There is very seldom a hand-to-hand encounter.

Only your French Revolutions and your Russian Massacres mark the spots where the two armies have met, where blood has flowed like wine from the broken goblets of some thousands of lives.

But usually it is the forced marches, with the enemy ever retreating over its own ground.

And in this position of women, it is the army of Nature that has begun to move.

Not the mere rising of a rebellious faction, but the entire unconquerable force of humanity whose whole existence is threatened by the invading power of population.
And Sally Bishop--frail, tender-hearted, sensitive Sally Bishop--has donned the bandolier and the haversack and is off with the rest, just one unit in the rank and file, one slender individual in Nature's army that is out on a campaign to effect the inevitable change in the social conditions of the sex.