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José Unpingco

Python for Probability, Statistics, and

Machine Learning
2nd ed. 2019
José Unpingco
San Diego, CA, USA

ISBN 978-3-030-18544-2 e-ISBN 978-3-030-18545-9

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-18545-9

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the

Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned,
specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations,
recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other
physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar
methodology now known or hereafter developed.

The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks,

service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the
absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the
relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general
use.

The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the
advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate
at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the
editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the
material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.

This Springer imprint is published by the registered company Springer

Nature Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham,
Switzerland
To Irene, Nicholas, and Daniella, for all
their patient support.
Preface to the Second Edition
This second edition is updated for Python version 3.6+. Furthermore,
many existing sections have been revised for clarity based on feedback
from the first version. The book is now over thirty percent larger than
the original with new material about important probability
distributions, including key derivations and illustrative code samples.
Additional important statistical tests are included in the statistics
chapter including the Fisher Exact test and the Mann–Whitney–
Wilcoxon Test. A new section on survival analysis has been included.
The most significant addition is the section on deep learning for image
processing with a detailed discussion of gradient descent methods that
underpin all deep learning work. There is also substantial discussion
regarding generalized linear models. As before, there are more
Programming Tips that illustrate effective Python modules and methods
for scientific programming and machine learning. There are 445 run-
able code blocks that have been tested for accuracy so you can try these
out for yourself in your own codes. Over 158 graphical visualizations
(almost all generated using Python) illustrate the concepts that are
developed both in code and in mathematics. We also discuss and use
key Python modules such as NumPy, Scikit-learn, SymPy, SciPy, lifelines,
CVXPY, Theano, Matplotlib, Pandas, TensorFlow, StatsModels, and
Keras.
As with the first edition, all of the key concepts are developed
mathematically and are reproducible in Python, to provide the reader
with multiple perspectives on the material. As before, this book is not
designed to be exhaustive and reflects the author’s eclectic industrial
background. The focus remains on concepts and fundamentals for day-
to-day work using Python in the most expressive way possible.

Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge the help of Brian Granger and Fernando
Perez, two of the originators of the Jupyter Notebook, for all their great
work, as well as the Python community as a whole, for all their
contributions that made this book possible. Hans Petter Langtangen is
the author of the Doconce [1] document preparation system that was
used to write this text. Thanks to Geoffrey Poore [2] for his work with
PythonTeX and LaTeX, both key technologies used to produce this book.

References
1. H.P. Langtangen, DocOnce markup language, https://​github.​com/​
hplgit/​doconce

2. G.M. Poore, Pythontex: reproducible documents with latex, python,

and more. Comput. Sci. Discov. 8 (1), 014010 (2015)

José Unpingco
San Diego, CA, USA
February 2019
Preface to the First Edition
This book will teach you the fundamental concepts that underpin
probability and statistics and illustrate how they relate to machine
learning via the Python language and its powerful extensions. This is
not a good first book in any of these topics because we assume that you
already had a decent undergraduate-level introduction to probability
and statistics. Furthermore, we also assume that you have a good grasp
of the basic mechanics of the Python language itself. Having said that,
this book is appropriate if you have this basic background and want to
learn how to use the scientific Python toolchain to investigate these
topics. On the other hand, if you are comfortable with Python, perhaps
through working in another scientific field, then this book will teach
you the fundamentals of probability and statistics and how to use these
ideas to interpret machine learning methods. Likewise, if you are a
practicing engineer using a commercial package (e.g., MATLAB, IDL),
then you will learn how to effectively use the scientific Python toolchain
by reviewing concepts you are already familiar with.
The most important feature of this book is that everything in it is
reproducible using Python. Specifically, all of the code, all of the figures,
and (most of) the text is available in the downloadable supplementary
materials that correspond to this book as IPython Notebooks. IPython
Notebooks are live interactive documents that allow you to change
parameters, recompute plots, and generally tinker with all of the ideas
and code in this book. I urge you to download these IPython Notebooks
and follow along with the text to experiment with the topics covered. I
guarantee doing this will boost your understanding because the
IPython Notebooks allow for interactive widgets, animations, and other
intuition-building features that help make many of these abstract ideas
concrete. As an open-source project, the entire scientific Python
toolchain, including the IPython Notebook, is freely available. Having
taught this material for many years, I am convinced that the only way to
learn is to experiment as you go. The text provides instructions on how
to get started installing and configuring your scientific Python
environment.
This book is not designed to be exhaustive and reflects the author’s
eclectic background in industry. The focus is on fundamentals and
intuitions for day-to-day work, especially when you must explain the
results of your methods to a nontechnical audience. We have tried to
use the Python language in the most expressive way possible while
encouraging good Python-coding practices.

Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge the help of Brian Granger and Fernando
Perez, two of the originators of the Jupyter/IPython Notebook, for all
their great work, as well as the Python community as a whole, for all
their contributions that made this book possible. Additionally, I would
also like to thank Juan Carlos Chavez for his thoughtful review. Hans
Petter Langtangen is the author of the Doconce [14] document
preparation system that was used to write this text. Thanks to Geoffrey
Poore [25] for his work with PythonTeX and LaTeX.
José Unpingco
San Diego, CA, USA
February 2016
Contents
1 Getting Started with Scientific Python
1.​1 Installation and Setup
1.​2 Numpy
1.​2.​1 Numpy Arrays and Memory
1.​2.​2 Numpy Matrices
1.​2.​3 Numpy Broadcasting
1.​2.​4 Numpy Masked Arrays
1.​2.​5 Floating-Point Numbers
1.​2.​6 Numpy Optimizations and Prospectus
1.​3 Matplotlib
1.​3.​1 Alternatives to Matplotlib
1.​3.​2 Extensions to Matplotlib
1.​4 IPython
1.​5 Jupyter Notebook
1.​6 Scipy
1.​7 Pandas
1.​7.​1 Series
1.​7.​2 Dataframe
1.​8 Sympy
1.​9 Interfacing with Compiled Libraries
1.​10 Integrated Development Environments
1.​11 Quick Guide to Performance and Parallel Programming
1.​12 Other Resources
References
2 Probability
2.​1 Introduction
2.​1.​1 Understanding Probability Density
2.​1.​2 Random Variables
2.​1.​3 Continuous Random Variables
2.​1.​4 Transformation of Variables Beyond Calculus
2.​1.​5 Independent Random Variables
2.​1.​6 Classic Broken Rod Example
2.​2 Projection Methods
2.​2.​1 Weighted Distance
2.​3 Conditional Expectation as Projection
2.​3.​1 Appendix
2.​4 Conditional Expectation and Mean Squared Error
2.​5 Worked Examples of Conditional Expectation and Mean
Square Error Optimization
2.​5.​1 Example
2.​5.​2 Example
2.​5.​3 Example
2.​5.​4 Example
2.​5.​5 Example
2.​5.​6 Example
2.​6 Useful Distributions
2.​6.​1 Normal Distribution
2.​6.​2 Multinomial Distribution
2.​6.​3 Chi-square Distribution
2.​6.​4 Poisson and Exponential Distributions
2.​6.​5 Gamma Distribution
 2.​6.​6 Beta Distribution
2.​6.​7 Dirichlet-Multinomial Distribution
2.​7 Information Entropy
2.​7.​1 Information Theory Concepts
2.​7.​2 Properties of Information Entropy
2.​7.​3 Kullback–Leibler Divergence
2.​7.​4 Cross-Entropy as Maximum Likelihood
2.​8 Moment Generating Functions
2.​9 Monte Carlo Sampling Methods
2.​9.​1 Inverse CDF Method for Discrete Variables
2.​9.​2 Inverse CDF Method for Continuous Variables
2.​9.​3 Rejection Method
2.​10 Sampling Importance Resampling
2.​11 Useful Inequalities
2.​11.​1 Markov’s Inequality
2.​11.​2 Chebyshev’s Inequality
2.​11.​3 Hoeffding’s Inequality
References
3 Statistics
3.​1 Introduction
3.​2 Python Modules for Statistics
3.​2.​1 Scipy Statistics Module
3.​2.​2 Sympy Statistics Module
3.​2.​3 Other Python Modules for Statistics
3.​3 Types of Convergence
3.​3.​1 Almost Sure Convergence
 3.​3.​2 Convergence in Probability
3.​3.​3 Convergence in Distribution
3.​3.​4 Limit Theorems
3.​4 Estimation Using Maximum Likelihood
3.​4.​1 Setting Up the Coin-Flipping Experiment
3.​4.​2 Delta Method
3.​5 Hypothesis Testing and P-Values
3.​5.​1 Back to the Coin-Flipping Example
3.​5.​2 Receiver Operating Characteristic
3.​5.​3 P-Values
3.​5.​4 Test Statistics
3.​5.​5 Testing Multiple Hypotheses
3.​5.​6 Fisher Exact Test
3.​6 Confidence Intervals
3.​7 Linear Regression
3.​7.​1 Extensions to Multiple Covariates
3.​8 Maximum A-Posteriori
3.​9 Robust Statistics
3.​10 Bootstrapping
3.​10.​1 Parametric Bootstrap
3.​11 Gauss–Markov
3.​12 Nonparametric Methods
3.​12.​1 Kernel Density Estimation
3.​12.​2 Kernel Smoothing
3.​12.​3 Nonparametric Regression Estimators
3.​12.​4 Nearest Neighbors Regression
 3.​12.​5 Kernel Regression
3.​12.​6 Curse of Dimensionality
3.​12.​7 Nonparametric Tests
3.​13 Survival Analysis
3.​13.​1 Example
References
4 Machine Learning
4.​1 Introduction
4.​2 Python Machine Learning Modules
4.​3 Theory of Learning
4.​3.​1 Introduction to Theory of Machine Learning
4.​3.​2 Theory of Generalization
4.​3.​3 Worked Example for Generalization/​Approximation
Complexity
4.​3.​4 Cross-Validation
4.​3.​5 Bias and Variance
4.​3.​6 Learning Noise
4.​4 Decision Trees
4.​4.​1 Random Forests
4.​4.​2 Boosting Trees
4.​5 Boosting Trees
4.​5.​1 Boosting Trees
4.​6 Logistic Regression
4.​7 Generalized Linear Models
4.​8 Regularization
