"Well," said Mrs. Mason, who was president this year, "we can claim credit for a lot of good work in the past year or two. At last, we are a power in the city in fact, as well as in name."

"Yes," said Mrs. Bateman, "we are a recognized factor in public affairs. The chairman of the Municipal League came to me the other day to know what we propose to do about the winter campaign in politics and in civics."

"They know they can't do much without us," murmured the fluffy little woman in a new blue gown. "My husband says so."

"One doesn't wonder," said Cornelia Jewett, "when one looks over the city. We have our markets inspected, have shut up saloons and worse places, have put two women on the school board, cleaned the streets, established vacation schools and playgrounds, and elected a mayor."

"And by electing our mayor, have cleaned up the city pretty thoroughly from corruption," added Mrs. Turner. "For if Burke had been elected, things would have gone from bad to worse; if Allingham—well, I'm a little afraid of our men's doctrine of laissez-faire."

"Oh, I think Mr. Allingham would have done just as good work as has been done," said Gertrude, speaking for the first time. "He is both fearless and conscientious, and the moment he saw any sign of graft, he would have attacked it with courage and skill—and with less spectacular consequences than we did, perhaps," she added, smiling.

"I do not believe it," answered Mrs. Bateman. "He has developed wonderfully and is a man to be depended upon now; but it took you, Gertrude, to educate him."

The Mayor looked up quickly. The little episode on the bridge had never been told or repeated. Did anybody mistrust? But Mrs. Bateman kept on:

"There are thousands of good men who need awakening as to what women may do in the way of cleaning up a city, both literally and metaphorically. It takes both the man and the woman to make the model home; why not the model city?"

"We are going to have the honor of electing you again this winter, Gertrude?" asked Mrs. Mason. "May we announce it?"

"I scarcely think so," answered Gertrude. "I have done my full duty. I have given two years of the hardest work of which I am capable to my city. I stepped in as an emergency candidate; but now we shall find no difficulty in finding a candidate. Indeed, I may say that one is already being considered, although his name I must not tell."

"O, it's a shame that our men would think of setting up an opposition candidate," cried the fluffy lady, "after the splendid way you've filled the breach. My husband shall never countenance it in the world."

"Don't get excited, Bella," soothed Gertrude. "I may as well tell you, for it is a matter of considerable pride to me, that the regular committee from the Republican party has already waited upon me and asked me to accept the nomination again—"

She was interrupted by a vigorous clapping of hands.

"But the more I think it over, the more I feel that I did right in saying no," she went on. "I realize that I was an experiment—happily successful. But I believe it will be better all round now, to return to our normal condition, with a man in the mayor's chair."

"Only he must be a good one," said Mrs. Stillman, "one who will carry on your policy. And I can think of several who might be willing, now that you have performed the Herculean task—and who will keep the Augean stables clean."

"Rather than see them put a demagogue into my place I would try to keep it," answered Gertrude. "But with such good men in City Hall as we now have, there is no longer need for a woman there. I bespeak your co-operation for my successor, whose name shall be known in a few days, although I do not think he has consented yet. But when he does, and the candidate is announced, you must all work to elect him. Then I shall retire to private life—thank Heaven!"

"You aren't going to follow Mary Snow's example, are you?" asked the fluffy woman, saucily. "My husband says they are the happiest couple and the best mated, he ever saw."

"Your husband is right, Bella," said Gertrude. "Now, my friends, I must go. I have some work waiting in my office and two or three appointments to be made."

"Do you suppose she'd let us make her the next president of the P. W.'s?" asked Bella, when the mayor left the room.

"Bless you, no!" answered Mrs. Bateman. "What would a woman who has been mayor of a city want of our little club-presidency? Let her take the rest she has earned. She needs it; she is looking worn and pale."

"No wonder. I wish she would marry some nice man," answered the irrepressible Bella.

"There isn't any good enough for her," said Mrs. Mason shortly. "Now, ladies, if there is any business to be done, let's get at it."

When Gertrude arrived at her office John Allingham was waiting for her. She had not seen him alone for months, except for the few brief moments when he had been forced to consult her in regard to some detail of his department work. He looked anxiously at her when she entered the room, not dreaming that her heart was leaping in her bosom at sight of him.

"I want to see you alone a few minutes," he began.

The stenographer rose mechanically and withdrew, closing the door behind her.

"See here,—what is this about your retiring from office," he asked. "You mustn't do it."

"Mustn't I?" she asked.

"By no means," he answered decisively. "You have everything in good running order, your enemies routed, the grafters where they belong, a year of steady improvement under the new order of things,—and the public all with you. It is not right for you to leave now."

"Yes, it is," she answered, getting control of herself. "And it is time for you to take my place."

"I can't,—I have no desire to be mayor. You have proved your fitness for the post," he went on earnestly. "You have proved what a woman can do. Now keep on."

"No," she answered. "I want you to prove what you can do. The committee have asked you to stand?"

"Yes,—but then,—you should take another two years to fully establish and carry out the work you have begun. You see I have completely revised my ideas concerning a woman for mayor."

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "But, listen. I have, under God, had a successful term; I have been able to put through several changes for the better—with the help of good men like you. I am—yes, I admit it,—I am popular today with the people. But popularity is an uncertain thing, and there is no telling how soon it may wane. I am wise in letting go, while I am on the top-wave. Now, honestly, don't you think so?"

