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[Illustration: Mary Wood-Allen, M. D.]
TEACHING TRUTH SERIES
ALMOST A WOMAN
By Mary Wood-Allen, M. D.
Author of "Teaching Truth"; "Almost a Man"; "Child-Confidence Rewarded;"
"Caring for the Baby"; "The Man Wonderful"; "Ideal Married Life;" Etc.
"Standing with reluctant feet
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!
* * * * *
Like the swell of some sweet tune
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June."
--Longfellow.
"Earth's noblest thing, a woman perfected."
--James Russell Lowell.
PUBLISHED BY
THE ARTHUR H. CRIST CO.
Cooperstown, N. Y.
1911
Copyrighted by
CRIST, SCOTT & PARSHALL
1907
All Rights Reserved.
Entered at Stationer's Hall.
CONTENTS.
Prelude. 5
Chapter I. 9
Chapter II. 29
Chapter III. 38
Chapter IV. 69
PRELUDE.
Mr. Wayne, glancing out of the window, saw some one passing down the
front steps. Suddenly a look of recognition came into his face, and he
turned to his wife with the exclamation, "I declare, Mary, our daughter
Helen is almost a woman, isn't she?"
"Yes," replied Mrs. Wayne, coming to his side and watching the slender
figure going down the street. Her face bore a look of motherly pride,
but she sighed, as she said,
"Yes, Time and Death are equally inexorable; they both take our babies
from us."
"But not after the same fashion," replied Mr. Wayne. "Death takes them
from our sight, where we cannot witness their growth and development,
cannot know into what beauty they have blossomed."
"Still," said Mrs. Wayne, "we do not recognize the changes Time makes
until they are accomplished. So gradually does the blossom unfold that
there is no day to which we can point as the day on which the bud became
the full blown flower. On what day did Helen cease to be a baby and
become a child? On what day will she cease to be a child and become a
woman?"
"We will know when the actual physical change takes place, but even
after that I trust there will remain to us something of our little girl.
I do not like to think of her approaching the sentimental age. How old
is she?"
"Thirteen."
"Well, we need have no present fear of a sudden development of
sentimentality."
"Fortunately, no," replied Mrs. Wayne, "though many a mother of girls no
older than Helen is troubled with the question of beaux. Helen, however,
has had the good fortune to have for friends boys who seemed to enjoy
her comradeship, and I have been very careful not to suggest that their
relation could possibly border on the sentimental. So far, she has been
perfectly obedient and ever ready to adopt my ideas on all subjects. We
have been such close friends that I believe I am acquainted with her
inmost thoughts, and if she had felt any romantic emotions I believe she
would have confessed them to me."
"Happy mother!" said Mr. Wayne approvingly, "I wish all girls found in
their mothers their closest friends and confidants. By the way, you have
always talked freely to her about life's mysteries; have you explained
her approaching womanhood to her?"
"Not yet," was the reply. "Perhaps I have been a little unwilling to
believe that she is really nearing that crisis. I cannot bear to lose
my little girl," and Mrs. Wayne looked into her husband's face, smiling
through her tears.
"Yes, I can understand that," he said, "and yet we believe that only
through the normal development of her physical nature can she be the
'woman perfected.' I beg of you not to postpone your instruction too
long. I am more and more convinced that right knowledge not only
safeguards purity, but really produces true modesty. To give a young
person a reverent knowledge of self is to insure that delicacy of
thought which preserves the bloom of modesty. If the girls who are
engaged in street flirtations could only be taught the lesson of true
womanhood, I am sure they would become quiet and lady-like in conduct. I
would rather lose my little girl altogether than have her fall into this
error. You have no hesitancy about speaking to her?"
"Not in the least. But I have thought that perhaps she would indicate by
some question that her mind was becoming ready for the disclosure. It
always seems to me that to force information before the mind is ready to
receive it, is to jeopardize its reception."
"Don't wait, Mary. You risk too much by allowing some one else the
opportunity to give her the knowledge with the taint of evil suggestion."
"You are right,--and I could not bear that anyone else should explain to
her all these mysteries. I have always been her teacher and I will not
relinquish that privilege. I will seize the very first that will allow
us uninterrupted time.
