to add; "I ain't talkin' about
us, you know," she explained anxiously, "I just want to warn you so's
you won't be hurt. I guess I notice such things more'n most. We won't
mean to offend you--but I thought you'd ought to know ahead. An' bein'
as it's part my tea, I thought it was kind o' my place to tell you."

She was touching the matter delicately, almost tenderly, and not more,
as I saw, with a wish to spare me than with a wish to apologize in
advance for the others, to explain away some real or fancied weakness.

"You know," she said, "we ain't never had anybody to, what you might
say, tell us what we can an' what we can't say. So we just naturally say
whatever comes into our heads. An' then when we get it said, we see
often that it ain't what we meant--an' that it's apt to hurt folks or
put us in a bad light, or somethin'. But some don't even see that--some
go right ahead sayin' the hurt things an' never know it _is_ a hurt. I
don't know if you've noticed what I mean," Calliope said, "but you will
to-night. An' I didn't want you should be hurt or should think hard of
them that says 'em."

But how, I wondered, as my guests assembled, could one "think hard" of
any one in Friendship, and especially of the little circle to which I
belonged: My dear Mis' Amanda Toplady, Mis' Photographer Sturgis, Mis'
Holcomb-that-was-Mame-Bliss, who, since our Thanksgiving, seemed, as
Calliope put it, to have "got good with the universe again"; the Liberty
sisters, for that day once more persuaded from their seclusion, and Mis'
Postmaster Sykes, with, we sometimes said, "some right to hev her
peculiarities if ever anybody hed it." Of them all the Friendship phrase
of approval had frequently been spoken: That this one, or that, was "_at
heart_, one o' the most all-round capable women we've got."

I had hoped to have one more guest--Mrs. Merriman, wife of the late
chief of the Friendship fire department. But I had promptly received her
regrets, "owing to affliction in the family," though the fire chief had
died two years and more before.

"But it's her black," Calliope had explained to me sympathetically; "she
can't afford to throw away her best dress, made mournin' style, with
crape ornaments. As long as that lasts good, she'll hev to stay home
from places. I see she's just had new crape cuffs put on, an' that means
another six months at the least. An' she won't go to parties wearin'
widow weeds. Mis' Fire Chief Merriman is very del