Altogether it was a smooth day and to me a very happy one. Jane had been absent since noon. Her occupations were unquestioned, but when she joined us at the evening dinner it was good to see how her tired face brightened at Zura's girlish way of telling things.

Our guest thanked Jane for the cakes. Said she simply adored bear and tiger cookies, and as for gingerbread Johnnies she couldn't live without them. "It was so good of you to think of me," she told Jane.

"Not at all," replied Miss Gray. "I was as glad to make them as I am to have you with us. Two lone women in one house are bound to get stale. We need young sweet things about to keep us enthusiastic and poetical."

At this Zura's eyes sparkled, but the sincerity of Jane's welcome appealed to her better part and she suppressed a laugh.

* * * * *

My house possesses one small guest-room. Without mentioning it, I disposed of a few curios and with the proceeds I ransacked the shops for things suitable for girls. My morning had been spent in arranging my purchases. It was a very sweet moment to me when, after I had ushered in my guest, she stood for a second taking it all in; then putting out her hand she said, "It's like a picture and you are very kind."

Afterwards Jane Gray, looking like a trousered ghost in her outdoor sleeping garments, crept into my study and interrupted the work I was trying to make up.

"Oh, Miss Jenkins," she whispered mysteriously, "I've just thought it all out—a way to make everybody happy, I mean. Wouldn't it be truly splendid if dear Page Hanaford and Zura were to fall in love? It's a grand idea. She has the mares and anners of a duchess and so has he." Excitement invariably twisted Jane's tongue.

"For Heaven's sake, Jane, do you mean airs and manners?"

"Yes, that's what I said," went on Jane undisturbed. "And oh! can you think of anything more sweetly romantic?"

I laid down my pen and asked Miss Gray to look me straight in the eyes. Then I put the question to her: "Will you tell me what on earth romance, sweet or otherwise, has to do with a young fellow struggling not only with poverty, but with something that looks like mystery, and a wild, untamed, wilful girl?"

To which my companion replied: "But just think what love would do to them both!"

I guess the difference in Jane's sentiment and mine is the same as between a soft-shell crab and a hard-shell one.



VII

AN INTERRUPTED DINNER

The next two days passed happily, if a little giddily, and Jane and I commanded every resource to entertain our guest. Zura saw and responded like a watch-spring suddenly released. She found in two simple old women perfect subjects on which to vent her long-suppressed spirits. She entered into the activities of the household with such amazing zest, it seemed as if we were playing kitchen furniture. While it surprised me how one young girl could so disturb regular working hours and get things generally a-flutter, I could easily see that all she needed was a chance to be herself. That was the point that Kishimoto had to understand and would not.

"Please let me be Santa Claus this time, and give out the cod liver oil and the milk and the bibs to the babies," Zura begged one day when these articles were to be distributed; "and mayn't I keep the kiddies for just a little while to play with?"

An hour later, attracted by much noise, I walked out into the garden and saw Zura with a clean, but much-patched baby on her back, one in each arm, and a half-dozen trailing behind. The game was "Here we go 'round the mulberry bush," sung in English and played in Japanese.

"Oh, Miss Jenkins," cried the merry leader, "come quick. We need a bush and you will make such a nice fat one."

Before I knew what was happening I was drawn into the mad frolic, reckless of all the work piled up on my desk in the study. I thought maybe I was growing feeble-minded, but the way to it was delightful, if foolish.

* * * * *

Strangely enough, during this time Page Hanaford did not appear. We explained to Zura that he was present the day she made her brief call.

"Oh! do you mean the day I flew into the 'Misty Star' and right out again? Yes, I remember his outlines. Where did you find him? Looked more like a sure-enough man than anything I've seen in Japan."

Jane monopolized the talk at breakfast that morning, describing to Zura the good looks of Page Hanaford and the charm of his romantic story.

Zura seemed more amused by Jane's manner and the funny twist in her tongue than impressed by her description.

Miss Gray finally turned to me and urged once again, "Do let's have him to-night. I'll get the dinner."

Zura clapped her hands and said eagerly, "Oh, let's do! I haven't been to a party in a century. If Miss Gray will be the 'chefess,' I'll be assistant potato peeler. I can make the best salad. It's called 'Salade de la Marquise de Chateaubriand'; but it won't hurt you. It is only peanuts and cabbage. Daddy and I used to feast on it once a week."

There was no resisting her enthusiasm, and I sent a note to Page Hanaford asking him to come that evening for dinner.

After all there was nothing I could label a reason why he and Zura should not meet.

Domesticity was the last thing anybody would suspect a characteristic of either Jane or Zura. Not knowing what the result would be, I gave the cook a holiday and turned the incongruous pair loose to do as they pleased in kitchen and dining-room.

All the afternoon I was busy with my writing, but from time to time there penetrated through the closed doors of my study sounds of swift-moving feet and gay laughter. The old house seemed infected with youth. Contact with it was sweet. Some of my dreams were coming true. I found myself repeating a long-forgotten poem as I took up another stupid report. I even hummed a tune, something I had not done in twenty years.

Just before the dinner hour Jane and Zura came into the living-room. Evidently their work in a common cause put them on the friendliest terms. They were arm in arm, and I knew by the set of Jane's collar and the rose in her hair that young and skilful hands had been at work. Zura's white dress was dainty enough, but it seemed to melt into nothing about the neck and sleeves. It must have been brought from America, as I had seen none like it. Nobody could deny, however, that with her face, all aglow beneath her lustrous hair, she was a goodly sight for young and old.

"Isn't she the very sweetest thing?" asked Jane as they approached, adding wistfully, "But I truly wish her dear nose didn't tilt up!"

Zura with stern, forbidding brows, but laughing eyes, rebuked the wisher. "See here, Miss Jinny Gray, that is the only nose I have, if it is sudden. I've worked hard to coax it in the straight and narrow path. I've even slept on my face for a week at a time." Then with swift, dramatic gestures as the gong sounded at the entrance-door, she whispered, "Hush! The man of mystery doth appear!"

Page Hanaford came in. All our tempting tonics and special dishes had failed to curve the angles in the boy's face and body. He still looked ill. The brooding sadness that frequently overshadowed his lighter moods troubled me.

When he caught sight of Zura, his alertness of manner was pleasing and the kind of joy-look in his eyes did me good. I guessed he was downright glad to see something youthful hovering around the "Misty Star." I was glad too, but the situation did not seem to call for hurrahs and fireworks. Two young American people meeting, shaking hands, and courteously greeting each other was an unusual sight to me, but after all a natural one. Page said he had been obliged to forego the pleasure of seeing us, as he had been very busy organizing his new classes. He was glad to come again.

We went at once to dinner. I wondered from where the new "chefess" and her assistant "potato peeler" had procured the materials necessary to so pretentious a meal. Though surprised, I soon learned that Jane Gray was mistress of the art of making something beautiful out of nothing.

We sat down to the softly-lighted table. The china was old and somewhat chipped, but on its white background a design in tender blue just matched the fresh larkspur used for table decorations. With the bringing in of each dish prepared by the new cooks the little party grew gayer and friendlier. The quaint old dining-room had never witnessed festivities like these. In the long ago it served as the audience chamber of a Daimyo's 'Besso' or play place. It was here that the feudal lord had held council of war and state. The walls had never before echoed the laughter of joyous youth. Now even the grotesque figures on the carved beams seemed to awaken from a long sleep and give back smile for smile.

