places.  And it will seem to them as great and beautiful a thing to do.  They won’t be buried, either.  When they take the work up, and glorify it, it will glorify them.  We don’t know yet what households might be, if now we have got the wheels so perfected, we would put the living spirit into the wheels.  They are the motive power; homes are the primary meetings.  They would be little kingdoms, of great might!  I wish women would be content with their mainspring work, and not want to go out and point the time upon the dial!”

Mother never would have made so long a speech, but that beautiful old Mrs. Pennington was answering her back all the time out of her eyes.  There was such a magnetism between them for the moment, that she scarcely knew she was saying it all.  The color came up in their cheeks, and they were young and splendid, both of them.  We thought it was as good a Woman’s Convention as if there had been two thousand of them instead of two.  And when some of the things out of the closets get up on the house-tops, maybe it will prove so.

Madam Pennington leaned over and kissed mother when she took her hand at going away.  And then Miss Elizabeth spoke out suddenly,—­

“I have not done my errand yet, Mrs. Holabird.  Mother has taken up all the time.  I want to have some nexts.  Your girls know what I mean; and I want them to take hold and help.  They are going to be ’next Thursdays,’ and to begin this very coming Thursday of all.  I shall give primary invitations only,—­and my primaries are to find secondaries.  No household is to represent merely itself; one or two, or more, from one family are to bring always one or two, or more, from somewhere else.  I am going to try if one little bit of social life cannot be exogenous; and if it can, what the branching-out will come to.  I think we want sapwood as well as heartwood to keep us green.  If anybody doesn’t quite understand, refer to ‘How Plants Grow—­Gray.’”

She went off, leaving us that to think of.

Two days after she looked in again, and said more.  “Besides that, every primary or season invitation imposes a condition.  Each member is to provide one practical answer to ‘What next?’ ‘Next Thursday’ is always to be in charge of somebody.  You may do what you like, or can, with it.  I’ll manage the first myself.  After that I wash my hands.”

Out of it grew fourteen incomparable Thursday evenings.  Pretty much all we can do about them is to tell that they were; we should want fourteen new numbers to write their full history.  It was like Mr. Hale’s lovely “Ten Times One is Ten.”  They all came from that one blessed little Halloween party of ours.  It means something that there is such a thing as the multiplication-table; doesn’t it?  You can’t help yourself if you start a unit, good or bad.  The Garden of Eden, and the Ark, and the Loaves and Fishes, and the Hundred and Forty-four Thousand sealed in their foreheads, tell of it, all through the Bible, from first to last.  “Multiply!” was the very next, inevitable commandment, after the “Let there be!”