But the fact that all had not forgotten was proved that very evening
when, as she and Mrs. Wyeth and Miss Pease were sitting talking together
in the parlor, Maggie, the maid, answering the ring of the doorbell,
ushered in Miss Barbara Howe. Barbara was, as usual, arrayed like the
lilies of the field, but her fine petals were decidedly crumpled by the
hug which she gave Mary as soon as she laid eyes upon her.

"You bad girl!" she cried. "Why didn't you tell me you were in town? And
why didn't you answer my letter--the one I wrote you at South Harniss? I
didn't hear a word and only tonight, after dinner, I had the inspiration
of phoning Mrs. Wyeth and trying to learn from her where you were and
what you meant by dropping all your friends. Maggie answered the phone
and said you were here and I threw on my things--yes, 'threw' is the
word; nothing else describes the process--and came straight over. How DO
you do? And WHAT are you doing?"

Mary said she was well and that she had been too busy to reply to Miss
Howe's letter. But this did not satisfy. Barbara wanted to know why she
had been busy and how, so Mary told of her determination to remain in
South Harniss and become a business woman, Barbara was greatly excited
and enthusiastic.

"Won't it be perfectly splendid!" she exclaimed. "I only wish I were
going to do it instead of having to stay at that straight-up-and-down
school and listen to Prissy's dissertations on Emerson. She told the
Freshman class the other day that she had had the honor of meeting Mr.
Emerson when very young--when SHE was young, she meant; she always tells
every Freshman class that, you know--and one of the Freshies spoke up
and asked if she ever met him afterwards when he was older. They said
her face was a picture; I wish I might have seen it. But do tell me more