Pine Tree and Maple Leaf, gay in holiday dress, usually so precise and formal, fluttered about like distracted butterflies as they served the dinner, often stopping to hide their faces in the long sleeves when Zura honored them with side remarks for, of course, she was the source of all the merriment, the life of the party. She also reduced Jane to a state of helpless laughter. I felt the years dropping away from me, and the face of the boy whom I had learned to love was less strained and brighter than I had ever seen it. He said little at first, but his eyes smiled, and he listened eagerly to all Zura's chatter and seemed to be hearing once again of joys dreamed of and a world lost to him.

I knew myself growing happier every minute. The after-dinner coffee was not necessary to make, somewhere near my heart, little thrills jump up and down, like corn in a hot popper. I was getting what my soul craved—companionship, contact with life, and a glimpse into the doings of youth's magic years.

We soon returned to the living-room. Page prepared to smoke, and we settled down to a friendly, intimate time.

The talk turned to school. Jane had been telling of a Japanese woman, who, handicapped by the loss of an arm, and no longer being useful in field work, trudged every morning eight miles to school where she could learn sewing so as to help husband and babies.

"Well!" remarked Zura doubtingly. "I can't sew with two hands, and my tongue thrown in. I do not see how she manipulates anything so contrary as a needle, single-fisted."

"Oh! my dear," said Jane, "you can believe with one hand just as hard as you can with two. It's hoping with all your might, while one is doing, that makes our dreams come true. I'm afraid you never really loved school."

"Oh, yes, I did in spots," she said. "Especially if there were a fight on—I mean—a contest. I could bear with cheerful resignation all the V.P's., the B.B's., and chilly zeros they tagged on to my deportment, but I would have worked myself into a family skeleton, before I would permit another girl to outclass me in a test exam! I could forgive the intellectual her sunset hair, but her Grecian nose—never!"

The methods employed by the two contestants as related by Zura had called forth my unqualified sympathy for the teacher when once again the gong on my front-door rang out and a voice was heard asking for Miss Wingate.

Zura jumped up from her seat and greeted the visitor with frank delight. "Oh!" she said, "it's Pinkey Chalmers! Who'd believe it! Hello, Pinkey! My! but it is good to see somebody from home."

There was ushered into the room a well nourished looking chap, who greeted Zura by her first name familiarly. I did not need to be told that he was the young man with whom she had been seen on the highway. He was introduced to me as Mr. Tom Chalmers; I was told he had earned his nickname, "Pinkey," by contracting the pink-shirt habit.

The youth was carelessly courteous and very sure of himself. My impression was that he had seen too much of the world and not enough of his mother. He declined my invitation to dine, saying he had had late tea before he left the ship which was coaling in a nearby port.

"I started early," he went on, "but maybe you think I didn't have a great old time finding this place. You said in your note, Zura, it was the 'Misty Star' at the top of the hill. Before I reached here I thought it must be the last stopping-place in the Milky Way. Climbing up those steps was something awful."

Mr. Chalmers mopped his rosy brow, but later conversation proved his sensitiveness to feminine beauty quite overbalanced his physical exhaustion, as on the way many pretty girls peeped out from behind paper doors.

Page kept in the background, plainly arranging a mode of escape. He soon excused himself on the plea of work, saying as he left, "I'll drop in some time to-morrow for the book. You'll find it by then."

With the look of a disappointed child on her face, Jane called to her little attendants, went to her room and resumed her knitting.

The unbidden guest was gaiety itself, and there was no denying the genuine pleasure of the girl. As the night was warm and glorious, I suggested that Zura and her guest sit on the balcony.

I picked up a book and sat by my reading lamp, but my eyes saw no printed words. My mind was busy with other thoughts. I was a woman without experience and had never lived in the world of these two. But intuition is stronger than custom and longer than fashion. The standards I held for the boys and girls of my country were high and noble. Frankly I did not like the man's attention to Zura, the intimate companionship suggested by his actions, nor his unreserved manner. The girl had told us of their chance meeting on the steamer coming from Seattle. Any mention of his name on her part was so open, she spoke of him as just a good playfellow to help her to pass away the time, I could not believe her feelings involved. But, fearful tragedies can be fostered by loneliness and in Mr. Chalmers's easy familiarity with the lonely girl, there was something wanting; I could only name it chivalry. Yet, as their voices came to me, glad, happy, vibrant with the joys of youth and its interests, I thought perhaps I did not understand the ways of the young and their customs, because I had never known their delights. On and on the boy and girl talked, unheeding my presence and the fact that I could hear.

From out the open window I caught a glimpse of the radiant blue between the distant hills and the light of the great evening star as it flashed its eternal message to the sparkling waters below.

Zura saw it and called softly to her companion, "Hush, Pinkey! Look! Isn't that a bit of heaven?"

And he of the earth replied, "I am looking at you. That is all the heaven I want just now."

"You silly!" was the unvexed reproof.

After a pause they began to talk of queer and, to me, far-off things—something about the "average" of "Giants" and "Cubs," of "quarter-backs," "full-backs" and a kind of "great rush," though what it was after I never knew. I supposed he was telling her of some wild tribe festival when he spoke of dances bearing the names of animals and fowls. It was all as incomprehensible to me as Hindustanee.

At last he said to her, "Well, girlie, I'm about due to leave now. I am sorry, but I must be moving." Then more softly, "Remember to-morrow night. You take a wrap and I'll see to the lunch. Boat will be ready at eight. By Jove! with a night like this what a lark it will be!"

The meaning of this was as clear as my crystal paper weight, and between the door where Mr. Chalmers bade Zura good-night and the lodge where I aroused the sleeping Ishi to his duty of custodian my thoughts went around like a fly-wheel on full duty.

The reflected flame of the old bronze lantern, swayed by the night-wind, fell on the great gate and transformed the carved dragons and attendant demons into living, moving things.

The departing guest saw it and remarked with a mock fear, "That dragonette seems alive; hope he and his angels will not follow me. Some carving that!"

"Are you interested in curious things, Mr. Chalmers?"

"I should say. Everything from jiujitsu to eels and chopsticks catches me."

"Have you ever seen a garden in this country which boasts some three or four centuries of birthdays?"

"No; but I should like to gaze on the spectacle."

Here was my opportunity to get in serious conference with the young man, and as it seemed one of the few sights Mr. Chalmers had missed, I was charmed to make my offer.

"My garden is very famous," I said, "and just now it is in its full beauty. I wonder if you would come to-morrow morning and permit me to show it to you?"

"Sure. Thanks," was the answer as he swung down the street and into the sleeping town below.



VIII

MR. CHALMERS SEES THE GARDEN AND HEARS THE TRUTH

Early next day I cornered Jane privately and told her of the conversation I had overheard the night before and the visitor I was expecting, adding, "This is Orphan Asylum day. I can't go, but take Zura with you. I don't want her to see that Chalmers boy again. He's too friendly, too highly colored to suit my ideas."