"If popularity is all you think of, yes," answered Allingham. "But it isn't."

"No, it isn't," she admitted. "But if you must have the truth, I'll go farther and say, the innovation of trying a woman for mayor was an experiment. The new broom has swept clean, and people are pleased so far. But the natural and right way of cities is to have a man at the helm. Between you and me, it is the fore-ordained method of nature to keep the man at the head of things, to take the brunt, to face the danger. Say what you will, the woman was not meant for this kind of thing. As we go on with our municipal life the realization of this is going to grow upon the people. While they are fully appreciative of all I have tried to do, there will develop the old desire for a man at the helm—and then comes discontent. Indeed, I can already see signs of it. You are the right man for the place. I shall always be thankful for the experience I have had; but I want no more." She smiled up at him. "I am more than content to pass it along,—not alone because the burden is heavy, and I am growing selfish,—but because you are the right man for mayor of Roma."

"Then if it is your wish," Allingham replied, "I will consent." He rose to go. "If only we might stand at the head together," he said. "With you to give a man courage—"

Gertrude interrupted him. "We should not be in accord. We could never agree. Don't talk about it." She rang the bell for the stenographer, and Allingham turned to go.

"May I say," she added, relenting at the expression on his face, "that you have done splendid work in your department? You have achieved the wonderful feat of improving our streets and keeping expenses down at the same time."

"That was not difficult," he answered, "where the opposite had been the practice for so long. I'm going down now to inspect that street we are laying out just back of your place. I'm sorry there had to be blasting."

"The street will be all the more picturesque when it's done," she replied. "Good afternoon, and thank you, for what you promised."

"O, I wonder if I can hold out," she said to herself as he went out. "If he had said another word, I should have given in,—but he didn't."

Still, that he would say it some other time, she knew. Then she would have to say yes.

"I wonder if I've done right," she queried. "He will succeed me and do great things for Roma, but O, I wish I could help him. I wish I dared let myself love him as he deserves. I wish I were one of the softer, clinging women, made to love a man and to depend on him for happiness. After all, they are the fortunate ones. But,—what am I saying? Brace up, Gertrude Van Deusen; don't be a sentimental girl! You've prided yourself on your independence of mind and heart. At your age, to be thinking of a man,—and one whose ideal is so far from what you know yourself to be! I'll go to Europe this winter and stay a year. I'll soon get back to my old spirit, and cease to think—"

The telephone rang.

"Well?" she asked.

"There's been an explosion down back of your house among the street-department's tools," some one was saying. "Two men were hit by flying rocks and hurt, we fear badly. One of them was a laborer,—"

"And the other?" asked Gertrude quickly, her heart divining the truth.

"Was Commissioner Allingham. He had just come to inspect the work. May we take them to your house until we can get the ambulance and the doctors?"

"Take them there at once," she responded. "Get the doctors, but don't call the ambulances yet—until we know what to do with the men. I'll be right down."

She flew to her closet and hurried into her coat. At the door, her carriage waited and she gave orders to drive as fast as possible. Then she sat back against the luxurious cushions, trying to control the terror that had come suddenly upon her spirit. She no longer doubted and hesitated. The shock had revealed the depths of her own heart which she had not sounded. She came in a moment to know that love is not a feeling to be analyzed or nurtured or trained into growth; the thing she had been repressing and torturing into subjection suddenly became a divine, reverential passion.

As they drove through the tree-shaded streets she trembled lest John Allingham might already have crossed the mysterious boundary which separates the living from the dead, and she would meet only a life-long sorrow at her door,—a sorrow which would crown her life with sanctifying, uplifting influences, even though it crushed her heart and benumbed her soul. But even that, she realized, was infinitely better than the starving of love with which she had been cheating herself. She bent her head and prayed while the carriage rolled rapidly on under the overarching elms and up the graveled driveway to her house.

Once within she passed rapidly upstairs, unfastening her wraps as she did so, and going towards the rooms where she knew the injured men would be carried. They had been taken, she was told, to her father's old room, where the doctor was already with them. Dared she go in?

Throwing her wraps in at the door to her own apartment, she turned again towards the sick-chamber. And then she stood face to face with John Allingham.

"John," she sobbed. "O, John."

Taken by itself, it was a meaningless sentence; but it satisfied him. He held out his arms and she nestled into them.

"You are really not fit to walk alone," she smiled up at him after an eloquent moment. "Ask me again to walk with you."

So it fell out that on the eve of the next mayor's inaugural, there was a wedding; and all of Roma rejoiced with the couple who pronounced the holy vows. For the loving heart of the woman was to stand alongside the strong desire of the man; and all Roma would be guided and helped by the two.

Azalea
By ELIA W. PEATTIE
The first book of the "Blue Ridge" Series

Azalea is the heroine of a good, wholesome story that will appeal to every mother as the sort of book she would like her daughter to read. In the homy McBirneys of Mt. Tennyson, down in the Blue Ridge country, and their hearty mountain neighbors, girl readers will find new friends they will be glad to make old friends.

This book marks a distinct advance in the quality of books offered for girls. No lack of action—no sacrifice of charm.

Four half-tone illustrations from drawings by Hazel Roberts. Attractive cover design, $1.00.

The second title in THE BLUE RIDGE SERIES
will be published in 1913

Books for Older Children by L. Frank Baum

The Daring Twins Series

By L. FRANK BAUM