either.' She seemed to have some
sense of injustice on her soul. 'We've been seeing just recently what they're made of, too!' She paused on the threshold and began to tell in a low voice of women 'new to the work,' who had been wavering, uncertain
if they could risk imprisonment--poor women with husbands and children.
'When they heard _what it might mean_--this battle we're fighting--they were ashamed not to help
us!' 'You mean----' Vida began, shrinking. 'Yes!' said the other,
fiercely. 'The older women saw they ought to save the younger ones from having to face that sort of thing. That was how we got some of the wives and mothers.' She went on with a stern emotion
that was oddly contagious, telling about a certain scene at the Headquarters of the Union. Against the grey and squalid background of a Poor Women's movement, stood out in those next seconds a picture that the true historian
who is to come will not neglect. A call for recruits with this result--a huddled group, all new, unproved, ignorant of the ignorant. The two or three leaders, conscience-driven, feeling it necessary to explain to the untried women that if they shared in the agitation, they were not only facing imprisonment,
but unholy handling. 'It was only fair to let them know the worst,' said the woman at the
door, 'before they were allowed to join us.' As the abrupt sentences fell, the grim little scene was reconstituted; the shrinking of the women wh
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