, the
entire countryside poured in to hear her. Far back in the crowded hall
I sat alone and listened to her, thrilled by the lecture and tremulous
with the hope of meeting the lecturer. When she had finished speaking I
joined the throng that surged forward from the body of the hall, and
as I reached her and felt the grasp of her friendly hand I had a sudden
conviction that the meeting was an epoch in my life. I was right. Some
one in the circle around us told her that I wanted to preach, and that
I was meeting tremendous opposition. She was interested at once. She
looked at me with quickening sympathy, and then, suddenly putting an arm
around me, drew me close to her side.

"My dear," she said, quietly, "if you want to preach, go on and preach.
Don't let anybody stop you. No matter what people say, don't let them
stop you!"

For a moment I was too overcome to answer her. These were almost my
first encouraging words, and the morning stars singing together could
not have made sweeter music for my ears. Before I could recover a woman
within hearing spoke up.

"Oh, Mrs. Livermore," she exclaimed, "don't say that to her! We're all
trying to stop her. Her people are wretched over the whole thing. And
don't you see how ill she is? She has one foot in the grave and the
other almost there!"

Mrs. Livermore turned upon me a long and deeply thoughtful look. "Yes,"
she said at last, "I see she has. But it is better that she should die
doing the thing she wants to do than that she should die because she
can't do it."

Her words were a tonic which restored my voice. "So they think I'm going
to die!" I cried. "Well, I'm not! I'm going to live and preach!"

I have always felt since then that without the inspiration of Mrs.
Livermore's encouragement I might not have continued my fight. Her
sanction was a shield, however, from which the criticisms of the world
fell back. Fate's more friendly interest in my affairs that year was
shown by the fact that she sent Mrs. Livermore into my life before I had
met Anna Dickinson. Miss Dickinson came to us toward spring and lectured
on Joan of Arc. Never before or since have I been more deeply moved by
a speaker. When she had finished her address I made my happy way to the
front of the hall with the others who wished to meet the distinguished
guest. It was our local manager who introduced me, and he said, "This is
our Anna Shaw. She is going to be a lecturer, too."

I looked up at the bril