4.​8.​1 Ridge Regression
 4.​8.​2 Lasso Regression
4.​9 Support Vector Machines
4.​9.​1 Kernel Tricks
4.​10 Dimensionality Reduction
4.​10.​1 Independent Component Analysis
4.​11 Clustering
4.​12 Ensemble Methods
4.​12.​1 Bagging
4.​12.​2 Boosting
4.​13 Deep Learning
4.​13.​1 Introduction to Tensorflow
4.​13.​2 Understanding Gradient Descent
4.​13.​3 Image Processing Using Convolutional Neural
Networks
References
Notation
Index
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 On the platform were a dozen women. He looked at them
curiously. He was familiar with but one sort of woman who was
willing to show herself before a crowd. There flashed to his mind the
memory of the dozen women whom he had seen on the stage of the
Mission Saloon in Inch, on what was to have been Bunchy’s wedding
night. Dress them like this, he reflected—dark and plain—and they
wouldn’t look so different, at this distance.
The silence disturbed him. What on earth made them so still—as
if it were a matter of life and death, whatever they were meeting
about. He waited in absorbing curiosity to hear what it was they
were going to say.
“Somebody says the Senate’s full, too,” he heard a man tell some
one. “And they’re going to speak in the rotunda and on the steps.”
The Inger turned to him.
“What’s this room?” he asked.
“This is the House,” the man replied, courteously.
The Inger looked with new eyes. The House ... where his laws
were made. He felt a sudden surprised sense of pride in the room.
The silence became a hush, contagious, electric, and he saw that
a woman on the platform had risen. She stood hatless, her hair
brushed smoothly back, and her hands behind her. Abruptly he liked
her. And he wondered what his mother had looked like.
There was no applause, but to his amazement the whole
audience rose, and stood for a moment, in absolute silence. This
woman spoke simply, and as if she were talking to each one there. It
astonished the man. He had heard no one address a meeting save in
campaign speeches, and this was not like those.
“The fine moral reaction,” she said, “has at last come. It has
come in a remorse too tardy to reclaim all the human life that has
been spent. It has come in a remorse too tardy to reclaim the
treasure that has been wasted. But it comes too with a sense of joy
that all voluntary destruction of human life, all the deliberate wasting
of the fruits of labor, will soon have become things of the past.
Whatever the future holds for us, it will at least be free from war.”[1]
 Of this the Inger understood nothing. What could she be talking
about, when the United States was to go to war at once?
“... it is because women understand that this is so, that we have
been able so to come together. Not a month ago the word went out.
Yet every state in the United States is represented here in
Washington to-day by from one to five hundred women. And no one
has talked about it. No one has wondered or speculated. We are
here because the time has come.”
And now the Inger thought he understood. They were here to
help! The time had come—war was here—they had come here to be
ready, to collect supplies, to make bandages....
“... seven women from seven of the warring nations of Europe,”
the quiet voice went on, “and women of the other states of Europe
answered our appeal, and they are here. They will speak to us to-
night—and they are to go from state to state, helping all women to
understand.”
Women from the warring nations! The Inger looked eagerly. They
had been there, they had seen, they had cheered their husbands
and sons. Some of them must have lost their men—of course they
could tell the American women what to do.
The first woman, however, was not of a warring country. She was
a woman of Denmark. And she was of the same quiet manner and
conversational speech.
She said: “During the first day of the war an old man said to me,
sad and indignant: ‘To me it is quite unintelligible that citizens of the
twentieth century consent to be driven like sheep to the shambles.’
And truly, only a fraction of those involved in the war did intend the
war. To them and to us it was a surprise that will repeat itself in
history as long as war is declared without the consent of the people,
as long as war depends on secret notes and treaties.
“Where can we find a way to prevent another happening of these