"But do you not think that you as a father should have some part in this
blessed work of guiding our daughter? I believe that it will be most
helpful to her to get the man's view on the problems of her life. You
know, one never gets a true perspective of material objects with only
one eye; and I believe this is equally true of life. I can give her the
woman's view, but she needs to know also how men look upon life. She
will be better able to judge of the right or wrong of conduct if she
knows that my view is supported by your own."
"You are right, as usual," replied Mr. Wayne smiling, "and you may rest
assured that I will always be glad to supplement your counsel by my
own."
Almost a Woman
CHAPTER I.
"Mother." The clear girlish voice rang through the house with persistent
intensity but awakened no responsive call. Mr. Wayne, coming up the
steps, heard the repeated summons for "Mother" and sent out his
answering cry, "Father's here." Quick, light steps answered his call and
an urgent young voice demanded, "Where's mother?"
"Mother has been called away for tonight, so you'll have to put up with
father."
"O, dear!" sighed the girl despondently.
"Is father such a poor substitute, then?" inquired Mr. Wayne in an
aggrieved tone.
"O, no," responded Helen, quickly. "You're usually as good as mother;
but there were some special things I wanted to ask her about this
evening. I suppose I can wait," she added, dolorously.
"Try me and see if I won't answer tolerably well. What are these weighty
problems?" drawing his daughter to his knee as he spoke.
"That's it," pouted Helen. "You always make fun,--mother doesn't."
"Pardon me, daughter, I had no intention of making fun. I only wanted
you to feel at home with me. It was a clumsy attempt, I'll admit, but
really and truly I would like to be in your confidence--to feel that you
trust me, too. I can't fill mother's place, I know, but I can do what
mother can't, I can give you the man's view of things, and that is
sometimes of great value for a girl to know."
"Yes," said Helen, snuggling down in her father's lap, for they were
great friends and she felt his sympathy. "I often wish we could know how
things look to other people. I know boys don't look at matters as girls
do, but we can't always tell just what they do think."
"That is true," replied Mr. Wayne, gravely. "I often think that if girls
knew just what boys say among themselves it would make them more careful
of their conduct.
"For instance, not long ago I was on a steamer where there was dancing.
I went into the smoking room, and there I heard the comments of the
young men. I am sure the girls had no idea how their dress, figures,
freedom and flirtatiousness were criticised and laughed at by these
young men, who seemed to them, doubtless, so very nice and polite. Of
course, these girls were mostly strangers to the young men and were
getting acquainted without introductions, probably thinking it fine
fun."
"Yes, father. I've heard some of the real nice girls talk about getting
acquainted in that way, and they seem to think it all right. Someway, it
never seemed quite nice to me."
"I hope not, my daughter. I should be sorry to have you form acquaintances
in that way. You never can tell what a man's character is by his clothes
or manners. Indeed, you may think you know a man pretty well, and yet be
mistaken. I suppose girls who are familiar with young men and allow
them liberties imagine that they are trustworthy. I sat in front of two
young men on a train not long ago. They appeared well and really were
nice, as boys go, but they had the usual boy's idea as to honor. They
were talking freely of the girls they knew, discussing their merits and
charms, saying that this one was soft and 'huggable,' that another was
sweet to kiss--"
"O, father!" exclaimed Helen, in a fury of surprise and anger. "They
didn't talk that way so that you could hear! And call the girls by name,
too?"
"Yes, they did, dear. Then after they had discussed several, who all
seemed to allow great freedom, they mentioned another name, and their
whole manner changed. 'Ah,' said one, 'there's no nonsense about her.
It's 'hands off' there every time and'--he went on, with great emphasis,
'that's the kind of a girl I mean to marry. A man doesn't want to feel
that his wife's been slobbered over by all the young men of her
acquaintance.'"
Helen hid her face on her father's shoulder. "How perfectly dreadful!"
she said. "They were not gentlemen."
"I'll admit that,--and yet the conduct of the girls in permitting such
freedom was really an excuse for their speaking so discourteously of
them. The girls had not maintained their own self-respect, and therefore
had not secured the respect of the young men. The girl who respected
herself compelled respect from them, and that is the idea I wish to
impress on your mind. Never expect any one to respect you more than you
respect yourself, nor to shield your honor if you have placed yourself
in their power."
"But, father," said Helen hesitatingly, "most of the girls and boys
think it no harm to kiss each other good night, and the girls say the
boys would be offended if a girl refused."
"They are mistaken. Of course, the boys like to have the girls think so;
but they don't talk that way among themselves, you may be sure."
