certainly term menial. I dreaded to
learn what Tom would say of me. Already I had seen Malcolm one day on
Fifth Avenue, and bowed to him from the Sewall automobile. Surely, he
would report me; but either he didn't recognize me, or else he didn't
recognize Mrs. Sewall, for Lucy's letters proved she was still ignorant
of my occupation. I accepted kind fate's protection of me; I lived in
precious and uninterrupted seclusion.

Of course, I marched in the suffrage parade when it took place in May. I
rode on Mrs. Scot-Williams' beautiful, black, blue-ribbon winner. Mrs.
Scot-Williams, Mrs. Sewall, and a group of other New York society women
tossed me flowers from a prominent balcony as I rode up Fifth Avenue. I
carried only the American flag. It was my wish. I wanted no slogan. "Let
her have her way," nodded Mrs. Scot-Williams to the other ladies. "The
dear child's eyes will tell the rest of the story."

The parade was a tremendous experience to me. Even the long tedious
hours of waiting before it started were packed with significance. There
we all were, rich and poor; society women and working girls; teachers,
stenographers, shirtwaist makers; actresses, mothers, sales-women;
Catholic and Protestant; Jew and Gentile; black and white; German,
French, Pole and Italian--all there, gathered together by one great
common interest. The old sun that shone down upon us that day had never
witnessed on this planet such a leveler of fortune, station, country and
religion. The petty jealousies and envies had fallen away, for a period,
from all us women gathered there that day, and the touch of our joined
hands inspired and thrilled. Not far in front of me in the line of march
there was a poor, old, half-witted woman, who became the target of gibes
and jeers; I felt fierce protection of her. Behind me were dozens of
others who were smiled or laughed at by ridiculing spectators; I felt
protection of them all.

For hours before the parade started I sat on the curbing of the
side-walk with a prominent society woman on one side, and a plain little
farmer's wife from up state on the other. We talked, and laughed, and
ate sandwiches together that I bought in a grimy lunch-room.

When finally the parade started, and I, mounted on Mrs. Scot-Williams'
beautiful Lady F, felt myself moving slowly up Fifth Avenue to the
martial music of drums, brass horns, and tambourines; sun shining,
banners waving, above me my flag making a sky of stars and str