e has
happened. I admit it is a misfortune, a catastrophe. Probably the
greatest catastrophe that, under our present social system, can happen
to an unmarried young woman. What are you going to do? Are you going to
disgrace her--incidentally disgracing yourselves--are you going to kick
her out of the house, condemning her to a suicide's grave, or to a life
that is often worse than death? Or are you going to stand by her in her
dark hours, to shield her, to surround her with a wall of protection
against a cruel and wantonly inquisitive world, and thus earn her
eternal gratitude, and put her on the path of self-improvement and
useful social work? Which shall it be? But before you decide, kindly
bear in mind that your girl is not entirely to blame; that some of the
blame lies with you. If she had been _properly_ brought up, this would
not have happened. I know such a thing could never have happened in my
household. But I know how I would have acted if such a thing had
happened. And I will tell you how one father and mother did act under
the circumstances.

They were far from rich; just fairly comfortable; they had a
well-paying store. Edith was their treasure, because she was so pretty
and so full of life. Unfortunately, she was too pretty and too full of
life. She was only seventeen, but was fully developed, and had many
empty-headed young admirers, who showered upon her silly compliments
and cloying sweets. She became frivolous and flirtatious and was
beginning to do poorly in high school. She failed in her last year,
and refused to take the year over again. Now, all the time being her
own, and having nobody to give any account to, she began to go out a
good deal, and more than ever indulged in flirtations. One night she
stayed out later than usual, her parents were worried, and when she
came home about two in the morning there was a quarrel, and the
father, who was a strict, impulsive man, gave her a pretty good
beating. After that she went out very little, kept to herself, became
rather melancholy, lost her appetite, and did not sleep well. To all
inquiries she answered that there was nothing the matter with her,
that she just felt a little indisposed. Four or five months thus
passed.

But finally the condition could no longer be concealed. The mother was
the first one to discover it. When the fact dawned upon her
consciousness that her beautiful, not quite eighteen-year-old Edith
was pregnant she promptly fell in a