One and another of her
friends have been with her in the current but have left her and made
their way to safety. Only those from whom at first she shrank are with
her now. She has reached the place where the current is strong and rapid
and escape is doubtful. Her mother still believes her good, her father
still trusts her, but before long they will have to know. She began by
saying not "I meant to," but "I didn't mean to, I didn't think it was
wrong," not "I will do it tomorrow," but "I will never do it again." But
she did it again and yet again. She let go of the help that the church
offered and gave and went to the pleasure parks on Sunday. She let go of
a good friend who held her to the truth, and made a companion of the
girl who helped her invent the things she told her mother when she came
home very late. She let go of the good books little by little and read
the foolish stories that were exciting and absolutely impossible. She
let go of the little courtesies and one by one of the laws that good
society demands that its girls shall obey. She let go of modesty and in
dress and speech allowed herself to drift into the current where it is
swift and black.
If only parents had watched more closely, if girl friends had been
stronger, and older friends wiser, it would have been so easy when the
current just touched her and she was still near to all that is pure and
good.
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