If my tones were sharper than the occasion demanded, it was because of the combination of a shriveled cash account, and an undesirable male around. The general disturbance of mind made me say, not quite honestly:

"He may be all right, but so far I can see not one good quality in Mr. Chalmers's make-up."

"Oh! yes, there is, Miss Jenkins," said Jane, quick to defend. "He can whistle beautifully. Last night as he went down the street you should have heard, 'Oh! Promise Me!' It was so pretty I almost cried."

"Spare your tears, Jane; the prettiest whistle that ever grew never made a real man. Mr. Chalmers will have to shine in another direction before I am convinced. Now get Zura and clear out, and don't you dare to take more than one basket of gingerbread Johnnies to the orphans."

* * * * *

When Mr. Tom Chalmers walked in at ten o'clock he barely concealed his regret at there being only an elderly hostess to receive him. The garden where I conducted my visitor, might have added joy to its symbol of peace on this perfect day of early spring. In each flower, in every leaf a glad spirit seemed to dwell. The feathered tribe that made its home among the branches madly rejoiced in a melody of song and twitterings. A white mother pigeon sheltered her young in a gnarled old plum tree, full-blossomed and crimson, while in a lofty pine old man crow scolded all birdkind as he swayed on the topmost branch, a bit of ebony against the matchless sky of blue.

There is only one effectual way of dealing with things one does not want to do—make past history of them as fast as possible. Very soon after entering the garden I asked Mr. Chalmers, who was mildly interested in the beauties before him, to sit down with me. Without further dallying, I went straight to the point of the interview. I told him I had heard him make the appointment with Zura the night before and he seemed to have forgotten to mention the matter to me, though I was close by. For a time at least I was responsible for Zura, and I thought it best to call his attention to a few facts which could not be overlooked.

"I wonder, Mr. Chalmers, if you realize that in this country it is impossible for a boy and a girl to associate together alone. It is barely permissible for you to see her in the company of others. Already your attentions have caused Zura to be talked about and there is very serious trouble with her grandfather. Further than that, the excursion you are planning for to-night is not only improper in any country, but it means actual disgrace here."

"It does? Well, I'll be hanged! Can't take a girl out and give her a good time! I knew these Japs were fools, but their laws are plain rot."

"Possibly, from your standpoint, Mr. Chalmers; but you see these laws and customs were in good working order in Japan long before Columbus had a grandfather. They can't be changed on the spur of the moment."

"That's all right," he responded hotly. "What you can't change you can sometimes break; I'm good at that kind of game."

Something in the boy's resentful face said that I was an impudent old meddler, an officious interloper. It made my voice as sharp as pins. "Very well, young man," I said, "there will be just one time in your life's history when you have encountered both an old law and an old woman that you will neither break nor change. Your attentions to Zura Wingate have got to be stopped and at once."

"Stopped!" he retorted. "Who's going to make me? I come from a free country where every fellow is his own boss. I'll do as I please. What do I care about the laws of these little brown monkeys! Where would they be anyhow if it wasn't for America? Didn't we yank 'em out of their hermits' nest and make them play the game whether they wanted to or not? They had better lay low! Don't they know there are ninety millions of us? Why, with one hand tied behind we could lick the Rising Sun clean off their little old flag!"

If it ever happened, I wondered about what point in the battle I could locate Mr. Pinkey Chalmers. The more he talked, the less I was sure of my pet belief in the divine right of the individual. Then my heart jumped; I saw Page Hanaford coming.

"The maid was unable to find the book I came for. She directed me here. Do I interrupt?" he asked on reaching us, bowing slightly and looking inquiringly from my frowning face to Pinkey Chalmers's wrathful one.

"Interrupt? No," said that youth. "Welcome to our prayer-meeting! I've planned a picnic and a sail for Zura and me to-night. This lady says it shall not be and I'm speculating who's going to stop it."

Page stepped quietly up to the defiant Pinkey. "I will, Mr. Chalmers, if necessary. I know nothing of your plans, but in this place Miss Jenkins's word is law. You and I are here to obey it as gentlemen."

Tommy blazed. "Gentlemen! Who are you, I'd like to know, pushing in and meddling with my affairs," he said.

At the challenge the old look of confusion momentarily clouded Page's eyes. Then with an effort he found himself. "My ancestry would not appeal to you, sir. But"—half good-humoredly—"the punch of my fist might."



"Oh h—h—ho!" stuttered Pinkey, angry and game. "You want to fight, do you! Light in! I'm ready."

Page started forward. A sound stopped him. It was voices singing an age-old nursery tune:

"Skip to my loobyloo, Skip to my loobyloo, Skip to my loobyloo All of a Saturday morning."

It was a strange and curious sight in that wonderful old garden. Down the sandy path under the overhanging blossoms came Jane and Zura, skipping and bowing in time to the game's demands. The last line brought them to us. Hand in hand they stopped, Zura dishevelled, Jane's hat looking as if it grew out of her ear, but old maid and young were laughing and happy as children.

"We were practising games for the 'Sylumites,'" explained Zura. "I'm premier danseuse to the Nipponese kiddies and Lady Jenny is my understudy. What's the argument?" she asked, observing first one face, then the other, keenly alive to some inharmony.

Mr. Chalmers started to speak.

I cut him short. "Zura, take Mr. Hanaford with you and give him the book he wants. You'll find it on my desk. You go too, Jane, and help; Mr. Hanaford is in a hurry. I'll bring Mr. Chalmers later."

"Lovely!" exclaimed Jane; "and everybody will stay to lunch. Come on, let's have a feast."

A feast! Jane knew well enough it was bean soup and salad day, and not even a sweet potato in the pantry. Miss Gray and Zura started house-ward, slowly followed by Page. He had looked very straight at Mr. Chalmers, who returned the gaze, adding compound interest, and a contemptuous shrug.

They were barely out of hearing when he began, "Brave soldier of fortune, that! Where did he come from?" Without waiting for me to answer he went on: "I didn't know you were a missionary, else you couldn't have tied me with a rope and made me listen to a sermon and a peck of golden texts 'a la Japanese.'"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Chalmers, I'm not a missionary. If I were, I would leave off teaching the so-called heathen at once and be head chaplain to some of the ninety millions you were talking about. Speaking of golden texts, I know my Bible too well to cast pearls. Now, young man, once for all let me say, this thing simply cannot be. Zura is a lonely girl in a strange land. She must live under her grandfather's roof. Your slightest attention will make mountains of difficulty for her, and she is not going with you to-night even if you mean to marry her to-morrow."

Pinkey turned nearly white. "Marry her!" he exclaimed, "Why, I'm engaged to a girl back home."

"Why, I never intended to marry her," he went on, more concerned than at any time before. "I was just having a little flirtation."

A little flirtation! By the powers that be! My country had progressed if it had come to the place where a man could swear allegiance to one woman, then blithely sail the seas to find heaven in another woman's eyes!

My few days' experience with a girl had set me more problems than I ever found in arithmetic. This boy was a whole algebra, and they both belonged to my country where I thought rearing children was like growing flowers. Not only were things happening, I was learning new lessons faster than I really cared for. I asked him if Zura knew of his engagement.

"No," he replied as he walked restlessly about, "I just met her coming over. She isn't in love with me and I don't trouble others with my private affairs."

