“Why, Lorinda,” sez I, “did you ever think on’t how such mothers may watch over and be the end of the law to their children with the father’s full consent during infancy when they’re wrastlin’ with teethin’, whoopin’-cough, mumps, etc., can be queen of the nursery, dispensor of pure air, sunshine, sanitary, and safe surroundin’s in every way, and then in a few years see ’em go from her into dark, overcrowded, unsanitary, carelessly guarded places, to spend the precious hours when they are the most receptive to influence and pass man-made pitfalls on their way to and fro, must stand helpless until in too many cases the innocent healthy child that went from her care returns to her half-blind, a physical and moral wreck. The mother who went down to death’s door for ’em, and had most to do in mouldin’ their destiny during infancy should have at least equal rights with the father in controllin’ their surroundin’s during their entire youth, and to do this she must have equal legal power or her best efforts are wasted. That this is just and right is as plain to me as the nose on my face and folks will see it bom-bye and wonder they didn’t before. “And wimmen who suffer most by the lack on’t, will be most interested in openin’ schools to teach the fine art of domestic service, teachin’ young girls how to keep healthy comfortable homes and fit themselves to be capable wives and mothers. I don’t say or expect that wimmen’s votin’ will make black white, or wash all the stains from the legislative body at once, but I say that jest the effort to git wimmen’s suffrage has opened hundreds of bolted doors and full suffrage will open hundreds more. And I’m goin’ to that woman’s suffrage meetin’ if I walk afoot.” But here Josiah spoke up, I thought he wuz asleep, he wuz layin’ on the lounge with a paper over his face. But truly the word, “Woman’s Suffrage,” rousts him up as quick as a mouse duz a drowsy cat, so, sez he, “I can’t let you go, Samantha, into any such dangerous and onwomanly affair.” “Let?” sez I in a dry voice; “that’s a queer word from one old pardner to another.” “I’m responsible for your safety, Samantha, and if anybody goes to that dangerous and onseemly meetin’ I will. Mebby Polly would like to go with me.” As stated, Polly is as pretty as a pink posy, and no matter how old a man is, nor how interestin’ and noble his pardner is, he needs girl blinders, yes, he needs ’em from the cradle to the grave. But few, indeed, are the female pardners who can git him to wear ’em. He added, “You know I represent you legally, Samantha; what I do is jest the same as though you did it.”