elieves
it, and of course so do I. There was a teacher in college who was very
wise, mother says, and he warned them and warned them against what he
called popular complaints. He said they must always be careful before
they joined anything and promised to uphold it to understand _exactly_
what it was and how far it would lead them. He said it didn't matter
whether they were thinking of going into a nunnery or joining the
Salvation Army or the Suffragets or what else, they wanted to ask
themselves could they lift themselves and help humanity by doing that
thing. And he said in this day and age when there were so many
dissatisfied people everywhere, he thought the most important thing in
the world was to teach everyone, and especially children, the love of
country."

"Wise man," said Mrs. Hargrave, nodding. "What else?"

"He told them that love of country was not boasting about where you came
from, and telling everybody how high the corn grows in New York, or how
blue the grass is in Kentucky or things about places like that. He says
that is nothing but bragging. But he said what people needed was to love
all their country, east and west and south and north, to try to
understand one another and to pull together for the United States.

"And he said that if every one of those girls who married and had
children would teach them this as hard as ever they could, some day the
states would really be united, and wiser laws would be made, and all the
young Americans would love their country and be willing to live for her.
He said it is harder to live faithfully for anything than to die for it
because it takes so much longer."

"Bless my soul!" said Mrs. Hargrave again. "Go on!"

"That's all," said Helen. "I don't see what else I can do except teach
some children of my own about it, do you, Mrs. Hargrave?"

"I think that would be the finest thing you could do," said the
childless old lady. "Quite the finest! Are you going to college?"

"I want to," said Helen, "if we can afford it. We are saving up for it
all the time."

"How do you save?" asked Mrs. Hargrave. She was certainly a curious old
lady.

"Well," said Helen, "I wear my hair docked, and that saves a lot in
hair ribbons, only this fall mother says I must let it grow. When mother
takes me to buy a coat, we look at _two_ good ones that will last two
winters, but perhaps one has pretty braid or something on it, that makes
it cost more. Then if one of us looks as tho