o the
policeman before the steps leading to the stand and said smilingly:

"Pardon me," and stepped behind him and was on the stand before he
realized that he had been fooled. Her white-clad figure upon the
platform attracted a thousand eyes in a second, and in a moment she was
speaking:

"I am here to defend our ancient rights of meeting, speaking, and trial
by jury." A policeman started for her. She smiled and waved him back
with such a dignity of mien that her very manner stopped him.

When he hesitated, knowing that she was a person of consequence in
Harvey, she went on: "No cause can thrive until it maintains anew its
right to speech, to assemble and to have its day in court before a jury.
Every cause must fight this world-old fight--and then if it is a just
cause, when it has won those ancient rights--which are not rights at all
but are merely ancient battle grounds on which every cause must fight,
then any cause may stand a chance to win. I think we should make it
clear now that as free-born Americans, no one has a right to stop us
from meeting and speaking; no one has a right to deny us jury trials. I
believe the time has come when we should ignore rather definitely--" she
paused, and turned to the policeman standing beside her, "we should
ignore rather finally this proclamation of the provost marshal and
should insist rather firmly that he shall try to enforce it."

A policeman stepped suddenly and menacingly toward her. She did not
flinch. The dignity of five generations of courtly Satterthwaites rose
in her as she gazed at the clumsy officer. She saw Grant Adams coming up
at a side entrance to the grove. The policeman stopped. She desired to
divert the policeman and the crowd from Grant Adams. The crowd tittering
at the quick halt of the policeman, angered him. Again he stepped toward
her. His face was reddening. The Satterthwaite dignity mounted, but the
Nesbit mind guided her, and she said coldly: "All right, sir, but you
must club me. I'll not give up my rights here so easily."

Three officers made a rush for her, grabbed her by the arms, and,
struggling, she went off the platform, but she left Grant Adams standing
upon it and a cheering crowd saw the ruse.

"I'm here," he boomed out in his great voice, "because 'the woods were
man's first temples' and we'll hold them for that sacred right to-day."
The police were waiting for him to put his toe across the line of
defiance. "We'll transgress this orde