"Women's homes," she says, "and women's little home clubs are enough to occupy any woman. A convention is men's business." "It is if it is," says I, "but think how often it is that it ain't." Mis' Toplady kept on, thoughtful. "Anyway, I been thinking," she says, "why don't we leave the _men_ join Sodality?" I dunno if you've ever suggested a revolution? Whether I'm in favor of any particular revolution or not, it always makes a nice, healthy minute. And it's such an elegant measuring rod for the brains of folks. "Why, how can we?" says Mis' Sykes. "We're the Married _Ladies'_ Cemetery Improvement Sodality." "Is that name," says Mis' Toplady, mild, "made up out o' cast-iron, Mis' Sykes?" "But our constitution says we shall consist of fifty married ladies," says Mis' Sykes, final. "Did we make that constitution," says I, "or did it make us? Are we a-idol-worshiping our constitution or are we a-growing inside it, and bursting out occasional?" "If you lived in back a ways, Calliope,"--Mis' Sykes begun. "Well," says I, "I might as well, if you're going to use _any_ rule or any law for a ball and chain for the leg instead of a stepping-stone for the feet." Mis' Fire Chief Merriman looked up from her buttonholing. "But we don't _want_ to do men's work, do we?" says she, distasteful. "Leave them do their club work and leave us do our club work, like the Lord meant." "Well--us women tended Cemetery quite a while," says I, "and the death rate wasn't confined to women, exclusive. Graves," says I, "is both genders, Mis' Fire Chief." Mis' State Senator Pettigrew, she chimed in. "So was the park. So was paving Main Street. So was getting pure milk. So was cleaning up the slaughter house--parse them and they're both genders, all of them. Of course let's us take men into the Sodality," says she. Mis' Sykes put her hand over her eyes. "My g-g-grandmother organized and named Sodality," she said. "I can't bear to see a change." "Cheer up, Mis' Sykes," I says, "you'll be a grandmother yourself some day. Can't you do a little something to let _your_ grandchildren point back to? Awful selfish," I says, "not to give them something to brag about." We didn't press the men proposition any more. We see it was too delicate. But bye and bye we talked it out, that we'd have a big meeting of everybody, men and women, and discuss over what the town needed, and what the Sodality ought to undertake. "That'll be real democratic," says Mis' Sykes, contented. "We'll give everybody a chance to express their opinion--and then afterwards we can take up just what we please." And we decided that was another reason for sending a delegate to the woman's convention, to get ahold of somebody, somehow, to come down to Friendship Village and talk to us. "Be kind of nice to show off to somebody, too," says Mis' Fire Chief Merriman, complacent, "what a nice, neat, up-to-date little town we've got."