s.

All the morning the two girls sat extracting from Mrs. Westmacott her
most extreme view as to the duty of the one sex and the tyranny of the
other. Absolute equality, even in details, was her ideal. Enough of the
parrot cry of unwomanly and unmaidenly. It had been invented by man
to scare woman away when she poached too nearly upon his precious
preserves. Every woman should be independent. Every woman should learn a
trade. It was their duty to push in where they were least welcome. Then
they were martyrs to the cause, and pioneers to their weaker sisters.
Why should the wash-tub, the needle, and the housekeeper's book be
eternally theirs? Might they not reach higher, to the consulting-room,
to the bench, and even to the pulpit? Mrs. Westmacott sacrificed her
tricycle ride in her eagerness over her pet subject, and her two fair
disciples drank in every word, and noted every suggestion for future
use. That afternoon they went shopping in London, and before evening
strange packages began to be handed in at the Doctor's door. The plot
was ripe for execution, and one of the conspirators was merry and
jubilant, while the other was very nervous and troubled.

When the Doctor came down to the dining-room next morning, he was
surprised to find that his daughters had already been up some time. Ida
was installed at one end of the table with a spirit-lamp, a curved glass
flask, and several bottles in front of her. The contents of the flask
were boiling furiously, while a villainous smell filled the room. Clara
lounged in an arm-chair with her feet upon a second one, a blue-covered
book in her hand, and a huge map of the British Islands spread across
her lap. "Hullo!" cried the Doctor, blinking and sniffing, "where's the
breakfast?"

"Oh, didn't you order it?" asked Ida.

"I! No; why should I?" He rang the bell. "Why have you not laid the
breakfast, Jane?"

"If you please, sir, Miss Ida was a workin' at the table."

"Oh, of course, Jane," said the young lady calmly. "I am so sorry. I
shall be ready to move in a few minutes."

"But what on earth are you doing, Ida?" asked the Doctor. "The smell is
most offensive. And, good gracious, look at the mess which you have made
upon the cloth! Why, you have burned a hole right through."

"Oh, that is the acid," Ida answered contentedly. "Mrs. Westmacott said
that it would burn holes."

"You might have taken her word for it without trying," said her father
dryly.

"But look he