"Remember, you're going back with us to-night. And I'm never going to let you out of my sight again--ever." And she said: "But I know why. Because it'd be hard work to make me go...." At the foot of the stairs Mis' Holcomb met me, her silk dress's collar under one ear. "Have you heard?" she says. "We didn't have much exhibit, but the Hewitts have give us enough for the park--outright." I'd wanted that park like I'd wanted nothing else for the town. But I hardly sensed what she said. I was looking acrost to where those two stood, and pretty soon I walked over to them. "Is this the Miss Mayhew you were referring to?" I ask' him, demure. "This," says he, his nice eyes twinkling, "is the only Miss Mayhew there is." "You may say that now," says I then, bold. "But--I see you won't call her that long." He looked at me, and she looked at me, and they both put out their hands to me. "I see," says he, "that we three understand one another perfectly." FOOTNOTE: [6] Copyright, 1914, _The Delineator_. ROSE PINK[7] _The Art and Loan Dress Exhibit recalls a story of my early association with Calliope Marsh in Friendship Village, when yet she was not well known to me--her humanity, her habit of self-giving, her joy in life other than her own._ _Afterward I knew that I had never seen a woman more keenly and constantly a participant in the lives of others. She was hardly individuated at all. She suffered and joyed with others, literally, more than she did in her "own" affairs. I now feel certain that before we can reach the individualism which we crave--and have tried to claim too soon--we must first know such participation as hers in all conscious life--in all life, conscious or unconscious._ _This is that early story, as I then wrote it down:_ Calliope Marsh had been having a "small company." Though nominally she was hostess to twenty of us, invited there for six o'clock supper, yet we did not see Calliope until supper was done. Mis' Postmaster Sykes had opened the door for us, had told us to "walk up-stairs to the right an' lay aside your things," and had marshaled us to the dining-room and so to chairs outlining the room. And there the daughters of most of the guests had served us while Calliope stayed in the kitchen, with Hannah Hager to help her, seasoning and stirring and "getting it onto the plates." Afterward, flushed and, I thought, lovably nervous, Calliope came in to receive our congratulations and presently to hear good-nights. But I, who should have hurried home to Madame Josephine, the modiste from town who that week called my soul her own, waited for a little to talk it over--partly, I confess, because a fine, driving rain had begun to fall.