egraphed for
were waiting to care for the little girl. She was conscious by this
time, and with the most exquisite gentleness my rustic Bayard lifted her
in his arms to carry her off the train. Quite unnecessarily I motioned
to him not to let her see her dead mother. He was not the sort who
needed that warning; he had already turned her face to his shoulder,
and, with head bent low above her, was safely skirting the spot where
the long, covered figure lay.

Evidently the station was his destination, too, for he remained there;
but just as the train pulled out he came hurrying to my window, took the
carnation from his buttonhole, and without a word handed it to me. And
after the tragic hour in which I had learned to know him the crushed
flower, from that man, seemed the best fee I had ever received.

IX. "AUNT SUSAN"

In The Life of Susan B. Anthony it is mentioned that 1888 was a year of
special recognition of our great leader's work, but that it was also the
year in which many of her closest friends and strongest supporters were
taken from her by death. A. Bronson Alcott was among these, and Louisa
M. Alcott, as well as Dr. Lozier; and special stress is laid on Miss
Anthony's sense of loss in the diminishing circle of her friends--a loss
which new friends and workers came forward, eager to supply.

"Chief among these," adds the record, "was Anna Shaw, who, from the time
of the International Council in '88, gave her truest allegiance to Miss
Anthony."

It is true that from that year until Miss Anthony's death in 1906 we two
were rarely separated; and I never read the paragraph I have just
quoted without seeing, as in a vision, the figure of "Aunt Susan" as she
slipped into my hotel room in Chicago late one night after an evening
meeting of the International Council. I had gone to bed--indeed, I was
almost asleep when she came, for the day had been as exhausting as it
was interesting. But notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, "Aunt
Susan," then nearing seventy, was still as fresh and as full of
enthusiasm as a young girl. She had a great deal to say, she declared,
and she proceeded to say it--sitting in a big easy-chair near the bed,
with a rug around her knees, while I propped myself up with pillows and
listened.

Hours passed and the dawn peered wanly through the windows, but still
Miss Anthony talked of the Cause always of the Cause--and of what we two
must do for it. The previous evening she had been