That session saw a quiet, persistent, effective campaign waged in the city of Washington. Many women living there now will remember it, for many were in its forefront, and what we put ourselves into we do not forget. Many men, too, some still in Congressional circles and some by the mutations of time and politics relegated to private life, may recall it,—not a few for the generous help they gave but a greater number as the unjust judge kept in remembrance the cause of the widow whose continual coming wearied him.

The bill entitled "An act to amend the laws of the District of Columbia as to married women, to make parents the natural guardians of their children, and for other purposes," was introduced in the Senate early in January, and referred to the District Committee. Then the trials of the gentlemen comprising the committee, not to say the whole Senate, began. The beautiful room of the Committee on the District became the Mecca to which many a pilgrimage led. Naturally it was of the first importance to enlist the Committee, and it chanced that one or two of them were hard to enlist, being by nature and environment conservative, and doubtful of anything that looked toward change. Women had always fared well in their part of the country, and been contented, and they could see no reason why their status elsewhere should be tampered with. This was why Mrs. Belden had been anxious to take Margaret to see Senator Southard, who was one of the Committee, and a conservative of the conservatives.

Yes, that might justly be called a campaign, for it was a "connected series of operations forming a distinct stage in a war," as the dictionary hath it, and moreover all the methods of war were used. There were gallant charges of battalions led by experienced generals, and the not less effective guerrilla warfare in which each fair combatant picked off her man with any weapon that was at hand, caring not for the rules of combat, but only that he fell. Sieges were planned and carried on during that campaign; strategic positions were captured and held; there was an occasional repulse and sometimes danger of rout, but the forces always rallied and, as the winter passed, it was found that they were steadily advancing.

Into this determined but entirely womanly warfare Margaret threw herself with all the ardor of her tempestuous soul. Here was something to do. She had been too long a creature simply "to be" and "to suffer." Before this question of joint guardianship, which to her was the essence of the bill, all other measures up before Congress dwindled into insignificance. It is a difficult thing for women to sink the personal. Sometimes it seems difficult for men also. To Margaret the passage of this bill meant Philip in her arms and the overthrow of her enemy. It had never occurred to her to doubt that it would give her Philip.

The opportunity afforded by her chance meeting with Senator Dalgleish had been diligently followed up. By her own fireside he had listened to the tragedy of her life. He would have been less than mortal had he heard it unmoved, and when the conversation turned from her wrongs to the bill which, if it became a law, would right such wrongs, it is not strange that he was easily won to its advocacy and ready to become her co-worker. By the way, he told her at leaving, with a thoughtful nod of the head, his colleague was a new man in Washington—a very fine man—though somewhat provincial. Yes, this was his first term—his wife and daughters were somewhat unused to Washington life and might appreciate some attention—as he would himself, indeed. Perhaps—if she would call—

Certainly, Margaret said cheerfully—she would be glad to show any attention in her power to friends of his. And a new lead was opened. When she related the events of the evening to Mrs. Pennybacker that lady remarked, "I don't really suppose, Margaret, that your particular case is any harder than it would be if you were a cross-eyed mother of forty—but it will command more sympathy!"

Some time in January Margaret went with Mrs. Belden to see the Senator from the West who was making the speech on irrigation the day she was in the Senate. He listened in silence to Mrs. Belden's presentation of the case, and then said frankly:

"Ladies, you needn't waste one minute on me. In the first place, I believe in it. But if I did not, there is a good reason why I should support this measure. I was elected by women's votes. I shouldn't dare to go back to my constituents and tell them I voted against this bill."

And into Margaret's mind there flashed an instant recollection of Mrs. Pennybacker's words once, "Perhaps they want the ballot for something they can do with it." As they went away Mrs. Belden remarked to her: "It is not the Western States we have to fear. They are not the ones that have the narrow constitutions. Thought has advanced since the launching of the original thirteen. It is from the older States that the trouble will come. We want if possible to gain Senator Southard. That will be a triumph indeed, for he is really opposed to it, on principle, I am told."

"What sort of man is Senator Southard? I mean what line of argument would be most apt to appeal to him?"

"Oh, he is a self-made man and opinionated as many of them are—thinks his road to success is the one that everybody ought to take, and all that sort of thing. And yet I really think he would appreciate a good sensible argument."

Margaret was thinking, "Perhaps I can get Aunt Mary after him. That's her kind." She broached the subject to Mrs. Pennybacker that night.

"Talk to a Senator!" she exclaimed. "Why, Margaret, I never could do it in the world! My tongue would cleave to the roof of my mouth."

"Don't you believe it, Margaret," laughed Bess, "I've never seen grandma's tongue in that position yet, nor the man that could keep it there."

"You've never seen me in the presence of a Senator," retorted her grandmother, "except a mild type like Senator Dalgleish."

