none of the processes by which teachers are created. Her fellow
students, most of whom were younger than she, were practically all the
green fruitage of high schools, but she asked no immunities or
privileges by reason of her college training; she yielded herself
submissively to the "system," and established herself among the other
novices on a footing of good comradeship. During the hot, vexatious days
she met them with unfailing good cheer. The inspiring example of her
college teachers, and not least the belief she had absorbed on the
Madison campus in her girlhood, that teaching is a high calling, eased
the way for her at times when--as occasionally happened--she failed to
appreciate the beauty of the "system."

The superintendent of schools, dropping into the Normal after hours,
caught Sylvia in the act of demonstrating a problem in geometry on the
blackboard for the benefit of a fellow student who had not yet abandoned
the hope of entering the state university that fall. The superintendent
had been in quest of a teacher of mathematics for the Manual Training
School, and on appealing to the Wellesley authorities they had sent him
Sylvia's name. Sylvia, the chalk still in her fingers, met his humorous
reproaches smilingly. She had made him appear ridiculous in the eyes of
her _alma mater_, he said. Sylvia declined his offer and smiled. The
superintendent was not used to smiles like that in his corps. And this
confident young woman seemed to know what she was about. He went away
mystified, and meeting John Ware related his experience. Ware laughed
and slapped his knee. "You let that girl alone," the minister said. "She
has her finger on Time's wrist. Physician of the golden age. Remember
Matthew Arnold's lines on Goethe? Good poem. Sylvia wants to know 'the
causes of things.' Watch her. Great nature."

At seven o'clock on a morning of September, Sylvia left Elizabeth House
to begin her novitiate as a teacher. Allen had declared his intention of
sending his automobile for her every morning, an offer that was promptly
declined. However, on that bright morning when the young world turned
schoolward, Harwood lay in wait for her.

"This must never happen again, sir! And of course you may not carry my
books--they're the symbol of my profession. Seventeen thousand young
persons about like me are on the way to school this morning right here
in Indiana. It would be frightfully embarrassing to the educational
system if youn