t on. "You think you are going
to make the women live same as men. You can't do it. We ain't for
ourselves, we are jest made for them. I wouldn't mind it so much if my
hens hadn't all died!"

Selah fled from the house, climbed into the car, and commanded the
chauffeur to drive on.

"I knew it wasn't any use for you to go in there," said Mrs. Deal,
staring at the girl's stricken face. "Did she tell you all her hens were
dead?"

"Yes, but it wasn't that, nor her forlorn condition; it was something
else. She said she was dead, too: 'Women don't live you know, they just
work!' Ah, it was awful!"

"We've had four women from this settlement sent to the asylum just like
that," Mrs. Deal added after a pause as they moved swiftly along the
fragrant June road.

It was Saturday afternoon; they were on their way to a meeting of the
Co-Citizens' League at Possum Trot. Mr. Deal, a prosperous farmer, was
also the justice of the peace in the tiny mountain village; and this
also happened to be the day when he retailed justice in small sentences
in the usual neighbourhood squabbles.

Court had adjourned as they entered the village. Men stood in groups
before the one store, talking in undertones as women passed--all going
in the direction of the schoolhouse, which stood exactly opposite. Deal
was "dressed up"--that is to say, he wore his coat, collar, and tie. He
stood combing his whiskers and looking over his steel-rimmed spectacles
at Mrs. Deal, who descended from the automobile and followed Selah into
the house.

Presently another man flirted his head to one side, spat on the ground,
and looked at Deal, whose face above his whiskers was puffed out in a
fat smile.

"Helendamnation, Squire! what does all this female gaddin' and gittin'
together and whisperin' mean?" he snickered.

"Nothin'!" answered Deal.

"What we goin' to do about it?"

"Nothin'!"

"But they tell me they're fixin' to vote or bust."

"Well, they won't! it's just a piece of devilment started by Susan
Walton to pretend she's earnin' her salary as trustee of that fool Fund
the Mosely woman left. She's puttin' the Adams girl up to this. 'Tain't
nothin'. Susan Walton ain't the husband of my wife nor the head of my
family. What I say goes in my house!"

"I don't know, things is gittin' mighty queer, especially the women. My
wife's quit talkin'! I hear they're fixin' to boycott us durin' the
harvest season if we don't vote for 'em!"

"I've been married t