at I almost stood in awe of her. She was so young, too, yet
strong--strong as God, I used to think--and full of hope, and courage,
and ambition. Ambition! that isn't a word often applied to women; yet I
say Claudia was ambitious. I upbraided her one day for this. She winced,
and came and knelt down at my feet, her face upon her hands, her arms
upon my knees, her sweet soul seeking mine through her eyes.

"Gertie," said she, "I wonder why God made me a woman and fixed no place
for me in all the many niches of creation. There is no room for such
women as I am; women with bodies moulded for womanhood, and souls
measured for man's burdens."

The words had a solemn sound--a solemn meaning likewise. I had no answer
for such awesome words, and so the child talked on.

"I had a mother once," she said, "who loved me, and who unfitted me--God
rest her sainted memory--for my battle with adversity. Nay, dear, don't
look so shocked. I say that she unfitted me by instilling into my heart
her own great grandeur, and her own grand courage. There is no room for
such, I tell you. As a frail female weakling the slums would have
cradled me; as a wife the world would have respected me; as a toiler for
honest bread there is _no place_ for me. My mother was to me a creature
next to God, and I have sometimes dared to put her first when I have
felt most deeply all her nobleness. My father died, then came our
struggle, hers and mine. I was her idol, she my God. We clung as only
child and parent can. I could have made good money in the shops or
factories. The neighbors said so, and advised that I be 'put to work.'

"'What need had paupers of such training as she was giving me? Poverty
was no disgrace, so it be honest poverty.'

"Aye, that's it. How long will poverty be honest in children's untrained
keeping? My mother understood, and knew my needs, as well.

"'The child is what the mother makes it,' was her creed. And so she set
her teeth against the factory and its damning influence, and she bade me
look higher, teaching by her own life that hunger of body is better than
a starved soul.

"Ambition was the food she gave my young life; that she declared the one
rope thrown by God's hand to the rescue of poor women. At last my soul
took fire with hers; my heart awoke.

"My struggles for opportunities tortured her. She sold her thimble
once,--a pretty golden one, my father's gift--that I might have a book I
needed. She did our household drud