terrors? Can women possibly have any chance of succeeding where
men have recently failed so miserably?
 “I came from Denmark to say to you that women have better
opportunities than anybody else for creating public opinion—the
opinion that grows stronger with the coming race. Women give the
next generation its first impressions.
“And the mother must give her children another idea than the
armed warrior. Let her show them how unworthy it is of the citizen
of the twentieth century to be used, body and blood, without will or
resistance, as food for cannon....”[2]
The Inger listened, stupefied. What was this woman saying? It
sounded to him like treason for which they should fall on her and
drive her from the hall.
Then he heard the country of the next woman who came
forward. Germany! Now they would hear the truth. Here was a
woman from a nation of soldiers. She would understand, and she
would make the rest know in what lay a country’s glory. Moreover,
she was a strong woman—a woman to whom that race of mothers
and of soldiers might have looked as the mother of them all.
“Women of the World, when will your call ring out?
“Women of all the belligerent states, with head high and
courageous heart, gave their husbands to protect the fatherland.
Mothers and maidens unfalteringly saw their sons and sweethearts
go forth to death and destruction.”
This was it! The Inger drew his breath deep. She knew—she
knew.... She wanted American women to feel the same.
“Millions of men have been left on the battlefield. They will never
see home again. Others have returned, broken and sick in body and
soul. Towns of the highest civilization, homes of simple human
happiness, are destroyed. Europe’s soil reeks of human blood. The
flesh and blood of men will fertilize the soil of the corn fields of the
future on German, French, Belgian and Russian ground.
“Millions of women’s hearts blaze up in anguish. No human
speech is rich enough to express such depths of suffering. Shall this
war of extermination go on? Shall we sit and wait dumbly for other
wars to come upon us?
 “Women of the world, where is your voice?
“Are you only great in patience and suffering?
“The earth soaked in blood, millions of wrecked bodies of
husbands, sweethearts, sons—outrages inflicted on your sex. Can
these things not rouse you to blazing protest?
“Women of the world, where is your voice, that should be sowing
seeds of peace? Do not let yourselves be deterred by those who
accuse you of weakness because you wish for peace, who say you
cannot hold back the bloody march of history by your protest.
“Protest with all your might ... make preparation for peace ...
perform your duty as wives and mothers, as protectors of true
civilization and humanity!”[3]
Still in that silence, she ceased—but now once more all over the
hall, the women rose, and stood there for a moment, looking into
the eyes of the woman of Germany. There was no handclapping,
there was no word, there was only that single sign—as if in that
room there were but one Person, and that Person answered like this
to what she said.
The Inger stared about him. What did this mean? Were these a
few traitors who had come here to teach American women to play
traitor too—
The German woman was speaking again.
“A letter,” she said, “a letter from German and Austrian women,
‘to the women of England—and of the world.’”
She read: “Women, creators and guardians of life, must loathe
war, which destroys life. Through the smoke of battle and thunder of
cannon of hostile peoples, through death, terror, destruction and
unending pain and anxiety, there glows like the dawn of a coming
better day the deep community of feeling of many women of all
nations.”[4]
“This is signed,” she said, “by one hundred and fifty German and
Austrian women. Thousands more are with us in name and spirit. Do
not doubt—doubt!”
 Another woman rose, and then another:
A letter from the women of England—
“... Is it not our mission to preserve life? Do not humanity and
common sense alike prompt us to join hands with the women of
neutral countries, and urge the stay of further bloodshed—forever?...
There is but one way to do this ... by Wisdom and Reason. Can they
begin too soon?... Already we seem to hear
‘A hundred nations swear that there shall be
Pity and Peace and Love among the good and free.’”[5]

