Our friendship began long ago, in a Western city, whither she had come in search of health. Both were young, she a few years the elder. She was alone. I never saw any member of her family, and we had few friends in common, but between us, from the day we met, there was a strong bond of sympathy, which grew to deep affection, notwithstanding many differences between us. She was more widely read than I; I more actively in touch with life than she. She was a church woman; I was not. Her point of view was Eastern, mine at that time entirely Western. Our many disagreements were argued warmly and at length, but at bottom each knew that she could draw at will upon whatever strength or resource the other possessed, and the debt in the end was mine, when her death left a blank to which I could never be quite reconciled. Her brief career seemed to contradict the law of compensation, upon which, until recently, my philosophy of life has been based. Meticulously truthful, scrupulous in all things, strong of purpose, giving of her best to life, life passed her by with a shrug. Keenly sensitive to beauty, whether spiritual, intellectual, or material, she was hampered in its pursuit by limited health and limited means. For years she struggled with uncongenial employment of one sort or another, denying herself the loaf she needed to procure the hyacinth she needed more. Longing for life at its fullest and richest, she scarcely touched its margin. Yearning for high peaks and wide outlook, she lived always on the plain. When, finally, the path seemed to be opening before her and she was pleasantly established, doing a healing and constructive work for which she was fitted, she died suddenly, still baffled, having given the last proof of her love for humanity by yielding her life for it, worn out by hard work, combating an epidemic in a college town. Rejoiced to learn that at last she was happy, I asked whether she could tell us of her work, and she began, easily: “Yes, on the ... on ... on the....” After long difficulty she accomplished it. “On the perpetual tour.” When she had verified this astonishing statement as correct, I suggested, “‘Off ag’in, on ag’in, gone ag’in’?” “That’s it.” For an eager spirit like Mary K.’s no happier heaven could be imagined. Replying to further questions, she said that it was not just luck that I had caught her that first night. No, neither had she come to me from the other side of the world. “I’ve been working on you for a month,” she said. “Ever since V—— was here.” It was considerably more than a month, but time and place seem to have little significance to those on her plane.