“_Come, Children of To-morrow, come!_ _New glory dawns upon the world._ _The ancient banners must be furled._ _The earth becomes our common home--_ _The earth becomes our common home._ _From plain and field and town there sound_ _The stirring rumors of the day._ _Old wrongs and burdens must make way_ _For men to tread the common ground._ “_Look up! The children win to their immortal place. March on, march on--within the ranks of all the human race._ “_Come, love of people, for the part_ _Invest our willing arms with might._ _Mother of Liberty, shed light_ _As on the land, so in the heart--_ _As on the land, so in the heart._ _Divided, we have long withstood_ _The love that is our common speech._ _The comrade cry of each to each_ _Is calling us to humanhood._” Hum it to the tune of that Marseilles piece, and you’ll know how we was all feeling. By the time they got down to their last two lines, my throat was about the size of my head. And then the bird-man got back in his little sulky seat, and he waved his hand to us, and he left his machine run down the field, and lift, and head straight for open country. His way lay, it seemed, right acrost Friendship Village; and he’d no more’n started before the band started too, playing the tune that by now was in everybody’s veins. And behind them the children fell in, singing again, and with the people streaming behind them they all marched off down Daphne Street--where the little shops lay waiting to be opened, and the polls was waiting to be voted in, and Friendship Village was waiting for us to know it was a town, like it meant. All us ladies went to scraping up plates like fury. Excep’ Mis’ Toplady. She stood for a minute wiping her eyes on a paper napkin. And she says: “Oh, ladies. I ain’t never felt so much like a human being since I was born one.” And me, I stood there looking across the Market Square to the school-house. There it was, with its doors open and the new voting machine setting in the hall,--they’d took the polls out of the barber shop and the livery stable sole because the voting machine got in the way of trade. They’d put it in the school-house. And it was to the school-house that the men were going now. “Oh,” I says to Mis’ Toplady, “would you think anybody could go in a child’s school-house, and vote for anybody that--” “No, no,” she says, “you wouldn’t think so, would you?”