George saw that the interview was drawing to a close. Never in his life had he so desired to stand well in the opinion of any one, as in that of this frank, out-spoken, humane old man. Since he had been in Oakdale he had heard innumerable anecdotes of the doctor, all showing the deep admiration with which the populace regarded him; so in a moment of enthusiasm, possible rarely except in youth, George laid his heart open to the doctor; confessed his faults, his desire to follow the promptings of his higher nature, and to do some good in the world. The doctor, always sensitive to such moods, laid his hand kindly on the young man’s shoulder, and asked him if he really wanted a field for heroic work, and if he was equal to bearing the persecution of the world to-day for the sake of helping on a noble cause. George was eager to prove himself capable of any effort toward a noble end. “Then,” said the doctor, “make yourself the champion of woman’s rights—woman’s social and political emancipation. There are few young men in that field, and not one, sir, who does not stand, morally and intellectually, head and shoulders above the average young man of the period. You may think you cannot do much, but you know the ocean is made up of drops of water. Advocate the equal rights of human beings whenever you hear opposition. Go and hear speakers on the subject; study it up well. My library is at your disposal, and I will direct your reading.” George’s assent was earnest and prompt. He showed, indeed, that he had given some little attention to the subject, which pleased the doctor greatly, and he talked to him then, more as an equal, and thus flattered the ambitious young fellow, who went away carrying two of the doctor’s books under his arm, one of which was Mills’ work on _Liberty_. “Read this first,” said the doctor. “You can finish it this week. Bring it back next Sunday, and stay to dinner with us.” When the doctor gave him his hand at parting, he told him he might perhaps as well call on Annie that evening. “No doubt she’ll be ready to forgive you,” said the wily doctor. “Women are more merciful than men, and too good for us by half.” George thanked him with emotion when he told him where Annie was, and went away in a much happier mood than he had expected during one part of the doctor’s sermon. As for the doctor, he was well satisfied with his Sunday morning’s work. “It is with the young,” he said to himself, “that reformers must work. New transit lines of thought in their brains are easily established; while the brain in the old is like a dense forest of fossil California cedars.” And so thinking, the doctor walked rapidly to the home of his “girls,” as he called Clara and Susie. They listened to the account of the interview with George Storrs with great delight, and when they found he was coming that evening to see Annie, Clara clapped her hands with joy. “Susie, dear,” she said, “we’ll wrap her in my white