"Really! I am afraid your manly self-control will cause Zura many a heart ache. I know of nothing more contemptible than being engaged to one girl and flirting with another."

"Most men do it," he answered sullenly.

"I don't believe you, boy, and it will take more proof than you can furnish to convince me that the men of my country have so low a standard of honor." I put a heavy accent on "men."

My guest flushed. "Well, I like that! What do you call me?"

"A thoughtless boy," I said. "But if you want to be a man, here's your chance. You go right back to your ship; write to Zura; tell her of your engagement and why you cannot see her any more; then stay away."

I knew as little about men as I did about fashion, but I plunged on. "What do you think the girl back home would think? Suppose somebody treated her as you have treated Zura? Shame on you, boy! Be a man and help an old woman as well as a young one."

The desire to have his own way died hard, but something conquered. "I'll do it! Just watch me," he said at last, a certain bravado accompanying his words.

I could see that he was much disturbed by our interview. He rose and moved towards the gate. His effort to live up to his newly-awakened manhood was boyish, but sincere.

He whirled about suddenly and said, "Miss Jenkins, I apologize to you and Zura. I—I'm awfully sorry. Zura is such a jolly chum, and she was very lonely; I wasn't any too gay myself at leaving home. But, honestly, I didn't mean to make it hard for her. I—I didn't think. Please tell her."

Impulsively he took my hand and lightly kissed it. But for his earnestness I would have thought it impudent. He was soon gone.

* * * * *

"Where's Pink Tommy?" cried Zura, as I entered the living-room.

"Where's Mr. Hanaford?" I questioned back.

"Why, he took his book and left. Didn't you say he was in a hurry?"

"Yes, I did; so was Mr. Chalmers. He left good-by!"

"Good-by?" In Zura's question there was much annoyance and some anger.

Jane chimed in. "Both the boys gone? What a pity! I've just made a relly joll."

Whether intentional or not, Jane's twisted words sent a little breeze of laughter before the coming storm. For the rest of the afternoon Zura had little to say. Book in hand she sat in the windowseat overlooking the water, watching the snow-white sails skim the opal sea.

I made no further explanation of Mr. Chalmers or his call, thinking it best to await the arrival of his note.

It came just before night. The reading of it left Zura white. She looked at me stonily, "I suppose," she began, stiff with anger, "that you did this."

"I did," I answered, looking into her blazing eyes.

"And I suppose too," she continued with withering scorn, "that was why the gay cavalier kissed your hand. I saw him through the window. So touching! That's what you were plotting when I found you in the garden. Page Hanaford was in it too; I saw it in his face. I hate him! I hate everything! Oh!" she cried, with a sudden outburst of passion, "the lot of you are a pack of withered mummies. Not one of you know what it means to be homesick; how I'm aching for a good time! Yes, I was going with Pinkey to have a picnic on the island. Yes, I was going to slip off without telling you. How could you understand? What was the harm in my having a little pleasure? Do you think I intend to bend to the rules of this law-cursed country? No, I will not! I'll go where I please. I'll have my own friends!"

As gently as I could I forced her to go to her room and listen to what I had to say. I related what had passed between Mr. Chalmers and me, of the fatal thing she was contemplating and how her grandfather had appealed to me for help. Never had I dreamed of such passion, such grief in a young girl. She was like some wild thing, trying to beat its way to freedom through prison bars.

No word of mine, however tender, seemed to touch her. I began to feel useless, miserable, and a joy killer in general. I almost wished for the dull days of old; at least I knew how to deal with them. I could give points to the Minister of Education, talk volubly at Mothers' Meetings and translate Confucius from the original, but I was helpless before this girl in her conflict with conditions to which she could never yield and which she fought with all the fierceness of undisciplined strength. I could think of no word to comfort her. I sought to divert her. "Zura, listen! Do you remember the hat I wore the first day I came to see you? You do remember, for I saw you smiling at it. Well, I've worn it for eight years. Don't cry, Dearie; please don't; and I'll let you send to Yokohama and select me another one."

Sending to Yokohama for anything had always been an event to me. It was the only excitement I could think of. But Zura flung herself around at me. "Hang your old hat! What is a hat to a man, and he the only friend I have out here. I don't care if there was another girl! She can have him. He was somebody to play with. It was something to do, a touch of home. Oh! it's cruel! cruel!"

Though another ideal was gone to smash, I was almost ready to cry myself with relief that it was only a playmate Zura wanted in Pinkey and not a sweetheart. Even at that I was at my wit's ends again to know what to say next when the door opened. Jane had heard the commotion, and there she stood in her sleeping garments and cap, a kimono floating behind her. In one hand was her candle, in the other the only ornament she possessed—a stuffed parrot!

She came in and, as if talking to soothe a three-year-old child, she coaxed, "Zury, Zury, don't cry! Look what Jane has to show you. This is Willie. For a long time he was my only friend; then he died. I missed him terribly at first; but don't you cry about Mr. Pinkey. There are plenty more men in this world, just as there are plenty more parrots and as easy to get."

"Oh, I wish everybody had died!" the girl sobbed on, heedless of Jane's attempt at comfort. Suddenly, turning away from us, she stretched her arms to the starlit space beyond the windows and cried, "I want my home! I want my friends! I want life!"

* * * * *

Hours later the great golden moon rose from out the velvety shadows of the mountains. It looked in the window, found a sleeping girl, and kissed the heavy lashes still wet with passionate tears. Veering still farther around to the balcony, it rested on two silent old women.

From the city there floated up to us the tinkling of the samisens in the tea-houses; the high, sweet voice of a dancing girl as she sang the story of an old, old love; the sad notes of the blind masseur as he sought for trade by the pathos of his bamboo flute; the night-taps from the far-away barracks. Off to the west we could see the fast-disappearing lights of a Pacific steamer.

Neither sounds nor sights seemed to touch Miss Gray nor ruffle her serenity. For a long time she had been looking steadily into space, as if held by a mental vision of some spiritual glory.

"Jane," I asked at last, "what shall we do?"

Maybe it was the moon, but something had smoothed out every wrinkle in her face. She looked young and wise, as she leaned over and put her hand on mine. Here was a Jane I had never known before. In a voice low and sweet, she repeated the ancient hymn:

"God holds the key of all unknown And I am glad. If other hands should hold the key, Or if He trusted it to me, I might be sad."

From that night my feeling of superiority to Jane diminished. Some of her strong sweetness, penetrating what seemed the crusty exterior of my heart, entered in to abide with me always.



IX

JANE HOPES; KISHIMOTO DESPAIRS

When Zura appeared the following morning no reference was made to the events of the night before. She was pale and coldly courteous. In her sharp brightness there was no hint of an olive branch being hid about her to be offered to me or presented to her grandfather when she returned to his house that day, as previously arranged.

Once only did the girl's manner soften, and then neither to Jane nor to me. Outside, from every glint of the sun on the new green of the pines to the joyous call of the white sea birds, was the glad message of spring, and spring in this lovely Island is no mere promise of things to come, but an everlasting fulfilment of the glorious promises made in the hour the great Artist dreamed it.

Zura looked through the window at the sea, gaily breaking its silvered crests against the gray old rocks and, just above, the great patches of rose-pink cherries streaking the blue haze of the mountains. As the girl took in the tender beauty of the scene some memory seemed to touch her. Her eyes filled, her lips trembled; but she quickly recovered herself and soon after made her adieus.

