cation and opportunity that come
afterward, and that put women where they are to-day. And men must be
counted for such things. It is man's work that has made these
women's platforms. They have the capital of strength, and capital
draws interest. The right of the strongest isn't necessarily
_oppression_ by the strongest. That's the way I look at it. And I
think that what women lose in claim they gain in privilege."

"Only when women come to knock about the world without any claims,
they don't seem to get much privilege," said Marion.

"I don't know. It seems rude to say so, perhaps, but they find a
world ready made to knock round _in_, don't they? And it is because
there's so much done that they couldn't have done themselves, that
they find the chances waiting for them that they do. And the chances
are multiplying with civilization, all the time. You see the
question really goes back to first conditions, and lies upon the
fact that first conditions may come back any day,--do come back,
here and there, continually. Put man and woman together on the
primitive earth, and it is the man that has got to subdue it; the
woman is what Scripture calls her,--the helpmeet. And my notion is
that if everything was right, a woman never should have to 'knock
round alone.' It isn't the real order of Providence. I think
Providence has been very much interfered with."

"There are widows," said Rachel, gently.

"Yes; and the 'fatherless and the widows' are everybody's charge to
care for. I said--if things were right. I wish the energy was spent
in bringing round the right that is used up in fitting things to the
wrong."

"They say there are too many women in the world altogether!" said
Marion, squarely.

"I guess not--for all the little children," said Frank Sunderline;
and his tone sounded suddenly sweet and tender.

He was helping them out of the car, now, at the village station, and
they went up the long steps to the street. All three walked on
without more remark, for a little way. Then Marion broke out in her
odd fashion,--

"Ray Ingraham! you've got a home and everything sure and
comfortable. Just tell me what you'd do, if you were a widow and
fatherless or anything, and nobody took you in charge."

"The thing I knew best, I suppose," said Rachel, quietly. "I think
very likely I could be--a baker. But I'm certain of this much," she
added lightly. "I never would make a brick loaf; that always seemed
to me a man's perversio