“But, however, after all is said and done, it is the _literary_ atmosphere that makes our club what it is. The dearly-loved paths that we have followed for many years have led us to lofty summits and ever-widening vistas, but never away from our original goal. The Ever-Womanly has always been our aim, and, while less substantial ambitions have fluttered by on airy wing, and the thunder of the new woman has rolled even upon our peaceful horizon, we have never faltered in our footsteps. “On, on we go in our devotion to literature. And, as one of the most notable of our lady poets has so aptly expressed it,— Still forever yawns before our eyes An Utmost, that is veiled.” A ladylike patter of applause, and a more active flutter of fans, greeted the end of the speech. The back door creaked violently, and Miss Pettibone’s round face appeared in the opening to see if time for refreshment had come. It disappeared suddenly as Miss Coleman mounted the platform to impersonate, first a bloody Macbeth, and then a swaying field daisy. And, finally, Barbara Prentice Grafton and the Empire gown faced the Literary Association. Later, when she recalled the afternoon, Barbara was surprised to remember how little of her original paper she had used. The triviality of the program had supplied her with text enough, and the “Psychology of the Child” was partially diverted into a sermon upon the aimlessness of a purely literary club. In her earnestness she was carried beyond caution. “I call you to new things,” rang out her resolute voice, in conclusion. “Literary effort in club life is outworn. You _can_ read your Homer alone, but it takes concentrated, combined interest to accomplish the _vital_ things of living. You have read too long. It is philanthropy we need in Auburn,—civic improvement, educational effort that shall be for the masses rather than our selfish selves. I call you to this. I ask you to work with me for the good of our town and our people.” The effect of Barbara’s personal magnetism was never more strongly evidenced than by the genuine applause that greeted her effort. The Literary Association might disapprove her theories and her violet gown, but her sincerity was inspiring. The Auburn mothers caught the contagion in her voice, and were interested, if not convinced. There was a momentary pause as the applause subsided. Then Barbara said earnestly: “I’m afraid I may have been too abstract in my statements. But I have very definite ideas of what might be done in Auburn that would be most beneficial to our children and ourselves. The crêche that I spoke of is one of them. If any of you care to ask any questions, I shall be glad to answer them. If I can,” she added more modestly.