elbow frantically and whispered:--

"He's goin' to--he's goin' to! He's goin' to show her he does
care and understand! He did hear that girl. Crickey! But ain't he
the cute one to pay her back like that, for what she said?"

The little wife down front did not know--yet, however. I realized that,
the minute I looked at her and saw her drawn face and her frightened,
staring eyes fixed on her husband up there on the platform--her husband,
who was going to tell all these people about some wonderful woman whom
even she had never heard of before, but who had been the making of him,
it seemed.

"My will-power?" the Honorable Jonas Whitermore was saying then.
"Not mine, but the will-power of a woman who did not know the meaning of
the word 'fail.' Not my superb courage, but the courage of one who, day
in and day out, could work for a victory whose crown was to go, not to
herself, but to another. Not my stupendous strength of character, but
that of a beautiful young girl who could see youth and beauty and
opportunity nod farewell, and yet smile as she saw them go. Not my
undaunted persistence, but the persistence of one to whom the goal is
always just ahead, but never reached. And last, not my marvelous
capacity for hard work, but that of the wife and mother who bends her
back each morning to a multitude of tasks and cares that she knows night
will only interrupt--not finish."

My eyes were still on the little brown-clad woman down in front, so I
saw the change come to her face as her husband talked. I saw the terror
give way to puzzled questioning, and that, in turn, become surprise,
incredulity, then overwhelming joy as the full meaning came to her that