ice in the pitcher to take the
cold sponge bath which nothing could induce her to omit since she had
begun to follow the water cure, a new therapeutic method then in
vogue.

For a time Ernestine Rose came to her aid and it was a relief to turn
over the meetings to such an accomplished speaker. But for the most
part Susan braved it alone. Steadily adding names to her petitions
and leaving behind the leaflets which Elizabeth Stanton had written,
she aroused a glimmer of interest in a new valuation of women.

[Illustration: Parker Pillsbury]

On the stagecoach leaving Lake George on a particularly cold day, she
found to her surprise a wealthy Quaker, whom she had met at the Albany
convention, so solicitous of her comfort that he placed heated planks
under her feet, making the long ride much more bearable. He turned up
again, this time with his own sleigh, at the close of one of her
meetings in northern New York, and wrapped in fur robes, she drove
with him behind spirited gray horses to his sisters' home to stay over
Sunday, and then to all her meetings in the neighborhood. It was
pleasant to be looked after and to travel in comfort and she enjoyed
his company, but when he urged her to give up the hard life of a
reformer to become his wife, there was no hesitation on her part. She
had dedicated her life to freeing women and Negroes and there could be
no turning aside. If she ever married, it must be to a man who would
encourage her work for humanity, a great man like Wendell Phillips, or
a reformer like Parker Pillsbury.

Returning home in May 1855, she took stock of her accomplishments. She
had canvassed fifty-four counties and sold 20,000 tracts. Her expenses
had been $2,291 and she had paid her way by selling tracts and by a
small admission charge for her meetings. She even had seventy dollars
over and above all expenses. She promptly repaid the fifty dollars
which Wendell Phillips had advanced, but he returned it for her next
campaign.

However, her heart quailed at the prospect of another such winter, as
she recalled the long, bitter-cold days of travel and the indifference
of the women she was trying to help. Even the unfailing praise of her
family and of Elizabeth Stanton, even the kindness and interest of the
new friends she made paled into insignificance before the thought of
another lone crusade. She was exhausted and suffering with rheumatic
pains, and yet she would not rest, but prepared for an ambitious