Then a letter from the women of Belgium, from the women of

Switzerland, from the women of Italy—five hundred, two thousand
names to each.
At length the Inger understood. These women who were here to
protest against war were speaking for thousands upon thousands of
women all over the world. And here were thousands listening, in the
nation’s capitol.
A little French woman spoke, each sentence translated by
another woman.
“The humblest cry can sometimes be heard joined to many
others.... It is very well for gentlemen banqueting at Guildhall to
rejoice at being able to assemble so comfortably during the greatest
war in history, thanks to the valor of the British army which defends
the coast; but they should think of those who are exposing their
lives....
“My two sons are in the trenches since the end of September,
and have never slept in a bed since. It would be nothing if the cold
had not set in so dreadfully....”[6]
Something—no one could have told whether it was a breath, or a
look from one to one, went over the hall. More than in a long
account of horror, this French mother, who spoke no other tongue,
had made them feel what she was feeling.
There was a Polish woman of the country about Cracow who told
the story of what had happened to her village. She spoke slowly,
through an interpreter, and almost without emotion.
“We had just three little streets,” she said, “so it was not much to
take. But they took them....” And she told how, and how a hundred
children in the village had died. “I should be less than a woman in
courage if I did not say that I, for one, shall not be silent even one
day until my death. Every day I shall be crying, ‘Women of the
World. This can not happen again, if we are women of flesh and not
of stone.’”
There was a woman of Servia, and she was a peasant woman.
Her clothes were those which her neighbors had found for her. Even
then, so great was the haste at the last, she had crossed the ocean
in a skirt and a shawl, but with no waist beneath the shawl.
“I had to come,” she said, through her interpreter. “There is only
one hell worse than the hell that we have been through: and that is
not to cry to the last breath that it shall be stopped. That it shall not
come again to other women like us....”
There was a woman of Belgium, who belonged to a family high in
position in Louvain. She wore garments which had been given to her
from the American boxes. It was strange to hear that soft voice, in
its broken English, speak of a thousand horrors with no passion. But
when she spoke of To-morrow, and of what it must bring, her voice
throbbed and strove with the spirit which poured through her.
“Do not think of Louvain,” she said. “Do not think of Belgium.
Say, if you like, that this was only a part of what happens in war.
Think, then, only of war. Think that war must not be ever again in
this our world. While women have voices to raise to other women,
we must make them understand that peace is our contribution to the
earth. Women of the world, what are we waiting for?”
Then there came a woman, young, erect, burning—a woman of
Hungary.
“Listen,” she said. “A Hungarian girl who went to care for the
Galician refugees tells me in a recent letter the story of a poor
woman who said: ‘I wanted to protect my children. I ran with the
other inhabitants of the village. I took my baby in a shawl on my
back. The two others hung on to my skirts. I ran fast, as fast as I
could. When I got to the station, I had the two children hanging on
my skirts, I had the shawl on my back, but I had no baby and I
don’t know where I dropped him.’”
The Hungarian woman went on:
“They don’t want us to find out that there is no glory, no big
patriotism, no love for anything noble, nothing but butchery and
slaughter and rape. War means that. You know the story of the War-
brides. You know how agents of the different churches compete with
military rulers in glorifying this kind of prostitution. But do you know
of the concentration camps with the compulsory service of women?
You may have seen the full reports of the atrocities committed on
Belgian women—but you didn’t get the other reports about the same
kind of atrocities committed by all armies on female human beings
between the ages of five and eighty-nine in all the countries where
the game of war is being played. Women of the world, what are we
waiting for?”[7]
And beside her, as she finished, stood an Irish woman, taking up
the thread of the Hungarian’s woman’s cry:
“If we women, to whom even a partial knowledge of these
happenings has come, remain silent now, then we are blood guilty.
We are more than blood guilty, for we must be numbered with those
who will even dare the murder of a soul.
“Let us not blind ourselves with talk of the glories and heroisms
of war. We dare not ignore the moral and spiritual wreckage that
remains unchronicled. We have to think of men brutalized and driven
to hideous deeds by their experiences; of men with reason
destroyed; of men disgraced for lack of the cold courage that can
face such horrors; of men with a slain faith in good, their outlook on
life eternally embittered. What of the women for whom the French
government has had to devise legislation to deter them from
infanticide? What of the children begotten under such conditions?
Women of the world, where is your voice, that should be sowing the
seeds of peace?”[8]
 Almost as her own voice, went on the voice of another woman,
the brief poignant entreaty of an English woman:
“We ask nothing strange! Only that which Christianity, civilization
and motherhood dictate.
“The well-being of children touches all. On that common ground
the opposing nations could meet and crown their courage by laying
aside their arms at the call of a higher humanity.
“Can mother hearts turn from this cry? Will not womanhood join
in resolve, though in divers tongues, yet with but one Voice—the
Voice of pure human love and pity....”[9]
The Inger stood against the wall, and listened. A place had
opened into which he had never looked, whose existence he had
never guessed. He stood frowning, staring—at first trying to
understand, then understanding and passionately doubting. The
appeals of the first speakers did not touch him. What did women
know of these things?
Then the Polish woman had spoken. Then the Servian woman.
Then the Belgium woman. These undeniably knew what they were
talking about! But not until that woman of Hungary had stood there,
did the thought come which had pierced him: What if all that she
said was true—and was true of Lory? What if it had been her child
whom Lory had lost from her shawl as she ran....
He breathed hard, and looked about him. They were all, men and
women alike, sitting as tense as he. And he saw that all these
believed. No one, no one could doubt these women.
“This is what we have to do—” it was another German woman
who was speaking and the interpreter was giving her words. “This is
what we have to do: our cry must ring forth irresistibly from millions
of voices: ‘Enough of slaughter, enough of devastation. Peace,
lasting peace! Make room for peaceful work. Leave the way free for
the fraternity of the peoples and for their coöperation in bringing to
flower the culture of international civilization!’
“If men kill, it is for women to fight for the preservation of life. If
men are silent, it is our duty to raise our voices on behalf of our
ideals.”[10]
The Inger stood where the wall curved, so he was looking at the
rows of faces from near the front of the room. And he was looking
on a sign, a hint no greater in emphasis than a shadow, of what war
is to women. He understood it, momentarily he even felt it. And for
a flash he saw them all as he had seen the women in the Chicago
