The meeting had already begun. Someone was reading minutes. The forty or so girls crowded into the small room looked almost like a sewing circle, so many of the girls were doing mending or needlework.

“Hello.” The young woman who seemed to be in charge interrupted the secretary’s droning. “Come on in.”

Lyddie stepped into the room, looking about uncertainly for a chair. To her relief she saw Diana, getting up and coming toward her. “You came,” she said, her tired features relaxing into a smile. It reminded her of that first night when she had gone to see Diana, except then Diana had looked lovely and full of life. She took Lyddie to a place where there were two vacant chairs and sat beside her while the meeting carried on.

It was hard for Lyddie to follow the discussion. They were planning something for some sort of rally at the end of the month. She kept waiting for someone to mention the petition, so she could declare herself ready to sign, but no one did. At the first curfew bell, the woman in charge pronounced the meeting adjourned until the following Tuesday, and the girls broke into a buzz, gathering their sewing things together and putting on bonnets to leave.

The woman who had been in charge came over to where Lyddie was standing with Diana. She stretched out her hand. “I’m Mary Emerson,” she said. “Welcome. I think this is your first time with us.”

Lyddie shook the woman’s hand and nodded.

“This is my friend, Lydia Worthen,” Diana said. “She’s thinking about joining us.”

Miss Emerson turned expectantly to Lyddie. “I come to sign the—the petition,” Lyddie said.

The woman cocked her head, seemingly puzzled. What was the matter with her? “The one to ask for ten-hour workdays.” Why was she explaining the petition to a leader of the movement? It was crazy.

“Maybe next year,” Diana was saying quietly.

“No. I made up my mind to it. I want to do it now. Tonight.”

“But we’ve already submitted it,” Miss Emerson said. “We had to. Before the legislature recessed for the year.”

She had at long last made up her mind to do it, and now it was too late? “But—”

“Next year,” Diana repeated, “you can put your name in the very first column, if you like.”

“Yes,” said Miss Emerson brightly. “That’s our motto—‘We’ll try again.’ Since four thousand names didn’t convince them, next year we’ll have to get eight.” She gave Lyddie the kind of encouraging smile a teacher gives to a slow pupil. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”