I dunno if you've ever suggested a revolution? Whether I'm in favor of any particular revolution or not, it always makes a nice, healthy minute. And it's such an elegant measuring rod for the brains of folks.
"Why, how can we?" says Mis' Sykes. "We're the Married Ladies' Cemetery Improvement Sodality."
"Is that name," says Mis' Toplady, mild, "made up out o' cast-iron, Mis' Sykes?"
"But our constitution says we shall consist of fifty married ladies," says Mis' Sykes, final.
"Did we make that constitution," says I, "or did it make us? Are we a-idol-worshiping our constitution or are we a-growing inside it, and bursting out occasional?"
"If you lived in back a ways, Calliope,"—Mis' Sykes begun.
"Well," says I, "I might as well, if you're going to use any rule or any law for a ball and chain for the leg instead of a stepping-stone for the feet."
Mis' Fire Chief Merriman looked up from her buttonholing.
"But we don't want to do men's work, do we?" says she, distasteful. "Leave them do their club work and leave us do our club work, like the Lord meant."
"Well—us women tended Cemetery quite a while," says I, "and the death rate wasn't confined to women, exclusive. Graves," says I, "is both genders, Mis' Fire Chief."