employment agency—as if he were those women and could suffer
what they suffered.
He remembered Lory, and her face lifted to his in the Chicago
meeting.
“They’re voting to kill folks,” she had said. “Oh, my God.”
This was what she had meant. She had understood, and he had
not understood. How had she understood? He thought about her.
Out of Inch, out of scenes of killing, and of misery put upon life, Jem
Moor’s girl had come, and she knew how to feel the way these
women felt. All that he had been feeling for her became something
which beat upon his heart like light.
A note had been sent to the chairman, and with her
announcement, a movement of wonder went over the audience, and
this wonder was touched with dread. A famous army man was
present, and he would speak.
He came forward firmly, and it was by the merest chance that he
stood there before them erect, strong, compact, alive, for he had
seen service. The Inger looked at him, quickening. Immediately, at
the sight of his uniform, the Inger had felt a restoration of
confidence in what had always been. Then the man faced them, and
he spoke as quietly as the women themselves:
“I ask only to tell you,” he said, “that I have been for twenty-five
years in the service—a part of the time in active service. I have
believed in armies and in armament. I still believe them to have
been an obvious necessity—while our world was being whipped into
shape. Now I am in the last years of my service—I do not take very
readily to new ideas—even when I know that these point to the next
step on the way. I tell you frankly, that if there were a call to arms, I
should be there in my old place—I should serve as I have always
served, I should kill whom they told me to kill, as long as they would
have me there. But—” he hesitated, and lifted his face, and in it was
a light that has shone on a face in no battlefield, “if that time comes,
I shall thank God for every woman who protests against it, as you
here are protesting. And, if that time comes, from my soul I shall
honor the men who will have the courage to be shot, rather than to
go out to shoot their fellows. These men will not be lacking: I have
read the signs and I have heard men talk. Your new way of warfare
is not in vain. You will win. You are the voice of To-morrow. I have
wanted you to know that I feel this—and that to you and to your
effort I say God bless you, and prosper what you do.”
For the first time that night the silence of the audience was
broken. A thunder of hands and voices spoke to him. And, as he
turned to leave the platform, they did that by which they paid the
highest honor that they knew—and rose and remained standing until
he had reached his seat.
“Jove,” said the man near the Inger. “Old Battle-axe! Now watch
the men catch up. It only needed one full-blooded man to say it....”
“Rot,” said the man beyond him. “No matter what they say, you
know and I know that trade will never get out of the way of peace.
There’ll be no peace while we have trade—and that’ll be for some
time to come!”
At this the first man laughed.
“Trade,” he said, “was a thought before it was trade. Peace is a
thought—yet.”
On the stage some one was quoting Washington: “My first wish
is—to see the whole world in peace and the inhabitants of it as one
band of brothers, striving who should contribute most to the
happiness of mankind.”
And Victor Hugo: “A day will come when a cannon ball will be
exhibited in public museums, just as an instrument of torture is now;
and people will be amazed that such a thing could ever have been.”
 Methodically, and as if it had become their business, the women
fell to discussing what they must do. In each country more groups
must be organized—for School, Home, States, Municipalities—“for
the lifting of the programme of pacifism into the realm of serious
commercial and educational and home and political consideration.”
The psychology of war must give place to the psychology of peace.
From unfair trade legislation by one country against another,
down to the sale of toy weapons and soldiers; and from competing
expenditures for national defence down to military drill in schools
and colleges, the temptations to militarism must pass from the
earth.
“We know,” an American woman said, “that war depends on
economic conditions beyond our control. But we know, too, that
there is something potent to change even these, and it is this
potency which we dream to liberate.”
And, beside the Inger, the man said again:
“Peace is only a thought,—yet. But even economic conditions
were only thought, once!”
Gradually in the voice of one and another, the word took shape—
so simply that the enormity of the import was pathetically lacking:
That representatives of the women of the world, united in a demand
for international righteousness, shall petition the men and women of
the world to turn to the new knowledge that war is an outworn way
to settle difficulties; that with one voice we shall all refuse any
longer to let the traditions of a past age be put upon us; that the old
phrases and catch-words shall not stand for one moment before the
naked question of the race: “Is this the best that life can do with
life?” That we shall learn from one another that there is no such
thing as preparing against war, but that to prepare for war breeds
war—twin-born are the slayer and the slain; that we shall teach one
another that “Thou shalt not kill” is not only moral law, but sound
economic policy, for always these two are one. And that from the
constructive plans devised in anguish and in hope by men and
women of to-day, there be selected and inaugurated a world
programme for permanent peace without armistice and a council of
the nations looking toward the federation of the world.
“We have talked long enough of treaties and of arbitration,” they
said. “Let us have done with such play. Let us speak the phrase quite
simply: The federation of the world.”
And the message concluded:
“For we, the women of the world, have banded ourselves
together to demand that war be abolished.”
Last, he remembered a Voice. Afterward, he could not have told
what woman spoke, or of what nation they said that she had come.
But what she said was like the weaving of what the others had spun.
“Remember,” said her Voice, “that all this is nothing. It is only the
body, made for the spirit. And the spirit is that new dominant mind
which shall be born in the world—the mind of love.
“You’ll not get this by going to governments. You’ll not get this
by the meeting of groups of representative people. You’ll not get this
by International Police. These things must be—will be, as a matter of
course. But they will not be the mind of love.
“Something will come into the world—and it will know nothing of
arbitration, it will know nothing of armistice, it will know nothing of
treaties; nor will it know anything of those other ways of secret
warfare by which great nations seem to keep clean hands: the ways
of ‘high’ finance through ‘peaceful penetration.’
“Something will come into the world, and it will know nothing of
nations.
“The little loyalties will go. National pride, national ‘honor,’
patriotism—all the little scaffolds will fall away. And within will be the
light that we lack.
“It is the mind of love. I am not afraid to say that beside it,
governments are nothing. It is the mind of love. It may be in the
simplest cottage of a peasant who goes to the war for a false ideal.
But of this as yet the nations do not know.
“What is it that we must know?
 “That the nations are nothing—the people are everything. That
the people are bound together by ties which the nations must cease
to break. That the people are heart’s kindred, met here together for
their world-work, and that the nations must cease to interrupt.”

