These voiceless masses that never spoke, but
were always being spoken for by self-appointed "leaders,"
"representatives," who immediately they had climbed into prominence took
their place among the rulers, and then from press and platform shouted to
them what they were to think and feel. It was as if the Drill-Sergeant
were to claim to be the "leader," the "representative" of his squad; or
the sheep-dog to pose as the "delegate" of the sheep. Dealt with always
as if they were mere herds, mere flocks, they had almost lost the power
of individual utterance. One would have to teach them, encourage them.
She remembered a Sunday class she had once conducted; and how for a long
time she had tried in vain to get the children to "come in," to take a
hand. That she might get in touch with them, understand their small
problems, she had urged them to ask questions. And there had fallen such
long silences. Until, at last, one cheeky ragamuffin had piped out:
"Please, Miss, have you got red hair all over you? Or only on your
head?"
For answer she had rolled up her sleeve, and let them examine her arm.
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