"I know," she says in a whisper, "I know--" Then she looked up. "Twelve folks are coming here in two automobiles in about half an hour. The telephone was from Prescott--that's about ten miles, isn't it? It's the Hewitts. From the city--and some guests of theirs--" "The Hewitts?" I says over. "From the city?" She nodded. "The Hewitts," I pressed on, "that give us our library? And that we want to name the park for?" Yes. It was them. "Why, my land," I says, "my land--let me tell the ladies." I rushed in on them, where they were walking 'round the parlor peaceful, each lady looking over her own dress and giving little twitches to it here and there to make the set right. "The Hewitts," I says, "that we've all wanted to meet for years on end. And now look at us--dressed up in every-day, or not so much so, when we'd like to do them honor." Mis' Toplady, standing by her wedding dress on the wax form, waved both her arms. "Ladies!" she says. "S'posing we ain't any of us dressed up. Can't we dress up, I'd like to know? Here's all our best bib and tucker present with us. What's to prevent us putting it on?" "But the exhibit!" says Mis' Holcomb most into a wail. "The exhibit that they was to pay fifteen cents apiece for?" "Well," says Mis' Toplady majestic, "they'll have it, won't they? We'll tell them which is which--only we'll all be wearing our own!" Like lightning we decided. Each lady ripped her own dress off its wire form and scuttled for up-stairs. I took mine too, and headed with them; and at the turn I met Marjorie Mayhew, running down the stairs. "Oh!" she says, kind of excited and kind of ashamed. "_Do_ you think it'd spoil your exhibit if I took--if I wore--that rose dress--" "No, child," I says. "Go right down and get it. That won't spoil the exhibit. The exhibit," I says, "is going to be exhibited _on_." We were into our clothes in no time, hooking each other up, laughing like girls. The first of us was just beginning to appear, when the two big cars came breathing up to the gate. In came the Hewitts, and land--in one glance I saw there was nothing about them that was like what we'd always imagined--nothing grand or sweeping or rustling or cold. I guess that kind of city folks has gone out of fashion, never to come back. The Hewitts didn't seem like city folks at all--they seemed just like folks. It made a real nice surprise. And we all got to be folks, short off. For when I ushered them into my parlor, there were all the wire dress-forms setting around with nothing whatever on. "My land," I says, "we might as well own right up to what we done," I says. And I told them, frank. And I dunno which enjoyed it the most, them or us.