"But, you see, father," urged Helen, hesitatingly, "they say they are
engaged, and that makes it all right."
"How long do they stay engaged?" asked Mr. Wayne. "Do they really
consider it a true engagement, to end ultimately in marriage, or is it
merely an excuse for freedom of association?"
"O, they're all the time breaking their engagements. I don't believe
they expect them to last very long. Now, there's Dora Ills. She's only
sixteen and she says she's been engaged four times, and when she breaks
the engagement she doesn't give back the ring. She's making a collection
of engagement rings, she says."
"It is very evident that she cannot have the highest respect for
herself. I knew of a girl whose sister had been engaged several times
and who said to her, 'Why, Lida, you've never been engaged yet, have
you?' And Lida replied, 'No, and I have made up my mind that I'll not be
one of your pawed-over girls.'
"Her expression was not an elegant one, but it showed that she respected
herself, and of course, she will be more truly respected by the young
men if she does not permit them to approach too closely. A girl is very
much mistaken if she fancies that a young man thinks more of her if she
lets him be familiar. On the other hand, it is always true that he
thinks more of her if she makes him feel that she is not to be
carelessly approached. As one boy said to me, 'Girls ought to know that
boys always want most that which is hardest to get.'"
"But, father, if it's so difficult for boys and girls to be together and
act as they should, wouldn't it be best to keep them entirely apart
until they are old enough to marry?"
"That is what they think in the old world, and girls are kept shut up
in schools and convents until they are grown; then their parents select
a husband for them, and after they are married they are allowed to go
into society. I am afraid our girls wouldn't like that,--they'd want to
select their own husbands."
"They could do that after they got out of school."
"My observation is that the girl who has been shut up away from young
men, is the very one who doesn't know how to act when she comes out of
school. She has very romantic ideas, and is quite apt to be misled by a
glittering exterior. She is less able to judge wisely or to guide her
own conduct judiciously than the girl who, having been educated with
boys, has less romantic ideas concerning them. No, I believe in
co-education and in the common social life for both sexes; but with it I
should ask that all young people should be taught to respect themselves
and each other, and to understand their responsibility to future
generations."
"And what is that responsibility? What have we young people to do with
future generations?"
"Just exactly what we older people once had. We didn't think of it in
our youth, but we can see now that even then we were creating our own
characters and at the same time the characters of our future children.
Now, I can see in you many of my own youthful characteristics. I can
understand why you find it hard to do things that I'd like you to do,
and easy to do some I'd rather you wouldn't do. And if, in the years to
come, you have a daughter, she will be apt to be largely what you are
now. All the efforts you make now to overcome your own faults are in
reality helping to overcome those faults for her also. Suppose the young
people knew and thought of these things; don't you think they would
judge more wisely of what they ought to do?"
"Why, yes, I know what I'd want my daughter to do, it seems to me, even
better than I could tell what I ought to do myself."
"Wouldn't that be a good way to decide your own conduct--to do only
those things which you'd be perfectly willing your daughter should do?"
"But, father, tell me why it's so much more important for girls to be
particular about what they do than for boys."
"It's not more important."
"Well, people seem to think it is. The other day Johnnie Webster was
going to a show and his little sister Carrie wanted to go, too, and he
told her it was no place for girls, and she said, 'Then it is no place
for boys'; and he said, 'But boys don't have to be as good as girls.'
And his father and mother both heard it and never said a word. They only
laughed."
"It is unfortunately quite a common idea that boys and men do not have
to be as good as girls and women; but it is not God's idea. He doesn't
have two standards of morals, and I think the time is coming when men
will be glad to live up to the highest level of purity."
"Don't you think it seems worse for girls to swear or drink or gamble
than for boys?"
"It does _seem_ worse, because we have had such high ideals for women;
but to God it must seem no worse, because he judges of us as _souls_,
not as men and women, and He has laid down only one rule of conduct for
all souls."
"I'd like to know how the idea ever grew that it was not so bad for men
to do wrong as for women."
"Perhaps we cannot now see all the reasons for this state of things, but
we can see at least one reason. Many, many years ago men bought their
wives, or took them by force from others, so they felt that they _owned_
their wives. Of course, each man liked to feel that his wife was above
reproach, that she really did belong to him; therefore, he held any lack
of fidelity as a great sin against himself. But he did not think that he
belonged to her. She had neither bought nor captured him, so she had no
power over him, except such as she could gain by her fascinations.