I walked with her to the gate and watched her go down the long flight of steps. Everything about her, from the poise of her head to the swing of her body, courted conflict and prophesied disaster. I felt as if I had snatched a bag of candy from a hungry child.

A week later Kishimoto San came to make the call customary on occasions when any kindness had been done to him or his family. His gratitude for my efforts to make some headway with Zura was very sincere. He supplemented his thanks by a large box of cake. The gift was decorated with a red string and a good-luck emblem and wrapped in a bright yellow cloth. From the atmosphere, all concerned needed not only good luck, but something the color of sunshine; one look into Kishimoto San's face assured me it was neither springtime nor rosetime in the path he was treading.

My visitor was a busy man of many affairs, and I a woman much occupied; but custom said that a ceremonial visit must be just so long, and Kishimoto would rather break his neck once a week than a rule of etiquette once a life-time.

So we fell to talking of a recent trip he had made to Yokohama. He said a great foreign fleet was visiting the port. The festivities and the gaieties were unending. He had been only a looker-on, but a deeply-interested observer.

He spoke of how his country had strained its every resource to give welcome to this fleet, making a neighborly call, though armed to the ship's last rail. He continued:

"The whole scene give me reminder of one very small boy who had grand record of good fight, also he has the great exhaustion of strength from last battle with tall giant. Small boy has poverty too, but he draw forth his many ancient toy for guest to play. Makes big debt of money to give him feast. He very much desire to keep face of big boy all covered with smiles."

Then from the way my visitor half shut his eyes and looked at me, I knew something more was coming.

"Americans are a great people, but disagree with their wonderfulness."

"You mean they are inconsistent?" I suggested.

Kishimoto San, being too much in earnest to search for the proper English, dropped into Japanese—

"Yes, the old proverb fits them, 'A physician breaking the rules of health.'"

"Why do you say that of my people?" I asked in a moment on the defensive.

"Because you literally strain your bodies to hold very high a moral standard for other nations, that you, yourselves fail to follow."

"What do you mean?"

He went on slowly:

"I was wondering if it is the custom in your country for ladies to smoke and drink liquor in public places?"

"Ladies!" I repeated amazed. "American women smoke and drink in public or other places! Certainly not," I declared emphatically. "Why do you hint at such a thing?"

Thirty years' absence from my country had glorified my ideal of its womanhood.

"Only this," said Kishimoto San, "several times while in Yokohama I had occasion to visit the Ocean Hotel. On the broad veranda facing the sea were seated numbers of great men and ladies together, many of them were smoking and I could not count the number of cocktails they consumed."

"They were not American women," was my vigorous protest.

"Yes, madam, they were. First they were beautiful and sparkle with eyes and tongue. All men bow down to them same as we bow to our Empress. Then afterwards I examine register and clerk of hotel confirm my thought."

"Possibly what you say is true, Kishimoto San, but hasn't it a flavor of littleness to label as a national habit the acts of a few exhilarated travelers? What have you to say of the vast army of American women who could not be forced into doing the things you mention?"

"Nothing. Except I was just wondering how America could spare so many missionaries. You know we do not beg for their company."

"It is not well for you to forget what your country of all others owes to the missionaries," I reminded him. "Though your beliefs are as far apart as the Poles, your sense of justice can but acknowledge that the unselfish service of the missionaries has led your people to heights they never could have reached without them."

"True," he responded, "it was not of their work in this country I was speaking, but the need of more work in their own. You have very good story in your big book about the 'beam and mote.' Do not the morals of your own country need uplifting before you insist on sending emissaries to turn my people from the teachings of many centuries? Has your religion and system of education proved so infallible for yourselves that you must force it upon others? Ah, madam, America has led us far and high, but the West is for the West and the East is for the East. So far, on the road to progress they can march side by side. Further than that, the paths divide and are separated by insurmountable differences, because your country is ruled by the teachings of freedom which you cannot practise. We are governed by the will of our divine Emperor, and the spirit of our ancestors. And I pray the great Amida before my country is stripped of her love and reverence for these, my poor spirit will be annihilated. For if they are taken away, what can we put in their places save the liberty of the Occident, which means license in the Orient."

I heard him in silence, for while there was much truth in what he said, many times we had argued ourselves into a fever over these questions and never got anywhere. We could no more agree than we could worship the same God.

For my part, whatever might be the erratic actions of a few of its freakish individuals, my faith in my country and its people is my faith in my God. I was old fashioned enough to believe every man his brother's keeper. There was nothing more for me to say.

For him, intense loyal patriot that he was, his devotion to crumbling old standards was making his fight against the new a bitter and hopeless struggle. But I had never seen the man so stirred as he was this day. He went on:

"What of the teachings for your young? They may do for your country, but not for mine! So far as I can see, your boys and girls are left to grow as weeds. They are as free as the foxes and learn their cunning without their wisdom. They are without filial piety. They reverence neither ancestors, the law, nor the great gods. Neither do they fear their own devil, nor the evil spirits."

"How do you know this?" I inquired.

"I know because I have seen their comings and goings. I have heard their free speech before the face of their parents and mothers-in-law. And I have seen them as visitors in the temples. Because"—the man's voice shook with feeling—"I have in my house a girl with the blood of the East in her veins and the influence of the West in her life. She is rebellious, rude and irreverent. Only this morning, when I gave warning what vengeance the great Buddha would send upon her for impiety, did she not toss her red head and laughingly scoff in my face." At this point I arose and rang for tea and my visitor continued: "Ah, I tremble at her daring. It is her foreign blood, her training. It will curse us yet."

I cheerfully assured him that I thought it would unless he could bring himself to see that the girl was entitled to a few rights as well as himself. I inquired how things had gone since Zura's visit to me. He said she had not often referred to her visit; when she did it was in pleasant terms. But her attitude to him and his household was as disrespectful as ever and, he thought, more defiant.

He then spoke of a great Buddhist festival that had begun that week and was to continue for several days. It was very important that each member of his family should attend and take part in every service. So far Zura had refused to go. With sketch-book in hand she disappeared from the house every morning. While he had not seen or heard of her being with the young officer man, he had no doubt she spent her time in his company.

In as few words as possible I told Kishimoto of my interview with Mr. Chalmers, and his promise not to come again nor to further complicate matters.

My listener was more than pleased. "I thank you," he said impressively. "You are a strong-minded woman."

When I remarked that Japan was no place for a weak-minded one he seemed to think again about smiling, but changed his mind and asked me solemnly if I would not honor him by coming to his house the following evening and, with his family, attending the great festival on the last night.

I accepted the invitation and he left.

* * * * *

In the evening Page Hanaford came to dinner. When I told him Zura had returned to her home, the smile on his face faded. It spread to his lips and eyes as I rehearsed the close of my interview with Mr. Chalmers.

"I sincerely hope that danger is passed," I said earnestly.

"I would not consider Mr. Chalmers dangerous by nature, only by thoughtlessness," remarked Page; "his bravado needs seasoning like his youth. Will you not let me help you, Miss Gray?" he exclaimed as that lady came in almost smothered in the packages her frail arms held.

