ipes, and
behind me block upon block of my co-workers; I felt uplifted and at the
same time humbled.

"Here we come," I felt like saying. "Here we come a thousand strong--all
alike, no one higher than another. Here we come in quest. We come in
quest of a broader vision and a bigger life. We come, shoe-strings
dragging, skirts impeding, wind disheveling, holding on to inappropriate
head-gear, feathers awry, victims of old-time convictions, unadapted to
modern conditions, amateur marchers, poorly uniformed--but here we
come--just count us--here we come! You'll forget the shoe-strings after
you've watched a mile of us. You'll forget the conspicuous fanatics
among us (every movement has its lunatic fringe, somebody has said),
you'll forget the funny remarks, the jokes of newsboys, and the humorous
man you stood beside, after your legs begin to feel stiff and weary, and
still we keep on coming, squad upon squad, band upon band, banner upon
banner."

As I rode that day with all my sisters I felt for the first time in my
life the inspiration of cooeperation. It flashed across me that the
picture of the wheel with the wings was as untrue as it was impossible.
I had made a mistake. I was not that sort of wheel. I wasn't
superfluous. I was a tiny little wheel with cogs. I was set in a big and
tremendous machine--Life, and beside me were other wheels, which in
their turn fitted into other cogs of more and larger wheels. And to
make life run smoothly we all must work together, each quietly turning
his own big or small circumference as he had been fashioned. Alone
nothing could be accomplished. Wings indeed! Fairy-tales. Cog-wheels
must mesh. Human beings must cooeperate.

That night I had promised to spend with Mrs. Sewall. I didn't want to. I
wanted to see Esther Claff. I wanted to hear the tremor of her voice,
and watch her faint blue eyes grow bright and black. Tonight she would
put on her little ugly brown toque and gray suit, and join the other
girls, in somebody's studio or double bedroom. There would be great talk
tonight! We had all marched in one company or another. I wanted to hear
how the others felt. My feelings were tumultuous, confused. I longed for
Esther's fervor and calm eloquence. But I had promised Mrs. Sewall; she
had been particularly anxious; I couldn't go back on my word now; she
dreaded lonely evenings; and I was glad that I hadn't telephoned and
disappointed her when I finally did arrive a little before