"Naturally, he didn't care to be bound by the same rigid ideas to which
he held her. He felt himself free to do what fancy dictated. The general
level of morals was low, so he followed the pleasures of sense, and the
wife could only submit, or try to be more fascinating to him than any
one else. But if he was great and influential or handsome, and was not
bound by any moral restraints, there would be other women desirous of
gaining his attentions and the material comforts he might be able to
give, and he would quite willingly think himself free to follow his
fancy without censure. In this way has grown up the double moral
standard, the pure woman holding herself to the strictest morality, and
men imagining themselves not so sternly held to the narrow path of
absolute purity.
"Women are not now slaves, bought as wives and valued for their personal
charms alone. They have intellectual power and moral force and social
influence, and they can, if they will, create the single moral
standard,--that is, the one high ideal for both men and women."
"O, father, do you think girls have as much power as that? It always
seems to me as if girls might be of value when they are grown up, but
that while we are girls we can't do much to make the world better."
"That is the mistake girls generally make, when in fact the most
important time of life is youth. It is while you are girls that you are
forming your own character, and at the same time you are helping to form
the character of the generations to come. You are of far more value to
the nation now, while you are young and can make of yourselves almost
anything you please, than you will be when you are old and your habits
are fixed. If girls all lived nobly and exacted noble conduct of all
their associates, boys as well as girls, it would not take long to
settle all questions of reform. Young men will be what young women ask
them to be, and that, you see, makes girls of great importance. Do you
remember what we were reading in Sesame and Lilies the other day about
woman's queenly power? Get the book and let us read it again."
Helen brought the book, and, finding the place, read:
"Woman's power is for rule, not for battle, and her intellect is not for
invention or creation, but for sweet ordering, arrangement and decision.
Her great function is Praise.
"There is not a war in the world, no, nor an injustice, but you women
are answerable for it, not in that you have provoked, but in that you
have not hindered. Men, by their nature, are prone to fight. They will
fight for any cause or none. It is for you to choose their cause for
them, and to forbid when there is no cause. There is no suffering, no
injustice, no misery in the earth, but the guilt of it lies with you.
"Queens you must always be: queens to your lovers: queens to your
husbands and sons: queens of higher mystery to the world beyond, which
bows itself and will forever bow before the myrtle crown and the
stainless sceptre of womanhood."
Helen leaned her head on her father's shoulder in silence. Then she
said, softly: "It makes me almost afraid to become a woman."
Mr. Wayne kissed his daughter tenderly, saying: "It is worthy your
highest ambition to be a noble woman. I would be glad to see you such an
one as is pictured in Lowell's poem of Irene. Would you like to read it
to me?"
Helen took the book from her father's hand and read.
IRENE.
Hers is a spirit deep, and crystal-clear;
Calmly beneath her earnest face it lies,
Free without boldness, meek without a fear,
Quicker to look than speak its sympathies;
Far down into her large and patient eyes
I gaze, deep-drinking of the infinite,
As, in the mid-watch of a clear, still night,
I look into the fathomless blue skies.
So circled lives she with Love's holy light,
That from the shade of self she walketh free:
The garden of her soul still keepeth she
An Eden where the snake did never enter;
She hath a natural, wise sincerity,
A simple truthfulness, and these have lent her
A dignity as moveless as the center:
So that no influence of earth can stir
Her steadfast courage, nor can take away
The holy peacefulness, which, night and day,
Unto her queenly soul doth minister.
Most gentle is she; her large charity
(An all unwitting, childlike gift to her)
Not freer is to give than meek to bear;
And, though herself not unacquaint with care,
Hath in her heart wide room for all that be--
Her heart that hath no secrets of its own,
But open as an eglantine full blown.
Cloudless forever is her brow serene,
Speaking calm hope and trust within her, whence
Welleth a noiseless spring of patience,
That keepeth all her life so fresh, so green
And full of holiness, that every look,
The greatness of her woman's soul revealing,
Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling
As when I read in God's own holy book.
A graciousness in giving that doth make
The small gift greatest, and a sense most meek
Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take
From others, but which always fears to speak
Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake;
The deep religion of a thankful heart,
Which rests instinctively in heaven's clear law
With a full peace, that never can depart
From its own steadfastness;--a holy awe
For holy things,--not those which men call holy,
But such as are revealed to the eyes
Of a true woman's soul bent down and lowly
Before the face of daily mysteries:
A love that blossoms soon, but ripens slowly
To the full goldenness of fruitful prime,
Enduring with a firmness that defies
All shallow tricks of circumstance and time,
By a sure insight knowing where to cling,
And where it clingeth never withering:
These are Irene's dowry, which no fate
Can shake from their serene, deep-builded state.