"Oh! it's just grand—how many nice people there are in the world," the little missionary said enthusiastically, when relieved of her burdens and seated. "That druggist gentleman was lovely. I bought a jar of vaseline, and he found out I could talk English. Then I found out he was trying to talk it; I told him about my hospital, and he gave me all these splendid medicines I brought in. There's court-plaster and corn-salve and quinine and tooth-powder and a dozen milk bottles for the babies, and plenty of cans to put things in. That's a good start for my drug store."

"The drug store and the patients, but the building!" I exclaimed. "Only a dream! I don't want to be a cold-water dasher but, Jane Gray, where will your visions lead you?"

"To Heaven, Miss Jenkins; that's where they were meant to lead. My hospital is a dream now because it is not built. But it's going to be soon; I know it. Didn't that splendid Japanese man clothe and educate hundreds of orphans for years on faith, pure and simple? Of course my little hospital is on the way! What better proof does anybody want than the story of Mr. Hoda's Orphan Asylum?"

"Give us the story," urged Page, sinking into a big chair, after he had made Jane comfortable.

"Indeed I will. I love to tell it for Mr. Hoda certainly sold his soul for the highest price."

"When he was a very young and ambitious man, doing without food to get his medical education, three homeless babies fell into his hands. He and his mother lived on a little less and made room for the children. Soon more waifs drifted in. Mr. Hoda couldn't turn them away, but he wondered where he was to get the food for them. Then he had a vision and a dream. In it a great famine was sweeping the land. He saw a Man beautiful, but sorrowful, toiling up a steep mountain, with His arms full of helpless children and more clinging to His white garments. This wonderful Being turned and saw the great pity in Mr. Hoda's eyes, then called back, 'Help me care for the many that are left. I will never forsake you nor them.' After that, Mr. Hoda knew what his work was. He fought so hard to follow his vision he burned all his doctor's books for fear he might be tempted. He had gone hungry to buy those books. A long time after, Mr. Hoda didn't care about them, for his vision brought him the beautifulest faith. He knew food and clothing for the children would come, and often there hasn't been a bite nor a penny in the house and almost time for the dinner bell to ring, when from somewhere food or the way to buy it, would come pouring in as though that Orphan Asylum was built in a land filled with manna and flowing with honey. Mr. Hoda and his flock of orphans have waited but never wanted. I'm waiting; but I am just as sure of my dream as I am of my friends."

"Of course you are," encouraged Page. "Talk of removing mountains! Why, a faith like that would set a whole Himalayan range to dancing. You are a great little missionary, Miss Gray."

"Thank you, Mr. Page; missionaries are not great. We can't help living what we believe. Wouldn't you be very happy if you were as certain and sure of all your dreams as we are?"

"Happy!" cried the boy, getting up and walking about. "I'd give a life-time to know—never mind. Your hospital will come true. When it does we will ask the city to decorate as it is doing to-day for some big festival. My! the streets look like bargain day in Christmas trees," he ended, recovering some of his light spirits.

"That's so. There is a festival. What is it, Miss Jenkins?"

I explained the meaning of the festival, which was more strictly observant of ritual and old customs than any other of the year, and I told of Kishimoto San's invitation to me.

Miss Gray exclaimed anxiously, "But you are not going?" Jane was slow in shaking off the limitations of the doctrine that branded all religions in a foreign country as idolatrous and contaminating.

I said I intended going.

"Oh, Miss Jenkins," Jane cried, "do be careful! They might ask you to bow down before one of those heathen idols, and maybe they might make you offer at its feet a stick of something smelly in one of those insect burners."

For the first time since I had known Page Hanaford, he shouted with laughter. "Sweet aroma of incense, that's a blow for you!" he said. "Come to think of it, I believe I'll happen along and see how it's done."



X

ZURA GOES TO THE FESTIVAL

On my way to join the festival party at the appointed time I passed through the streets of the city, brilliant with decorations of flags and lanterns. Gay crowds sauntered beneath graceful arches of pine and lacey bamboo. For the time worry and work were laid aside with every-day dress, and like smiling, happy children on a picnic, the vast throngs moved toward the temple where the great "Matsuri" was in progress. A man deaf and blind would have known it was a holiday by the feel in the air. He would also have felt as I did the change in the atmosphere as he neared Kishimoto's house.

The maid, who answered my summons, said the family would soon be ready to start; the hairdresser had finished; the ceremonial obis were being tied for the madams; the Dana San had about completed his devotions before the household shrine. Would I bring my most august body into the living-room and hang my honorable self upon the floor?

I complied with the request and found Zura alone.

Considering the strained relations at our last parting and the solemnity of the present occasion, she greeted me with a flippancy that was laughable. "Oh, here's Miss Jenkins! Welcome to our happy home, and I certainly wish you joy on this jaunt."

"Are you not going with us?" I asked, observing that she carried in her hand a paint-box as well as her hat.

"Not I," she laughed. "I'd picnic with Mrs. Satan and her family first. But do come in. The ogre awaits you. One of the two witches has just had a spell."

"Which one?" I inquired, putting into my question every inviting tone at my command. I was determined to get on terms of friendliness with this girl. Had not I in the long ago longed for liberty and for life as I had never craved orthodox salvation? Not even to myself had I acknowledged how strong an appeal to my love of fair play, was Zura's frank rebellion against being reduced to an emotionless creature guaranteed to move at the command of her Masters.

All her warfare had been in the open. At no time in her visit to me, did she mention the unhappy conditions at her home nor voice complaints of its inmates.

Undisciplined, untrained as she was, there was in her nature a certain reserve which compelled admiration. When not on the defensive for what she considered her rights, she had a decided sweetness that drew me irresistibly. I did not approve of her methods, but my sympathy was deep for this child of freedom forced to live in the painful restrictions of a conservative Japanese family.

I was beginning to see that Zura would break long before she would bend. To break at all meant disaster. To break alone meant ruin. She was of my country, my people. Without further ado I arrayed myself on the side of the one who had four against her.

Before she answered my question, she looked at me as a chained creature might eye a strange hand to see if it were outstretched for a caress or a blow. Having decided, she went on, "The ancientest one. Some red lilies I carried brought on the fit. An hour ago I gathered a few from the rice fields and took them to my room. When the old dame saw their crimson petals she began to foam at the mouth and splutter a lot of nonsense about the flowers being tongues of flame; she said they would set the house on fire and burn us all to a cinder. If I thought that I'd bring a cartload, and then run. She took them away and threw them in the hot bath. The lovely things shriveled like scalded baby hands. About then, my august grandfather arrived on the scene. He ordered me to put on Japanese dress and come to their old festival. I've planned otherwise, and I won't do it." She put on her hat and stabbed it with a long pin.

"Look here, Zura," I ventured, "you'll miss a joyfully good time if you don't go. The country people swarm to these festivals, and babies are as thick as ants. You'll see more pictures than you can paint in a life-time. There are queer things to buy and funny things to eat. The fire-walking ceremony is wonderful."

This caught her attention. "What do they do at this ceremony?"

"It has been a long time since I saw it, but I remember it was thrilling to watch the worshipers walk barefoot over the hot coals. Come along with me, Zura. Come on," I urged, seeking in my mind for a more persuasive word and finding a memory of Mr. Pinkey Chalmers to help me out, "and we'll make a night of it."

