The parents who carelessly or helplessly send their children out into the world uneducated, to compete with college graduates, are sending them into a hard proposition. And the state government that will sleep while one portion of the people are being educated to take care of themselves, and a larger number are growing up in helpless ignorance and sent out into the world to compete with the few educated ones—the state or public that can sleep while such an injustice is being perpetrated on the weakest and most helpless of its subjects, needs to have its conscience touched with the awakening finger of justice. The boasting cry that in this country everybody’s child has an equal opportunity to gain a livelihood, is as false as hell. There are colleges in our so-called free land where the son of a ditch digger or a washerwoman could no more enter than a miserly rich man can enter the kingdom of heaven. But I have drifted. I can’t help but drift. Every time I try to paint a picture, the injustice of the unjust crowd in and fill the distant perspective, and get painted into the sunset and change the gold into blackened lead. Just one hour before the young lady was to go on the stage to sing her solo, a dispatch brought the sad and shocking news that her mother was dead. Nobody who knew of the sad news thought for a moment that the bereaved and heartbroken girl would attempt to sing. They were all disappointed, of course, but who could ask her to go on the stage with a sorrow as deep as hers? But she did not break down. Oh, she had been so confident of winning the prize, and her town’s people would be so greatly disappointed if she failed! She told the manager she would try, providing he would tell the audience of her great sorrow. She wanted the sympathy of the people—it would give her strength, while it would give them patience and tolerance. After the manager had gone before the footlights and told the sad story the people waited in silence for the young singer to appear. There was no applause. The people felt the presence of death, or sorrow and heart aches. The accompanist struck the first note and the brave girl commenced to sing. The song was suitable for a sad heart to sing. She could sing her sorrow from the depths of her soul. The crowded house sat spellbound. That song from her soul of sorrow thrilled every heart as it had never been thrilled before. The notes, clear and sweet, came laden with the tears her brave soul was holding back. The people sat in deep silence, but with beating and throbbing hearts and active minds. They pictured the dead mother in that distant town, sleeping silence—ah, never again, never to awaken to greet her daughter on her return. And the singer pictured that angeled mother listening from that far off shore, and she sang to her while the audience listened. For as much as a minute the people sat in silence after the singer had left the stage, and then the cheers and tears told of the prize she had won.