We learned several lessons that bitter hour. Our explanations, though lame, must have been intelligible, for, moderating a little, she explained that they had no such system in Massachusetts, and that it would be necessary to qualify in certain studies since we were not graduates of a college; but that as we were so recently out of school (and this seemed reprehensible on our part), we would probably have no difficulty. Then she examined our papers. Those cold eyes passed rapidly up and down; once in a while she would look up, sometimes ask a question, then read on. She could not have been conscious of the torture she inflicted, or she would surely have been easier on those sleepy, hungry, homesick girls, so completely at her mercy. Now as I dimly recall what my essay was, I wonder that her sarcasm and harshness were so moderate. I remember I quoted from “Lucile” about the mission of woman being “to help and to heal the sick world that leans on her.” She grunted when she put my paper down, and I breathed freer. Then, taking up Belle’s, she gave an angry snort--something had acted like a red rag to a bull: “Minnie Isabel Washburn! Is that your name?” “Ye-es, ma’am,” Belle timidly confessed. “Were you christened that?” (Glaring at her) “I wasn’t christened, I was baptized,” Belle corrected boldly, the Baptist in her rampant--her religion was something for which she could show courage even in this encounter. “Well, it won’t be tolerated here. When _will_ mothers learn to give their children sensible names? Doctor _Minnie_ Washburn! How will that sound?” and she almost annihilated us in scorn. Belle was speechless, Belle the assured one, to whom I had looked for leadership and help in all these new experiences; Belle of the boasted self-confidence, of the undaunted courage! It was a strange sight to see her cowed, but that woman’s face and voice were enough to intimidate any one. Without thinking, surprised and scared at my own voice, but goaded to it by the pain she was inflicting, I ventured: “I don’t suppose Belle’s mother knew she was going to be a doctor when she gave her that name.” My! how she turned and glared at me! Our eyes were about on a level. I don’t know whether I flinched or not; I have a recollection of a superhuman effort to glare back, but dare say I weakened. I remember her look seemed to say: “You little upstart! who asked you to speak?” Then she announced: “Well, it can’t go down ‘Minnie’--that’s settled. You will have to drop that and just keep the ‘Isabel.’” “But I can’t drop it (Belle was almost crying)--it was my grandmother’s name; I’ll have to write home and ask my father first.” “No time for that--the way you register to-day, that way your diploma has to read. We will have to see the Dean about this; but you may as well understand we will have no ‘_i-e_’ names here; we graduate women, not babies. I’ll see the Dean.”