This had been going on a long time, the visions, their destruction by facts, and the consequent despair; for, of course, she had always believed there was nothing to be done.  And now here was one telling her that something could be done—­that she, even she, the little girl Mollie, had equal rights with boys, and that it was not only her privilege but her duty to claim them.  Here was one exhorting her to throw off the yoke of her girlhood, talking of a glorious career that might be hers, of emancipation and liberty, of a womanhood grand as manhood itself.  And how the tremendous sentiments, so beautifully uttered, thrilled through Mollie from the crown of her hat to the toes of her boots!  She would have given worlds for one glance from that bravest of her sex who had thrown off the yoke, and for a chance to ask her just how she did it.  For while Mollie had fully made up her mind to wear her yoke no longer, she did not know exactly by what means to become an emancipated creature.  As she walked home with her hand in that of the fat gentleman who had treated her to the lecture, she reached the conclusion that no special instructions had been given because it was taken for granted that each woman’s nobler instincts would guide her.  She entered the gate a champion of freedom, a believer in the equality of the sexes—­a girl bound to be a boy, and trusting to her nobler instincts to teach her how.

No trembling and glancing back over her shoulder for goblins and burglars to-night as she put the key into the door!  No scared chattering of teeth in the dark hall!  No skipping three steps at a time up the stairs pursued by imaginary hands that would grip at her ankles!  She faced the darkness with wide-open eyes, instead of feeling her way with lids squeezed down as had been her custom; and when eyes seemed to look back at her from the darkness, her boyhood laughed at her girlhood, and she did not quicken her pace.  But—­Mollie was glad to step into the room where the light burned.  Her mother had gone to bed early with one of her tired-out headaches, and she only half woke to see that her little girl was safely in.  Mollie kissed her softly (for boys may kiss their mothers softly) and took the lamp into the little room beyond, where she always slept.

The first thing that she did was to look in the glass.  What a girlish little face it was!  How foolishly its dimples came and went with its smiles!  In what an effeminate manner the hair crinkled above it, and then went rambling off into half a yard of stylish disorder!  Mollie lifted the hair in her hand and surveyed it thoughtfully.  Then she took a thoughtful survey of the scissors in her work-basket.  Then she reached them.  She allowed herself a moment of conscientious reflection; then the boy’s naughty spirit crept down through her fingers and set the scissors flying, and the deed was done.

It was not easy to satisfy her mother’s amazement and vexation in the morning; but Mollie stumbled through it and went to school.  There opportunities were few.  She coaxed her teacher to let her study book-keeping, and took one disagreeable lesson in its first principles; but she accomplished nothing else that day except the putting of a general check upon weak-minded inclinations to be frolicsome.