In-seeing sympathy is hers, which chasteneth
No less than loveth, scorning to be bound
With fear of blame, and yet which ever hasteneth
To pour the balm of kind looks on the wound,
If they be wounds which such sweet teaching makes,
Giving itself a pang for others' sakes:
No want of faith, that chills with sidelong eye,
Hath she; no jealousy, no Levite pride
That passeth by upon the other side:
For in her soul there never dwelt a lie.
Right from the hand of God her spirit came
Unstained, and she hath ne'er forgotten whence
It came, nor wandered far from thence,
But labored to keep her still the same,
Near to her place of birth, that she may not
Soil her white raiment with an earthly spot.
Yet sets she not her soul so steadily
Above, that she forgets her ties to earth,
But her whole thought would almost seem to be
How to make glad one lowly human hearth;
And to make earth next heaven; and her heart
Herein doth show its most exceeding worth,
That, bearing in our frailty her just part,
She hath not shrunk from evils of this life,
But hath gone calmly forth into the strife,
And all its sin and sorrows hath withstood
With lofty strength of patient womanhood:
For this I love her great soul more than all,
That, being bound, like us, with earthy thrall,
For with a gentle courage she doth strive
In thought and word and feeling so to live.
She walks so bright and heaven-like therein,--
Too wise, too meek, too womanly, to sin.
Like a lone star through riven storm-clouds seen
By sailors, tempest-tost upon the sea,
Telling of rest and peaceful havens nigh,
Unto my soul her star-like soul hath been,
Her sight as full of hope and calm to me;
For she unto herself hath builded high
A home serene, wherein to lay her head,
Earth's noblest thing, a Woman perfected.
"That is a beautiful picture of what a girl may be, and I'd be glad to
see you making it your model."
"Yes," said Helen, slowly. Then, with more enthusiasm, "You know,
father, I've always wished I were a boy. It seems so much grander to be
a man than a woman. A man's life is so much freer, and he can do so much
greater things, you know. Of course, I shall try to be a good woman,
but I wish women could do big things, the way men can."
"What wondrous things can men do that women can't do?" asked Mr. Wayne
with a smile.
"Oh," replied Helen, clasping her hands with enthusiasm, "just see what
men do. They build immense houses, and great bridges--Oh, they make the
world, and women just sit in the house and look on. I'd like to _do_
something."
Mr. Wayne smoothed back the hair from the forehead of his enthusiastic
daughter with a tender smile, as he replied, "It does seem on the
surface as if men did greater things than women, but it is only seeming,
my dear. It is just as grand a thing to be a woman as to be a man. True,
woman's work does not show on the surface so plainly, but she works with
more enduring material than does man in creating the world of things. We
can see the great works of man's hands and they impress us with a sense
of his power; but it is _mind_ that does the real work, and women have
_minds_, or _are_ minds, you know."
"Yes, I know, but they must devote their minds to cooking and
dishwashing."
"I have seen women doing other things. In the old world I saw women
digging ditches, carrying brick and mortar to the top of high buildings,
ploughing in the fields; in fact, working just like men. The great
buildings of the World's Exposition erected in Vienna in 1873, were
largely the work of women's hands. You are not anxious to exchange
dishwashing for such work, are you?"
"O, no, indeed; but it is man who plans such work and superintends its
doing. A woman could not have planned Brooklyn bridge, for example."
"It is quite true that a woman did not plan it, but did you know that it
was completed under a woman's supervision?"
"No, was it? How did that happen? Tell me all about it."
"It happened this way. Mr. Roebling, who was superintending its
construction, was taken ill, and his wife took his place and personally
gave oversight to every part of the work until it was done. You see, her
being a woman did not prevent her doing the work. But if she had been
only a careless or an ignorant woman she could not have done it. It was
_mind_, you see, and cultured mind at that, which was the master power.
If she had not been working with him in making the plans, she could not
have worked for him in carrying them out. Instead of lamenting over your
sex, you would better rejoice in the fact that you are a _spirit_, and
realize that your power in all spheres of activity will be measured by
the cultivation of your mental and spiritual powers."
