The audience was plainly getting rest-
less under the combined effect, and finally a man in
the rear rose and added his voice to the tumult.
``Say, Miss Shaw,'' he yelled, ``don't you want
these children put out?''
It was our chance to remove the sad impression
of yesterday, and I grasped it.
``No, indeed,'' I yelled back. ``Nothing inspires
me like the voice of a child!''
A handsome round of applause from mothers and
fathers greeted this noble declaration, after which
the blessed babies and I resumed our joint vocal
efforts. When the speech was finished and we were
alone together, Miss Anthony put her arm around
my shoulder and drew me to her side.
``Well, Anna,'' she said, gratefully, ``you've cer-
tainly evened us up on motherhood this time.''
That South Dakota campaign was one of the
most difficult we ever made. It extended over nine
months; and it is impossible to describe the poverty
which prevailed throughout the whole rural com-
munity of the State. There had been three con-
secutive years of drought. The sand was like pow-
der, so deep that the wheels of the wagons in which
we rode ``across country'' sank half-way to the
hubs; and in the midst of this dry powder lay with-
ered tangles that had once been grass. Every one
had the forsaken, desperate look worn by the pioneer
who has reached the limit of his endurance, and the
great stretches of prairie roads showed innumerable
canvas-covered wagons, drawn by starved horses,
and followed by starved cows, on their way ``Back
East.
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