Well, good-night, beloved-- "Good-night, good-night My love, my own--" she sang.

"I've a busy day ahead of me tomorrow." Mary had a busy day, too.
Nearly two hundred women responded to her new advertisement in the morning, and as many more at noon.

Fortunately some of these were familiar with the work, and the most skilful were added to the corps of teachers.

In addition to this, new nurses were telephoned for to take care of the rapidly growing nursery, temporary tables were improvised in the canteen, another battery of ranges was ordered from the gas company, and preparations were made for Archey's arrival with the laundry equipment.
Yes, it was a busy day and a busy week for Mary; but somehow she felt a glory in every minute of it--even, I think, as Molly Pitcher gloried in her self-appointed task so many years ago.

And when at the close of each day, she locked her desk, she grew into the habit of glancing up and nodding at the portraits on the walls--a glance and a nod that seemed to say, "That's us!" For myself, I like to think of that long line of Josiah Spencers, holding ghostly consultations at night; and if the spirits of the dead can ever return to the scenes of life which they loved the best, they must have spent many an hour together over the things they saw and heard.
Steadily and surely the places left vacant by the men were filled with women, naturally deft of hand and quick of eye; but the more apparent it became that the third phase of the strike was being lost by the men, the more worried Archey looked--the oftener he peeped into the future and frowned at what he saw there.
"The next thing we know," he said to Mary one day, "every man on the place will walk out, and what are we going to do then ?" She told him of the reporter's suggestion.
"A good idea, too," he said.