r the likeness of an
ancestor" is the unalterable law of the lower animal. Not so with
man--he is a strange anomaly. Breed him up--up--and then from his
high breeding will come reversion. From pedigrees and plumed hats and
ruffled shirts come not men, but pygmies--things which in the real
fight of life are but mice to the eagles which have come up from the
soil with the grit of it in their craws and the strength of it in
their talons.

We stop in wonder--balked. Then we see that we cannot breed men--they
are born; not in castles, but in cabins.

And why in cabins? For therein must be the solution. And the solution
is plain: It is work--work that does it.

We cannot breed men unless work--achievement--goes with it.

From the loins of great horses come greater horses; for the pedigree
of work--achievement--is there. Unlike man, the race-horse is kept
from degeneracy by work. Each colt that comes must add achievement
to pedigree when he faces the starter, or he goes to the shambles or
the surgeon.

Why may not man learn this simple lesson--the lesson of work--of
pedigree, but the pedigree of achievement?

The son who would surpass his father must do more than his father
did. Two generations of idleness will beget nonentities, and three,
degenerates.

The preacher, the philosopher, the poet, the ruler--it matters not
what his name--he who first solves the problem of how to keep mankind
achieving will solve the problem of humanity.

And now to Helen Conway for the first time in her life this simple
thing was happening--she was working--she was earning--she was
supporting herself and Lily and her father. Not only that, but
gradually she was learning to know what the love of one like Clay
meant--unselfish, devoted, true.

If to every tempted woman in the world could be given work, and to
work achievement, and to achievement independence, there would be few
fallen ones.

All the next week Helen went to the mill early--she wanted to go. She
wanted to earn more money and keep Lily out of the mill. And she went
with a light heart, because for the first time in her life since she
could remember, her father was sober. Helen's earnings changed even
him. There was something so noble in her efforts that it uplifted
even the drunkard. In mingled shame and pride he thought it out:
Supported by his daughter--in a mill and such a daughter! He arose
from it all white-lipped with resolve: "_I will be a Conway again!_"
He said