tism--then the girl was sure
she had the right to have children, even that hers would be better than
others."

"I can see that," I said. "And then she would be likely to rear them in
the same spirit."

"That we never allowed," answered Somel quietly.

"Allowed?" I queried. "Allowed a mother to rear her own children?"

"Certainly not," said Somel, "unless she was fit for that supreme task."

This was rather a blow to my previous convictions.

"But I thought motherhood was for each of you--"

"Motherhood--yes, that is, maternity, to bear a child. But education is
our highest art, only allowed to our highest artists."

"Education?" I was puzzled again. "I don't mean education. I mean by
motherhood not only child-bearing, but the care of babies."

"The care of babies involves education, and is entrusted only to the
most fit," she repeated.

"Then you separate mother and child!" I cried in cold horror, something
of Terry's feeling creeping over me, that there must be something wrong
among these many virtues.

"Not usually," she patiently explained. "You see, almost every woman
values her maternity above everything else. Each girl holds it close
and dear, an exquisite joy, a crowning honor, the most intimate, most
personal, most precious thing. That is, the child-rearing has come to
be with us a culture so profoundly studied, practiced with such subtlety
and skill, that the more we love our children the less we are willing to
trust that process to unskilled hands--even our own."

"But a mother's love--" I ventured.

She studied my face, trying to work out a means of clear explanation.

"You told us about your dentists," she said, at length, "those quaintly
specialized persons who spend their lives filling little holes in other
persons' teeth--even in children's teeth sometimes."

"Yes?" I said, not getting her drift.

"Does mother-love urge mothers--with you--to fill their own children's
teeth? Or to wish to?"

"Why no--of course not," I protested. "But that is a highly specialized
craft. Surely the care of babies is open to any woman--any mother!"

"We do not think so," she gently replied. "Those of us who are the
most highly competent fulfill that office; and a majority of our girls
eagerly try for it--I assure you we have the very best."

"But the poor mother--bereaved of her baby--"

"Oh no!" she earnestly assured me. "Not in the least bereaved. It is her
baby still--it is with her--she has not los