“Ah, the world is large; there are many who need us; rich or poor, we will find our work somewhere,” said Mildred softly, as if to herself. Then as Jim’s steps were heard at the door she started. “Come, Ralph, one last look at your books and room, it may be long before we return. Kiss Ruby, too; you must be her brother now, you know.” Two warm kisses were on my cheek, then the door opened and shut, and they were gone. Everything had been arranged for my comfort, and a month later, when I was able to travel in a private car which Mildred had sent us, aunt and Alice, cousin Will and I, were on the Northern Pacific Road again, bound eastward. And with us went the motherless little Karl and Annchen to find a new home and many friends. One day, as we were speeding along over the Dakota prairies, Alice and I fell to talking as usual about the summer that was past and its strange, strange ending. Suddenly Alice exclaimed, “But, Ruby, I never thought to ask you before; _do_ you understand why Mildred, on her deathbed as we supposed, should have stopped that minister? I thought I understood most of her ideas, but _that_ was inexplicable to me.” “Yes, I understand it, I suppose, for I once had an argument with her about it,” I replied. “I remember we had been to a stylish wedding at Trinity. There were ten bridesmaids, and the bride was dressed like a princess, and I remember how, as we drove away, Mildred exclaimed that she would rather have been married in a print dress in a log-cabin and promise what was honorable and true, than to have had the beautiful display which this bride had, and make such promises as she had done. “‘It is the most beautiful service in the world,’ I stoutly maintained; ‘pray what can you object to in it?’ “‘In the first place, the giving away of the bride is a humiliating thing,’ she said: ‘it is a relic of the feudal times, when a woman actually _was_ given away. It implies dependence; a woman is thus simply passed along from the guardianship of one man to that of another.’ “This was a novel idea which impressed me at first as being needlessly crotchety. ‘Then, of course,’ I replied, ‘you object to the promise to obey.’ “‘Certainly,’ said Mildred. ‘I should not respect myself if I could make such a promise. Obedience implies authority, and a man and his wife are equal. They do not stand in the relation of master and servant, employer and employee, or parent and child.’ “‘Yes; but it doesn’t mean anything,’ I expostulated, ‘it is simply a form.’ “‘So much the worse,’ was her uncompromising answer. ‘I will have no idle forms, no humiliating promises which I should not intend to keep. If I ever find the man whom I can marry, I think I shall love him enough not to be selfish and willful, and he will love me enough to respect me as his equal. There can be no question of authority and obedience in the true marriage.