I saw nothing humorous in what I had said, but it had a curious effect on Zura. She changed her mind so swiftly, her manner grew so gleeful, I thought maybe I had made a promise I could not keep.

"All right, old sport," she laughed with reckless gaiety, "I'll go; you stick to me and I'll give you the time of your young life. But make it clear to the devotees in this house that I won't tie myself up in a kimono; neither will I bend an inch before any of those dropsical-looking images."

Soon we heard the rustle of the Master's silken garments. He entered, closely followed by his mother, wife and daughter, their kimonos and obis in colors soft and mellow as befitted older women, and each covered with an overcoat thin of texture and rich in quality. This outer garment was the insignia not only of rank, but of the grave importance of the occasion.

Their greetings to me were soon over, and Zura announced that she was going with us.

Without a glimmer of pleasure in her seeming willingness to obey, her grandfather said, "It is well."

Had he glanced at the girl when he voiced it, he would have chosen other words. In her very bright eyes there was a look which boded no spirit of good will.

Kishimoto San, with his mother, led the way on our pilgrimage. We followed behind; and bringing up the rear was an army of servants loaded with blankets, cushions and hampers of food. It was to be a long session of worship and festivities, and the family would need all the comforts of home before their return.

The festival was called "Tanjo Shaka" (Buddha's Birthday), and as our little party passed through the great gates the crowds of holiday-makers, which thronged the enclosure, testified to the popularity of the day. The broad avenue leading to the steps of the old temple was lined on each side by temporary booths, from which one could purchase anything from a hot sweet potato to a much-decorated prayer, from false teeth to a charm to ward off the chicken-pox.

There was a man who made a dainty fan while you waited; the cook who made a cake while you prayed; the handkerchief man and the sock man; and ah me! the funny old codger, bald of head and shriveled of body, but with a bit of heaven in his weary old eyes. It was the reflection of the baby faces about him. His was the privilege of fashioning from sticky, sweet dough wonderful flowers of brilliant hue and the children flocked about him like birds of Paradise to a field of grain.

On every side were set up images of the infant Buddha. Around these, worshipers crowded that they might purchase some portion of the licorice tea poured over the image and supposed to guard against many evils.

Groups of white-garbed pilgrims from distant cities passed on to worship, their tinkling bells keeping time to the soft pad of their sandaled feet. Under the overhanging boughs of the ancient trees were placed low platforms spread with bright red blankets, and thereon sat the family groups. In these throngs very few were well off in worldly possessions. For the masses this day meant curtailment of necessities for many other days. It was a willing sacrifice, for, having done duty at the temple and cheerfully contributed their hard-earned "rin," they yielded themselves up to the enjoyment of being set free, in a space where neither worry nor want were permitted to enter, where their poor lives touched something higher or less sordid than themselves. The day was a gift of the gods and they would be merry, for to-morrow was toil and poverty. It was neither satisfying nor permanent but all so simple and happy. Only a heartless stickler for creed and dogma would have labeled it idolatry or banished from the garden of the temple the participants who were childlike in their enjoyment.

It took us some time to make our way to the building where Kishimoto guided us that he with his family might first offer their devotions. Once there, the ceremony began. I was not expected to participate and stood aside. It was not without anxiety that I heard the grandfather give a stern command to Zura to approach and kneel with him before the great bronze image, and her equally rigid refusal to do so.

With difficulty the proud old Buddhist refrained from creating a scene before the other worshipers, but it was plain that he was stung to the quick for the honor of his religion. From the look in his face he only bided his time.

The girl moved nearer to me and none too quietly mocked priest and worshiper gaily. Both maid and man seemed determined once for all to settle the supremacy of will. They were like two warriors measuring their strength before the final contest. The slip of a dark-eyed girl seemed an adversary easily disposed of. Though justly angered, her opponent had learned that if from him she had inherited tenacity of will, the legacy from her father had been an invincible belief in her individual right and courage to assert it.

After this clash we walked about till it was time for the evening meal. It was served in an open tea-house. Hospitable and kind to the last degree, both host and hostesses pressed upon me every dainty eatable, and tried by all they knew to dispel the gathering clouds. I was touched by their efforts and did my best to smooth the way to peace, but my endeavors were vain. It was a conflict of conditions in which were both wrong and right, but which not to the end of time would ever be reconciled.

At last the family sat apart and talked in low tones. Zura moved closer to me and, though white-lipped and restless after the many encounters with her grandfather, her spirit was undaunted.



XI

A BROKEN SHRINE

The feast over, we moved on. The servants were left to pack up, and instructed to join the family at a certain shrine some distance away; devotions at that place would end the festival.

The closing down of night was like the working of some magic. From every point of temple, shrine, and tree sprang a light. Fireworks shaped like huge peonies, lilies, and lesser flowers spluttered in the air. Myriad lights turned the garden into a place of enchantment. In the hand of every feaster swung a paper lantern, gay in color, daring in design, its soft glow reflected on the happy face above. The whole enclosure seemed to be a bit of fairy land, where workaday people were transformed into beings made only for the pleasures of life.

I kept close to Zura regardless of where she led, for all she saw seemed not only to increase her interest, but to intensify her reckless mood. On our way we paused at a Pagoda. A group of priests were marching around it chanting some ritual. They were very solemn and their voices most weird.

"What are they doing with their throats, Miss Jenkins?" asked Zura.

"Singing."

"Singing! Well, they know as much about singing as tit-willows do about grand opera. But the colors of those gorgeous robes are fascinating. Aren't the curves of that roof lovely? See how the corners turn up. Exactly like the mustache of the little band master at home. Oh, look at those darling kiddies!" she suddenly exclaimed, going swiftly to the nearby stand of a cake man.

A dozen children or so, wistful-eyed and a bit sad, stood around. These were the city rats and street waifs, who only came from their holes after dark. Too poor to buy, they could only gaze and wish. The old man, for the sake of the hungry birdlings at home, could give no further of his store.

Zura stopped before the little heaps of sweet dough. The children closed about her. None were afraid, and all instinctively felt her friendship. Her bargain was quickly made. Soon each child had a large share not only of cake, but also of tiny flags and paper cherry blossoms which had adorned the owner's booth. Zura emptied a small knitted purse of "rins" and "sens." She had told me earlier that she had sold a picture to a postcard man. The cake dealer got it all.

We left the children open-mouthed, gazing at the "Ojosan" (honorable elder sister) who had proved nothing less than a goddess; but the girl heeded neither their looks nor their thanks, for we had come upon the ancient rite of firewalking, once a holy ceremony for the driving out of demons, now used for the purpose of proving the protection of the gods for the devout.

On a mat of straw, overspread by a thick layer of sand, was a bed of charcoal kept glowing by attendants armed with fans attached to long poles. Priests were intoning a prayer to the god of water, who lived in the moon, to descend with vengeance upon the god of fire. With much twisting of fingers and cabalistic waving of hands, a worshiper would draw something from a bag purchased from the priest. This he told the onlookers was spirit powder. Sprinkling a part of it on the fire and rubbing his feet with what was left he would cross the live coals, arriving at the other end unharmed. His swaggering air, indicating "I am divinely protected," deeply impressed the wondering crowd.

