“I heard my mamma and some other ladies talking about you,” she said, “and wondering what you would be like; and they said that women like you who go out making speeches never know how to dress themselves, and they said that they bet a cent that you just flung your clothes on,—­and do you?  Because I think it must be lovely to be able to fling your clothes on—­and I wish I could!  Don’t you tell that I told you, will you?—­but that is why I came over.  I live over there,”—­she pointed to a house across the street,—­“and I often come to this house.  I brought over a jar of cream this morning.  My mamma sent it over to Mrs. Price, because she was having you stay here.”

“That was very kind of your mamma,” I said, much pleased with this evidence of her mother’s good-will.

“Oh, yes,” said my visitor.  “My mamma says she always likes to help people out when they are in trouble.  But no one knows that I am here but just you and me.  I watched and watched for you, and when you came nobody was looking and I slipped out and came right in, and never knocked—­nor nothin’.”

I assured my small guest that mum was the word, and that I should be delighted to have her for a spectator while I went on with the process of making myself look as nice as nature would allow.  But she was plainly disappointed when she found that I was not one bit quicker about dressing than plenty of others, even though she tried to speed me up a little.

Soon the President came for me and took me to the Municipal Hall, where the meeting was to be held.

I knew, just as soon as I went in, that it was going to be a good meeting.  There was a distinct air of preparedness about everything—­some one had scrubbed the floor and put flags on the wall and flowers in the windows; over in the corner there was a long, narrow table piled up with cups and saucers, with cake and sandwiches carefully covered from sight; but I knew what caused the lumpiness under the white cloth.  Womanly instinct—­which has been declared a safer guide than man’s reasoning—­told me that there were going to be refreshments, and the delightful odor of coffee, which escaped from the tightly closed boiler on the stove, confirmed my deductions.  Then I noticed that a handbill on the wall spoke freely of it, and declared that every one was invited to stay, although there did not seem to be much need of this invitation—­certainly there did not seem to be any climatic reason for any one’s leaving any place of shelter; for now the wind, confirming our worst suspicions of it, began to drive frozen splinters of sleet against the windows.

By three o’clock the hall was full,—­women mostly, for it was still the busy time for the men on the farms.  Many of the women brought their children with them.  Soon after I began to speak, the children fell asleep, tired out with struggling with wind and weather, and content to leave the affairs of state with any one who wanted them.  But the women watched me with eager faces which seemed to speak back to me.  The person who drives ten miles against a head wind over bad roads to hear a lecture is not generally disposed to slumber.  The faces of these women were so bright and interested that, when it was over, it seemed to me that it had been a conversation where all had taken part.