
dollar on the day that she was born with the faith that what should be
added to it might one day mean college. Behind her was a long line of
honest ancestry, simple people who had worked hard and managed to "get
along." She was the first on either side of the family to "go to
college." No one in the family, even the most distant relative, failed
to feel the importance of the event. "Tom's Dorothy goes to college this
week--think of it," a great aunt, in a little unpainted, low-roofed
farmhouse far away in the hills, told all her friends at church.

Great ambition, hopes and dreams were packed into that trunk and the day
when she should graduate and come back to teach in the high school
seemed near. Jack and Bessie and Newton were in her plans for using the
money she should earn when those four short years were over.

[Illustration: SHE WAS FULL OF AMBITION AND WILLING TO WORK]

Looking at her sweet, fresh face so full of happiness one knew her to be
a privileged girl. All through high school she had had her purpose
clear, her studies were a pleasure, her simple good times were enjoyed
to the full and life, every moment of it, was worth the living. When I
saw her lock the trunk and excitedly instruct the expressman as to just
how it must be carried, I had a sudden vision of the thousands of girls,
with happy faces filled with anticipation of all that is wrapped up in
that one word, _college_. A great army of privileged girls, they are.
One cannot help wishing