“You must be careful not to be a reactionary, my dear. You are going from the land of freedom and the land in which women are rising to every dignity, to a country which may be--of course is bound to be--comparatively unenlightened. I hope indeed that you have your children. Two--or even three children--are very desirable. But you must not forget that every woman owes a duty to herself in development and in keeping abreast of the times which may not be neglected. I don’t want to hurt you, dear. Of course I myself am perhaps a little exceptional in the breadth of my outlook. But it is not personal ambition. It is for the sex. Did I tell you that Mrs. Flandon talked to me when she saw me in St. Pierre about doing much of the state organizing for the Republican women? She says she needs some of my organizing ability. I shall help her of course. In fact I hope I may be able to prevail upon your father to apply for a position at the University in St. Pierre. I feel we have rather outgrown Mohawk.” “But, mother, that means an instructorship again for father, and it’s a step backward.” “Not exactly that. Think of the advantages of living in the city--the cultural advantages. And there is a great field open in municipal politics. I have some strong friends there--and one gentleman--an editor--even went so far as to say there might be a demand for me in public life in St. Pierre, if I established residence there.” “It would be pretty rough on father to pull up stakes here--” The hint came again. “My dear child, you must not be a reactionary. I do not like to see you start out your married life with the idea of subordinating your life as an individual to a husband, no matter how beloved he may be. It is not wise and it is not necessary. Look back over our life. Have I ever for one moment failed in my duty towards the home or towards my husband or child and has it not been possible at the same time for me to keep progress before me always and to remember that the modern woman owes it to herself to go out of the home and keep abreast with the times?” But it was not a question. It was a statement. Freda made no reply and her mother changed the subject with the satisfied air of the sower of seed. “When you come to Ireland,” she told her father laughingly that night, “you will sit on the doorstep and learn to smoke a pipe. And Gregory will be president of the Republic. And I will be--(ask mother)--a model housewife, chasing the pigs--” They laughed with an abandonment which indicated some joke deeper than the banality about the pigs. “It’s a worthy task,” said her father. “I’ll come--and I’ll enjoy learning to smoke a pipe and see Gregory run the government--and as for you--whatever you do you’ll be doing it with spirit.” She nodded. “I’ve just begun to break my trail.”