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 answered this!"

"To college?" gasped Miss Cordelia.

"Yes," said Mary, still intent upon her panorama, "there's a good one in
California. I'll look it up."

The more Mary thought of it, the fonder she grew of her idea--which is, I
think, a human trait and true of nearly every one. It was in vain that
her aunts argued with her, pointing out the social advantages which she
would enjoy from attending Miss Parsons' School. Mary's objection was
fundamental. She simply didn't care for those advantages. Indeed, she
didn't regard them as advantages at all.

Helen did, though.

In her heart Helen had always longed to tread the stage of society--to
her mind, a fairyland of wit and gallantry, masquerades and music, to say
nothing of handsome young polo players and titled admirers from foreign
shores--"big fools," all of them, as you can guess, when dazzled by the
smiles of Youth and Beauty.

"Mary can go to California if she likes," said Helen at last, "but give
me Miss Parsons' School."

And Mary did go to California, although I doubt if she would have gained
her point if her father hadn't taken her part. For four years she