ling an agreeable experience. "As long
as there are old stumps in a field that you must plough around I haven't
got much use for the land. When the corn comes up you don't see the
stumps, just sitting on the fence and looking over the scenery; but when
you go to put the plow through again, your same old stumps loom up
again, solider than ever. I guess Daniel will come out all right; he was
raised on a farm and ought to know how to drive a straight furrow. By
the way, they telephoned me from Elizabeth House last night that there's
a vacant room there. Who's moved out?"

Mrs. Owen always prolonged the E of Elizabeth, and never referred to the
House except by its full title.

"Rose Farrell has left. Went unexpectedly, I think. I didn't know she
was going."

"Let me see. She's that girl that worked for Morton and Daniel. What's
she leaving for?"

"I'm going to see if I can't get her back," replied Sylvia evasively.

"Why Rose has been at Elizabeth House for two years and under the rules
she can stay a year longer. She ain't getting married, is she?"

"I think not," replied Sylvia. "I'm going to look her up and get her
back if possible."

"You do that, Sylvia. It ain't just your place, but I'll be glad if
you'll see what's the matter. We don't want to lose a girl if we can
help it."

Mrs. Owen rose and transferred a pile of paperbound books from a shelf
to her desk. Sylvia recognized these as college catalogues and noted
bits of paper thrust into the leaves as markers.

"I've been looking into this business some since we went down to
college. I had a lot of these schools send me their catalogues and
they're mighty interesting, though a good deal of it I don't understand.
Sylvia" (Sylvia never heard her name drawled as Mrs. Owen spoke it
without a thrill of expectancy)--"Sylvia, there's a lot of books being
written, and pieces in the magazines all the time, about women and what
we have done or can't do. What do you suppose it's all leading up to?"

"That question is bigger than I am, Aunt Sally. But I think the
conditions that have thrown women out into the world as wage-earners are
forcing one thing--just one thing, that is more important now than any
other--it's all summed up in the word efficiency."

"Efficiency?"

Mrs. Owen reached for the poker and readjusted the logs; she watched the
resulting sparks for a moment, then settled herself back in her chair
and repeated Sylvia's word again.

"You mean that a