Even then the Cabinet meeting was already concluded, and the
newsboys were on the streets with the Extras; and on the bulletin
boards of the world the word was being flashed:

“NO ACTION TO BE TAKEN

BY U. S.”
And in the newspapers was the text of that letter, simple, human,
of almost religious import, which was to make the United States,
years hence, stand out as the first great headland upon new shores.

The people were coming out at the doors of the Capitol. Among
them were the women who had spoken—the Polish woman, the
Servian peasant, the lady of Louvain. The other women in the crowd
put out their hands and took the hands of these women. Those
stretching, pressing hands of silent women marked a giant
fellowship which disregarded oceans, strange tongues, countless
varying experiences, and took account of only one thing.
The Inger was looking up at the white dome against the black
sky, and about him at the march of the people. Through his thought
ran the flood of this that he had heard. In his absorption he lurched
heavily against a man who was trying to pass him and who jostled
him. For the first time in his life, the Inger felt no surge of anger at
such a happening. He looked in the man’s face.
“Gosh,” the Inger said. “That was too alfired bad!”
The man smiled and nodded. Momentarily, the Inger felt on his
arm the touch of the man’s hand.
“All right, brother,” the man said, and was gone.
 The Inger felt a sudden lightness of heart. And about him the
people went along so quietly. Abruptly the tumult of his thinking
gave way to something nearer than these things. He looked in their
faces. None of them knew that his father had died! It occurred to
him now that there was hardly one of them who, on being told,
would not say something to him—perhaps even shake his hand. He
thought that many of these people must have seen their fathers die.
He wondered which ones these would be, and he wished that he
knew which ones they were. Something in him went along with the
people, because they must have had fathers who had died. He
looked at them in a new way. Their fathers must have died....
Oh, if only, he thought, Lory might have been there to-night with
those women who felt as she felt....
He was aware of a hand on his arm. He turned, feeling an
obscure pleasure that perhaps some one had something to say to
him. It was Lory, alone.
 X
Her face in the darkness, and about them the green gloom of the
Square, were all that he knew of the time. Not far from them, like
murals on the night, went the people, that little lighted stream of
people, down the white steps and along the gray drives.
At first he could say nothing to her. He seized at her hand as he
had seized upon it that night in Chicago, but then he remembered
and let her hand fall; and at last he blurted out a consuming
question:
“Where is he?”
“Who?” Lory asked surprisingly, and understood, and still more
surprisingly replied:
“Bunchy! He’s gone to New York.”
This city’s name the Inger repeated stupidly, and as if it made no
answer to anything.
“Just for a few days,” she explained, “before he goes home.”
“Home!”
To tell the truth she seemed not to be thinking very much about
Bunchy.
“I told him I’d never marry him—not in fifty hundred years. And
he went home.”
He considered this incredulously.
“Couldn’t you tell him that without comin’ clear to Washington to
do it?” he demanded.
 “No,” she said. “There was the money. Why didn’t you tell me
you’d give Dad that money?”
He tried to answer her, but all the while this miracle was taking
him to itself: Bunchy had gone.
“I guess because it sounded like a square deal, when I only done
it to devil Bunchy some,” he told her.
“Is that all you done it for?”
He looked at her swiftly. Was that all that he had done it for?
“Is it?” she said.
“I donno,” he answered truthfully. “It was some of it.”
“I wish,” she said, “I wish’t I knew.”
With that he moved a little toward her, and tried to see her face.
“Why?” he asked.
She turned away and said nothing. And when she did that, he
caught his breath and stooped to her.
“You tell me why you wish’t you knew,” he bade her.
“Oh well,” she said—and she was breathless too—“if you done it
to help me—get away—then I shouldn’t feel so bad about goin’ to
the hut.”
“About comin’ to me?”
“About makin’ you do all this for me!” she cried. “I’m sick over it.
I don’t know how to tell you....”
He wondered if it was possible that she did not understand.
“I done the only thing I could think to do,” she said. “There
wasn’t anybody else....”
“Do you get the idea,” he demanded, “that I’m ever going to
forget how you said that to me that first night? I was drunk—but I
knew when you said that. And then—”
“Don’t,” she said.
“How can I help it?” he asked bitterly. “I made fool enough of
myself that night—”
“Don’t,” she begged.
 “—so’s you never can forget it,” he finished. “And so’s I never
can. If it hadn’t been for that—”
“What then?” she asked.
And now he did not answer, but looked away from her, and so it
was she who made him tell.
“What then?” she said again.
“Would you have liked me then,” he burst out, “before that
night?”
She said—and nothing could have swept him like the simplicity
and honesty of this:
“But you never come down to town once after that morning on
the horse.”
“How did you know that?” he cried.
“I watched,” she answered, quietly.
And yet this, he knew, was before that night on the trail. This
was still in the confidence of her supreme confession: “I didn’t know
no woman I could tell—nor no other decent man.” And she had
watched for him....
But, after all, she was telling him so now! And here, to-night,
when she no longer had need of him, her comradeship was
unchanged. And there had been those hours on the train from
Chicago....
“You watched!” he repeated. “Oh look here! Would you watch—
now?”
To her voice came that tremor that he remembered, which
seemed to be in the very words themselves.
“I watched all day to-day,” she said.
