“Oh, say them over to me!” entreated Marian, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, “I dearly love to hear brave, bold words that speak a determination to be free from tyranny of man, whether he would lord it over soul or body, or both.”
“So do I,” said Lulu, “and no one was more capable of saying such words than Patrick Henry. These are the ones I spoke of.
“‘There is no retreat but in submission and slavery. Our chains are already forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring the clash of resounding arms. I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death.’
“I think the convention couldn’t hold out against such brave and eloquent words, for they passed his resolutions without any one saying a word against it.”
“I’m proud that he was a Scotchman’s son,” Marian said.
“And I that he was a native-born American,” said Lulu.
“And your government is really a free one, though the Mormons say so much against it?” queried Marian.
“Yes, indeed! But I wish it had broken up Mormonism long ago.”
“So do I,” responded Marian, almost fiercely, “Yes, before it had time to get well started and could send out its missionaries to deceive folks in other countries and persuade them to come over here, where the women, at least, are nothing but slaves!”
Lulu looked at her in surprise and sympathy, for she detected in her tones a bitter sense of personal wrong.