to speak,” she said, “and I was the only person present who had known Margaret and remembered her.”
For a little while this incident weighed on her. She felt that she was “out of the running” ; but a winning race was close at hand.
The question of pure milk was before the Massachusetts Legislature, and was being hotly argued.
An urgent message came by telephone; would Mrs. Howe
say a word for the good cause?
Maud went to her room, and found her at her desk, the morning's campaign already begun.
“There is to be a hearing at the State House
on the milk question; they want you dreadfully to speak.
What do you say?”
“Give me half an hour!”
Before the half-hour was over she had sketched out her speech and dressed herself in her best flowered silk cloak and her new lilac hood, a birthday gift from a poor seamstress.
Arrived at the State House
, she sat patiently through many speeches.
Finally she was called on to speak; it was noticed that no oath was required of her. As she rose and came forward on her daughter's arm,--“You may remain seated, Mrs. Howe
,” said the benevolent chairman.
“I prefer to stand” was the reply.
She had left her notes behind; she did not need them.
Standing in the place where, year after year, she had stood to ask for the full rights of citizenship, she made her last thrilling appeal for justice.
“We have heard,” she said, “a great deal about the farmers' and the dealers' side of this case.
We want ”