Atlanta tri-weekly journal. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1920-19??, 1922-11-23
SINE Pay For SPINSTERS- Dorothv Dix

You know her well-the little old maid
who has shaved all Of her days, and who, now
that old age is upon her and she can no
longer earn the miserable pitta1ce upon which
she has existed, turns helpless, hopeless, des-
perate eyes upon the future, wondering what
will become of her.
She is a common cure in every community.
She hovers around the background of every
home. So familiar are you with the sight of
the shabby little --eatur, in her decent, worn
clothes, and with her deprecating whipped
dog look that women wear when they have
been beaten by life, that it is only at times
that you realize how pitiful she is Then you
think that something ought to be done about
it.
It isn't as If 1oor little old Miss Mary
hadn't done her bit. She has been no butter
fly gayly fitting from flower to flower in her
youth instead of laying up susteLance for her
old age. All Of her life she has toiled but she
always had to do the kind Of work that is i'll
paid and that leaves no margin of profit for
pleasure, or for saving. Poor little Miss Mary
isn't clever. She las no initiative. Often
she has little education, and she was never
trained to any gainful trade or profession.
Her unskillful hands have always fumbled at
tLoir task, and, struggle as they would, have
never kept the wolf a foot away from her
door.
Always she has heard this monster, that
she feared and dreaded above everything else
on earth, painting on her threshold. Always
she has known he was ready to spring upon
her if she fell sick or paused for day for
the rest she so sadly needed. Always she has
lived with the gripping fear Of old age, and
dependence upon her and some day she knew
they must overtake r. That was inevitable.
and there was no hip for her.
Yet still she fought on, struggled on, fore
ing herself to toll when the very WEAKNESS
her task when her poor old body was just a
living pain. Soldiers have been decorated on
the battlefield for less heroic deeds than little
old Miss Mary performed when che staggered
up to answer the II of her tiny shop, or got
down on her poor, old rheumatic knees to
scrub floor.
Sometimes, little old Miss Mary gave the
best years of her life, the years in which she
could have safeguarCed her old age by mar
rying or by acquiring some profitable occupa-
ton, to her family. There was an old father
or an Old mother who had to be taken care
OF. There were years and years in which she
was chained to an invalids chair. Years
and years in which night and day she was
the helpless victim of the selfish, querulous
Whim Of age.
Love called to her, but she could not
follow because of the clutching old hands
that held her back. Ambition beckoned to
her, but she could not take her own at the
expense of the helpless old people who de-
pended on her, and so youth faded away
from her, and opportunity shut it's door in
her face.
Perhaps poor little old Miss Mary's youth
was spent in taking care of other peoples
children. There we're orphan nieces and
nephews who would have known the cold
charity Of asylums only for her. She took
them in, fed them, clothed them, educated
them, gave them their start in the world.
She worked tirelessly, she pin2hed and econ
OmiZed, and sweated every penny; she went
shabby, and when the hungry little mouths
had been fed, and the restless little feet
shod, there was no money left for little Miss
Mary to lay up for her old age.
And now little Miss Mary has come to the
end. Sh' is literally worn out. Her
strength is gone. Her feeble old hands can
no longer toll. She has shaved all Of her
life and she has never been able to more