Even then he did not touch her. It was as if there were some gulf
which she must be the one to cross.
“Oh Lory, Lory!” he cried.
And she understood, and it was she who stretched out her hands
to him.
 In their broken talk, he told her of his father, and she clung to
him with a cry that she had not been with him.
“I couldn’t send for you,” she said. “I thought—maybe you was
glad Bunchy come. I thought maybe you was glad I was off your
hands—”
“My hands,” he said, “just was huntin’ for your hands.”
“Then that ice-cream place’s wife,” she said, “told me about to-
night—and somebody told Aunt ’Cretia. And we come here to the
meeting—but when I saw you, I run and lost ’em—”
“I wanted you when I was in that meeting,” he told her, “more’n
any other time, most. I knew you knew what they meant.”
She said the thing which in the tense feeling of that hour, had
remained for her paramount.
“That woman,” she cried, “with her baby in her shawl! Think—
when she knew it was gone—and she couldn’t go back....”
“I thought—what if it had been you,” he told her.
She was in his arms, close in the dusk of a great cedar. “Any
woman—any woman!” she said, and he felt her sobbing.
He turned and looked away at the people. Not far from them, like
murals on the night, went the people, that little lighted stream of
people, down the white steps and along the gray drives. He looked
at the women. That about the baby in the shawl might have
happened to any one of them, if war were here.... It was terrible to
think that this might happen to any one of these women. He felt as
if he knew them. And then too, there must be some of them whose
fathers had died....
He kept looking at the people, and in his arms was Lory, sobbing
for that woman who had lost her child from her shawl; and over
there across the water were thousands whose children were gone,
whose fathers had died....
Here they all seemed so kindly, and they were going home ... to
homes such as he and Lory were going to have. Just the same—just
the same....
 And as he looked at the people, the thousands, going to their
homes, Love that had come to dwell in him, touched him on the
eyes. He saw them loving, as he and Lory loved. He saw them
grieving, as that woman had grieved for her child. He saw them
lonely for their dead, as he was lonely for his dead. None of them
could deceive him. He knew them, now. They were like Lory and like
him.
Out of a heart suddenly full he spoke the utmost that he could:
“What a rotten shame,” he said, “it’d be to kill any of them!”
She looked up, and saw where he was looking, and her heart
leaped with her understanding of him.
He was trying to think it out.
“But they can’t seem to stop to think of things like that,” he said;
“not when big things come up.”
“Big things!” she cried. “What’s big things?”
“Well—rights—and land—and sea-ports,” said he.
She laughed, and caught up an end of her blue knitted shawl and
covered her face, and dropped the shawl with almost a sob.
“Rights—and land—and sea-ports!” she said over.
The three words hung in air, and echoed. And abruptly there
came upon him a dozen things that he had heard that night: “We
had just three little streets, but they took those....” “There is only
one hell worse than we have been through....” “Say, if you like, that
Belgium was only a part of what happens in war....” “We have to
think of men brutalized and driven to hideous deeds....” “Enough of
slaughter. Enough of devastation. Peace—lasting peace!” And then
again the words of the Hungarian woman: “I had the shawl on my
back, but I had no baby and I don’t know where I dropped him.”
“Think of millions of men doing like Dad and that sheriff,” the girl
said suddenly. “I saw ’em there on the woodshed floor,—stark,
starin’, ravin’ mad.”
Sharp on the dark before him was struck the image of that old
madman in the kitchen. There was a beast in him. The Inger had felt
the beast in himself answer. He had felt the shame of a man who is
a beast to another man. What if it were the same kind of shame for
the nations?
Suddenly, in his arms, Lory was pouring out all that she had
longed to say to him.
“Back there in Inch,” she cried, “I knew there was some other
way. I had to know! It didn’t seem as if everybody could be like Dad
and Bunchy. Then I saw you—and you seemed like you could be
some other way. And you are—and see the folks there. There is
some other way to be besides killin’!”
The lights in the dome went out, and that high white presence
dropped back against the sky. Still the people were going by, their
feet treading the gravel; and now there was a man’s voice, now a
woman’s voice, now the sleepy treble of a child. And they were all in
some exquisite faith of destination.
“I guess there must be some other way,” the Inger said.
To the man and the woman in each other’s arms, there came no
glimpse of the future, great with its people, “striving who should
contribute most to the happiness of mankind.” But of the man’s love
was born his dim knowledge—which had long been the woman’s
knowledge—that the people are bound together by ties which the
nations must cease to break. That the people are heart’s kindred,
met here for their world-work, which the nations must cease to
interrupt.
Yet all that he could say of this was something which every
soldier knows—though armies never know:
“If that woman had been you—and the baby in the shawl had
been ours—”
“Anybody’s!” she insisted. “Anybody’s baby!”
“Yes,” said the Inger then. “Anybody’s baby.!”
Printed in the United States of America.
 FOOTNOTES:

[1] Jane Addams: “Newer Ideals of Peace.”

[2] From Johanne Rambusch, Aalborg, Denmark.

[3] From Lida Gustava Heymann, Munich.

[4] From “Letters from the Women of the Warring Nations.”

[5] From “Letters from the Women of the Warring Nations.”

[6] Cotes du Nord, France.

[7] From Rosika Schwimmer, Buda Pesth.

[8] From Louie Bennett, Dublin.

[9] From Emily Hobhouse, London.

[10] From Clara Zetkin, Stuttgart.

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