in a college alongside of men and do any number of things my mother would have dropped dead to think about.  And,” she added quizzically, “it gives me heart failure myself sometimes, just thinking about it all.  I can’t make you throw your kodak away, and I wouldn’t if I could, any more than I’d want you to sit up all night sewing clothes to wear to your school-teaching when you can buy better ones already made that have real style.  It tickles me that some women have learned that it’s weak-minded to massage and paraffine their wrinkles out—­those things, Sylvia, strike me as downright immoral.  What I’ve been wondering is whether I can do anything for the kind of girls we have at Elizabeth House beyond giving them a place to sleep, and I guess you’ve struck the idea with that word efficiency.  No girl born to-day, particularly in a town like this, is going back to make her own soap out of grease and lye in her back yard.  But she’s got to learn to do something well or she’ll starve or go to the bad; or if she doesn’t have to work she’ll fool her life away doing nothing.  Now you poke a few holes in my ideas, Sylvia.”

“Please, Aunt Sally, don’t think that because I’ve been to college I can answer all those questions!  I’m just beginning to study them.  But the lady of the daguerreotype in hoops marks one era, and the kodak girl in a short skirt and shirt-waist another.  Women had to spend a good deal of time proving that their brains could stand the strain of higher education—­that they could take the college courses prescribed for men.  That’s all been settled now, but we can’t stop there.  A college education for women is all right, but we must help the girl who can’t go to college to do her work well in the office and department store and factory.”

“Or to feed a baby so it won’t die of colic, and to keep ptomaine poison out of her ice box!” added Mrs. Owen.

“Exactly,” replied Sylvia.

“Suppose a girl like Marian had gone to college just as you did, what would it have done for her?”

“A good deal, undoubtedly.  It would have given her wider interests and sobered her, and broadened her chances of happiness.”

“Maybe so,” remarked Mrs. Owen; and then a smile stole over her face.  “I reckon you can hardly call Marian a kodak girl.  She’s more like one of these flashlight things they set off with a big explosion.  Only time I ever got caught in one of those pictures was at a meeting of the Short-Horn Breeders’ Association last week.  They fired off that photograph machine to get a picture for the ’Courier’—­I’ve been prodding them for not printing more farm and stock news—­and a man sitting next to me jumped clean out of his boots and yelled fire.  I had to go over to the ‘Courier’ office and see the editor—­that Atwill is a pretty good fellow when you get used to him—­to make sure they didn’t guy us farmers for not being city broke.  As for Marian, folks like her!”