been there when the subject of Miss Parsons' School for
Young Ladies was broached to Mary, I think it would have reminded you of
that famous recipe for rabbit pie which so wisely begins "First catch
your rabbit."

Mary listened to all that was said and then, quietly but unmistakably,
she put her foot down on Miss Parsons' fashionable institution of
learning.

I doubt if she herself could have given you all her reasons.

For one thing, the older she grew, the more democratic, the more American
she was becoming.

Deep in her heart she thought the old original Spencers had done more for
the world than any leaders of fashion who ever lived; and when she read
or thought of those who had made America, her mind never went to smart
society and its doings, but to those great, simple souls who had braved
the wilderness in search of liberty and adventure--who had toiled, and
fought, and given their lives, unknown, unsung, but never in Mary's mind
to be forgotten. And whenever she thought of travel, she found she would
rather see the Rockies than the Alps, rather go to New Orleans than Old
Orleans, rather visit the Grand Canyon than the Nile, and would
infinitely rather cross the American continent and see three thousand
miles of her own country, than cross the Atlantic and see three thousand
miles of water that belonged to every one in general and no one in
particular.

"But, my dear," said Miss Cordelia, altogether taken aback, "you ought to
go somewhere, you know. Let me tell you about Miss Parsons' school--"

"It's no use, Aunty. I don't want to go to Miss Parsons' school--"

"Where do you want to go then?"

Like most inspirations, it came like a flash.

"If I'm going anywhere, I want to go to college--"

To college! A Spencer girl--or a Spicer--going to college! Miss Cordelia
gasped. If Mary had been noticing, she might not have pursued her
inspiration further, but her mind was running along a breathless panorama
of Niagara Falls, Great Lakes, Chicago, the farms of the Middle West,
Yellowstone Park, geysers, the Old Man of the Mountain, Aztec ruins,
redwood forests, orange groves and at the end of the vista--like a statue
at the end of a garden walk--she imagined a great democratic institution
of learning where one might conceivably be prepared to solve some of
those problems which life seems to take such deep delight in presenting
to us, with the grim command, "Not one step farther shall you go until
you have ans