cording to my idea, and
it's what distinguishes us from foreigners,--the foreigners who made
that vase, for instance. But I agree with you that there's such a thing
as going too fast, and very likely some of the buildings here aren't all
they might be. We don't need to model them on foreign patterns, but we
must have them pretty and right."

"Certainly, certainly, my dear. What we should strive for is
originality--American originality; but soberly, slowly. Art is evolved
painfully, little by little; it can't be bought ready-made at shops for
the asking like tea and sugar. If we invite designs for the new church,
we shall give the youths of the country who have ideas seething in their
heads a chance to express themselves. Who knows but we may unearth a
genius?"

"Who knows?" echoed Selma, with her spiritual look. "Yes, you are right,
Mrs. Taylor. I will help you. As you say, there must be hundreds of
young men who would like to do just that sort of thing. I know myself
what it is to have lived in a small place without the opportunity to
show what one could do; to feel the capacity, but to be without the
means and occasion to reveal what is in one. And now that I understand
we really look at things the same way, I'm glad to join with you in
making Benham beautiful. As you say, we women can do much if we only
will. I've the greatest faith in woman's mission in this new,
interesting nation of ours. Haven't you, Mrs. Taylor? Don't you believe
that she, in her new sphere of usefulness, is one of the great moving
forces of the Republic?" Selma was talking rapidly, and had lost every
trace of suspicious restraint. She spoke as one transfigured.

"Yes, indeed," answered Mrs. Taylor, checking any disposition she may
have felt to interpose qualifications. She could acquiesce generally
without violence to her convictions, and she could not afford to imperil
the safety of the immediate issue--her church. "I felt sure you would
feel so if you only had time to reflect," she added. "If you vote with
us, you will have the pleasant consciousness of knowing that you have
advanced woman's cause just so much."

"You may count on my vote."

Selma stopped on her way home, although it was late, to purchase some
white cuffs. As she approached, her husband stood on the grass-plot in
his shirt sleeves with a garden-hose. He was whistling, and when he saw
her he kissed his hand at her jubilantly,

"Well, sweetheart, where you been?"

"Vis