in fact, a kind of Smythology. Its High Priest is the Reverend
Hopkins. Its Jupiter is self. Its lesser gods are princes, dukes,
earls, counts, an' barons. Its angels are actors an' tenors. Its
baptism is flattery. Poverty an' work are its twin hells.
Matrimony is its heaven, an' a slippery place it is. They revel in
the best sellers an' the worst smellers. They gossip of intrigue
an' scandal. They get their lessons if they have time. They cheat
in their examinations. If the teacher objects she is promptly an'
generally insulted. She has to submit or go--for the girls stand
together. It's a sort of school-girls' union. They'd quit in a
body if their fun were seriously interrupted, an' Mr. Smythe
couldn't afford that, you know. He wouldn't admit it, but they've
got him buffaloed.

"Lizzie no sooner got through than she set out with her mother to
find the prince. She struck Aleck in Italy."

Socrates leaned back and laughed.

"Now, if you please, I'll climb back on my pedestal," he said.

"Thank God! Lizzie began to rise above her education. She went to
work in her father's store, an' the whole gang o' Lizzie-chasers
had to change their gait again. She organized our prosperous young
ladies' club--a model of its kind--the purpose of which is the
promotion of simple livin' an' a taste for useful work. They have
fairs in the churches, an' I distribute a hundred dollars in cash
prizes--five dollars each for the best exhibits o' pumpkin-pie,
chicken-pie, bread, rolls, coffee, roast turkey, plain an' fancy
sewin', an' so on. One by one the girls are takin' hold with us