But in spite of her prompt declination she found herself dwelling much upon common sense reasons for the passage of this bill—reasons which might appeal to an elderly man amenable to homely truth. Not that she had any idea of ever using them. No, indeed! She knew her limitations. Her sphere was not lobbying!

But one day when Mrs. Greuze had come by for reinforcements to visit Senator Black, and Margaret was at Elmhurst, Mrs. Pennybacker put on her best bonnet and joined the crusade, taking Bess—who was frankly anxious to go—with her. "You will do for filling," she remarked to her granddaughter. "I may possibly say something, but I don't think I shall."

An audience had been arranged with the Senator and he received them most courteously. Seated in the District Committee room the ladies of the delegation presented quite an imposing appearance. Mrs. Greuze presented Mrs. Pennybacker and her granddaughter, remarking effectively that the Senator would see that this was a cause which enlisted the gray-haired and the rosy-cheeked alike. And the gray hairs nodded assent, while the rosy cheeks grew rosier as the great Senator's gaze rested upon them.

The speakers for this occasion had been decided upon beforehand and the particular line of argument that each should take up. They were lucid, forcible arguments presented by people who knew how. The Senator gave most respectful heed to them.

In all this discussion Bess had, of course, taken no part. Her office was purely decorative—a function which she fulfilled, it may be said in passing, as fully and fragrantly as do the lilies of the field. The elderly Senator, whose sight was not yet obscured, found his attention wandering from the logical arguments of Mrs. Greuze to the sweet face that blossomed at her side. Perhaps there might have been a lurking thought in the minds of these wise sisters that it would be so—that the sweet innocence and beauty of her youthful femininity might prove a solvent for hearts callous to the logic of more angular maturity.

Just now Bess was taking an almost childish interest in the committee-room, with its luxurious appointments and its vaulted ceiling with the Brumidi frescoes. She had always supposed a committee-room was bare. The Senator found his eyes turning to her frequently. She was a sweet fresh blossom!... And when he spoke she looked at him reverently—being young—as though his utterances were the oracles of God. Secure in her belief that she was only there to swell the numbers and had no part to play, she was divested of all self-consciousness and played it to perfection.

Then the Senator, noticing the rose pink in her cheek, and feeling a mischievous desire to heighten it, turned to her suddenly and said:

"My dear young lady, I don't see how you are interested in this bill. You'll be pretty sure to get your rights without it—or your privileges, which will count you for more. What are your arguments?"

Bess caught her breath and drew back, crimsoning to the roots of her fluffy hair. That she should be called upon to speak had not entered her pretty head. She had no arguments. To her the bill itself was a question, not of law and right, but of Margaret and her child. She had not reached the age for generalizing; the operations of her mind were still in terms of 2 + 2 instead of a + b, to follow the genial Autocrat. But there was no coward blood in Bess's veins, though she was pure feminine. She valiantly took up the gage thrown down.

"I haven't any," she said, with a frank laugh. "The other ladies have the argument. I only came to make one more." Then modestly, "But still,—I don't know,—I may be wrong—of course you know so much better about—oh, everything—than I do, but it seems to me that it does concern me more even than it does grandma. Of course I'm not a mother—but I hope sometime I may be—I'd hate awfully to think I never should!" The Senator bowed respectfully to her womanhood, with an indulgent smile and a significant wave of the hand toward the elder ladies. The gesture said, "You see? There is the whole story in a nutshell! This is woman's sphere."

"And then," continued Bess with a flash of her bright eyes, "I tell you I wouldn't want any old law interfering with my child and giving anybody the right to take it away from me! I'd fight like a wild-cat! Well,—that's what they did to Margaret."

"Who is Margaret?" asked the Senator, finding this more interesting than prosaic arguments.

"Oh, I thought you knew about Margaret. Why,—"

"It is the case I was referring to a moment ago, Senator," broke in Mrs. Greuze, a little impatiently. "A case in point exactly. I will repeat—"

"One moment," blandly interposed the gentleman. "Now who is Margaret, my dear?"

"Why, Margaret is our friend—grandma's and mine—the one whose husband willed her baby away from her. I don't know why, I'm sure—nobody knows—but it was in the will and so it had to stand, the judge said, because that was the law. You must have heard of it."

"No—o. There are so many things to hear, you know. But it interests me. I should like to see your friend. Perhaps you will bring her here to talk with me some day. Her story as you tell it seems to have some bearing on this bill."

Bess looked around at her grandmother. This was getting in rather deep for one who had come only as "filling."

"Certainly," said that lady, with affability and equal promptness, "you can go over some day. And I will go with you."

At this, attention was bestowed upon the older ladies, and the conference proceeded.

In relating this occurrence to John Harcourt that night Mrs. Pennybacker wound up by saying, with a suggestive motion of the head toward the two bright faces opposite them, "I hardly think that elderly, or even middle-aged, arguments are the thing needed over there! Do you?"