"But, father, even if I do cultivate my mind, I shall probably never
have an opportunity to do such a grand thing as help to build a Brooklyn
bridge."
"Probably not, but you can do a greater thing. You can fit yourself to
work on finer material than insensate stones. You can mould plastic
minds. It is a far greater thing to wield spiritual forces than to
manipulate inorganic matter."
"But, all men do not merely make _things_. There are great statesmen,
great soldiers, great writers."
"True, but you would not want to be a soldier, I am sure. To kill is not
a glorious profession. And to be a great statesman or writer is not
merely a question of sex; it is a question of mind."
"Do you think women have as much ability as men? Aren't men really
smarter than women?"
Mr. Wayne smiled at the girl's eagerness. "I do not compare men and
women to decide their relative ability," he answered. "I believe their
minds differ, but that does not imply that one is superior and the other
inferior. Each is superior in its own place."
"But men's minds are so much stronger, father. Women never can be on the
same level as men."
"Bring me two needles of different sizes from your work basket. Now,
tell me, which is superior to the other."
"That depends on what you want to do with them," replied Helen. "If you
were going to sew on shoe buttons, you'd use this big one. If you wanted
to hem a cambric handkerchief, you'd take this fine one."
"Just so. Each is superior in its special place, and both are necessary.
This is just as it seems to me in regard to the ability of men and
women. They are both minds; one strong, robust, enduring rough usage;
the other fine, delicate, going where the first cannot go, and therefore
supplementing it, and increasing the range of work that can be
accomplished. The fine needle might complain that it could not do hard
work, but do you think the complaint would be justifiable?"
"Why, no, I don't; but tell me what great things a woman can do--things
that are worth while, I mean; something besides keep house and take care
of children. It seems to me that merely to be a cook and nurse girl is
not a very high calling."
"She might be a chemist," suggested Mr. Wayne.
"Oh, yes, a few women might; but I mean something that I could be, or
other girls like me who have no special talent."
"There is a great need of scientific knowledge among women. Every
housekeeper needs to know something of chemistry. The woman who knows
the chemical action of acids and alkalies on each other will never use
soda with sweet milk, nor make the mistake of using an excess of soda
with sour milk. And every day, in a myriad of ways, her knowledge of
chemistry will be called into use."
"Then every woman should be a psychologist, most especially if she is to
have the care of children."
"O, father, you use such big words. Tell me just what you mean."
"I mean that the office of nurse or mother demands the highest study of
mental evolution. More big words, but I'll try to make you understand.
"It seems to you that any one can take care of a baby. But what is a
baby? Not just a helpless little animal, to be fed and clothed and kept
warm. A baby is a spirit in the process of development. From the moment
of birth it is being educated by everything around it; the very tones of
voice used in speaking to it are educating it. It is a great thing to be
President of the United States, but that president was once a baby. His
life depended on the way he was fed and cared for; his character was
largely created by the circumstances of his life; and his mental
powers--which he inherited from both parents--were in his babyhood and
early childhood largely under the training of some woman. That woman,
whether mother or nurse, had the first chance to develop him, to make
him worthy or unworthy. John Quincy Adams said, 'All I am I owe to my
mother,' and that is the testimony of many of earth's greatest men.
Garfield's first kiss after his inauguration was very justly given to
his mother.
"God has entrusted mothers with life's grandest work, the moulding of
humanity in its plastic stage. You have done clay modelling in school,
and you know that when the clay is fresh and moist you can make of it
almost anything you will, but when it has hardened it is past
remodelling. It is just the same with humanity. In babyhood the mind is
plastic; when one has grown to maturity, it is hard and unyielding. Man
makes _things_; woman makes _men_. Which is the greater work?"
Helen hesitated. "It seems very noble as you talk of it, to train a
child; but you know people don't feel that way. Mothers cuddle their
babies, to be sure, but men think caring for babies is beneath them.
They sneer at it as woman's work."
"Not all men, dear. Some of the great men of the world have spent years
in the study of infancy, realizing that to know how the baby develops
will enable them to understand better how to train it, and rightly to
train babies is in reality to make the nation."
Helen, leaning her head back on her father's shoulder, was silent for a
while, then she kissed him softly, saying, "Thank you, father dear. It
has been a beautiful talk together. I am sure it will help me to be a
better woman."