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Henrietta is gone; but her soul lives, and likewise the teachers’ union she helped to found. This book goes out as a call to the teachers and friends of teachers, not merely in New York, but all over America, to come to the aid of the children, to save the young and groping minds of the new generation from the bigotry and squalid ignorance which afflicts our adults. I quote you a letter written last year by a high school boy of Brooklyn, and sent to me by a teacher in that school. The teacher does not say how he answered this letter; read it and see if you would know how to answer, if such a letter came to you:

Brooklyn, N. Y., Aug. 31, 1922.

Dear Mr. ——:

I have never had the pleasure of being in one of your classes, but it will not deter me from writing to you. Somehow I believe that you are one who may be able to help us where I and my friend have pondered many, many hours and still could not achieve solution.

We are young—youths just upon the threshold of learning the way of our feet in the world of men. And when the week’s work is done and we have a day or two or three all to ourselves, what are we to do?