Absorbed in watching the fantastic scene, I failed for some time to notice Zura's absence from my side. Neither was she with her family, who were near by. Anxiously turning to search for her, I saw her opposite in a cleared space and, through the background of an eager, curious crowd, Page Hanaford hurriedly pushing his way to the front.

At the edge of the fire stood Zura without shoes or stockings.

Page saw. His voice rang out, "Miss Wingate! I beg of you!"

For a moment she poised as light as a bird; then, lifting her dress, she quickly walked across the burning coals. The sparks flew upward, lighting the bronze and gold in her hair, showing too her face, a study in scornful daring.

The lookers-on cheered, some crying, "Skilful, skilful!" and others, "Brave as an empress!" "She is protected by her foreign god."

Heedless of the crowds, as if they were not, Zura took her hat, shoes, and stockings from the adoring small boy who held them and rejoined me. I glanced around at the family. The women's faces said nothing. To at least two of them, Zura was a strange being not of their kind and with whom they had nothing to do. But the look in Kishimoto San's eyes made me shrink for the fate of the girl.

Laying my hand upon her arm I asked, "Oh, Zura, why did you do it? Aren't your feet burned?"

"Burned! Nonsense! They are not even overheated. I used some of their spirit powder, which is plain salt. I did it to prove to myself that all they teach and do is fakery."

Page joined us, inquiring anxiously, "You are not hurt? I call it plucky, but very foolish. Didn't you hear me call to you?"

Zura, looking up from fastening her shoe, replied stiffly, "Mr. Hanaford, once is quite enough for you to interfere with my affairs."

The boy flushed, then smiled, and dropped to the rear.

As she spoke I could but notice her voice was a little less joyous. It sounded a note of weariness as if her high spirit, though unconquered, was a bit tired of the game.

In depressed silence our party mingled with the throng on its way to the shrine where the last tribute was to be paid. The place of devotion was in a dense grove, isolated and weird. A single upright post held a frail, box-like contrivance. The inner recess of this was supposed to hold a relic of Buddha—some whispered a finger, some a piece of the great teacher's robe; but whatever the holy emblem, both place and shrine were surrounded with a veil of superstitious mystery and held in awe. A lonely taper burned before the shrine, dimly lighting a small opening covered with ground glass and disclosed above a written warning to all passers-by to stop and offer prayer or else be cursed.

The crowd of worshipers paid tribute, but rather than pass on, lingered in the shadow, their curious eyes fixed upon the half-foreign girl.

It was splendid for her to brave the fire-god, but no living soul dared face the Holy Shrine with the scorn Zura's face and manner so plainly showed. Admiration melted into distrust. They would wait and see the end.

One by one my host, his mother, wife and daughter passed before the relic and reverently bowed. Then they stood aside in a silent group, slightly apart from Page and me. It was Zura's turn. In the face of Kishimoto San, as he looked at his granddaughter, was concentrated the power of his will and all the intolerant passion of his religion. He looked and he waited—in vain. The girl did not move.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but his words fairly stabbed the air. "Obey me! Approach and bow!"

Zura seemed to be turned to stone. But her words were as clear and as measured as his own. "I will not! Now or ever!"

Past all endurance of the girl's disrespect, the man made one step forward, grasped Zura by the shoulders, and pushed her towards the shrine. The force sent her forward. As she stumbled she seized a bamboo pole. With it she gave one swift blow. At our feet the little shrine lay shattered, and out of its secret recess rolled a pasteboard box, mildewed and empty.

Then, like the hissing wind, rose the quick anger of the people.

At the same instant Page and the crowd rushed toward Zura, who, with bamboo stick in her raised hand, stood white and defiant.

A coolie made a lunge at her. With closed fist Page Hanaford struck him full in the face; the other arm shielded Zura. Another man spat at her, and met the fate of his brother from Page's well-directed blow. There is nothing so savage as a Japanese mob when roused to anger. Knowing them to be cruel and revengeful, my heart stood still as I watched the throng close about Page and Zura. I knew the boy single-handed could not hold out long before the outraged worshipers.

Then above the noise and curses and threats Kishimoto San's voice rang out. "Stop! you crawling vipers of the swamp! How dare you brawl before this sacred place? How dare you touch one of my blood! My granddaughter accounts to me, not to the spawn of the earth—such as you! Disperse your dishonorable bodies to your dishonored homes! Go!"

Blind to reason, they cowered before a masterful mind. They knew the unbending quality of Kishimoto's will, his power to command, to punish. The number grew steadily less, leaving Page and Zura and her grandfather alone.

Kishimoto San turned to the girl and with words cold as icicles, cutting as a whiplash, dismissed the child of his only daughter from his house and home. He cared neither where she went, nor what she did. She no longer belonged to him or his kind. He disowned her. Her foreign blood would be curse enough.

Bidding his family follow, he turned and left. As Mrs. Wingate passed her disgraced offspring, with troubled voice and bewildered looks she repeated once more her set formula of reproof, "Oh, Zura! I no understand yo' naughty; I no like yo' bad."

The homeless girl, Page, and I were left in the darkness.

"Come with me, Zura," I said, not knowing what else to do; and the three of us made our way toward the high twinkling light that marked the House of the Misty Star.

As the boy walked beside her, hatless, tie and collar disarranged, I could but see what his defense of Zura had cost him in physical strength. His face twitched with the effort to control his shaking limbs; that strange illness had robbed him of so much.

"Please, Mr. Hanaford, do not trouble to climb the steps with us," I urged. "There is no danger. By now the crowd is doubtless laughing over the whole thing."

"No, Miss Jenkins," he said, "I cannot leave you till you are safely shut in the house. Rather interesting, wasn't it?"

"Interesting! Well, I guess I know now what making a night of it means."

It was my one attempt to lighten conversation. We went on in silence.

Wordless my other companion walked beside me. She gave no sign. Only once, when I stumbled, the hand she outstretched in quick support was shaking and cold.

On reaching the house Page declined to come in; but, seeing the knuckles of his right hand torn and bleeding, I would take no refusal. "Boy, your hand is bleeding. Come right in and let me dress it," said I.

"Don't trouble. It's nothing; only a bit of knocked-up skin. That coolie must have sharpened his teeth for the occasion."

Zura spoke for the first time as I made the room light. "Oh! I didn't know you were hurt, Mr. Hanaford. I am sorry. Let me see." She took his hand in both of hers and held it closer under the lamp. Still holding it, she lifted her eyes with sympathy to his. "I'm not worth it," she said softly.

I did not hear Page's answer; but I thought he was almost gruff when he quickly drew away and walked to the window. He had nothing to say when I bandaged his hand, and he soon left.

It was only a matter of a few minutes to light the lamp and arrange the bed in the guest-room I had taken such pleasure in preparing before for Zura's visit. I went through these small duties without speaking. I bore no ill will to the girl who had been thrust upon me. My thoughts were too deep for anger against the wayward child whose start in life had been neither fair nor just. But in separating herself from her family she had done the most serious thing a girl can do in whose veins runs the blood of a Japanese. Everything ready, I said good-night as kindly as circumstances would permit.

Zura put out her hand and thanked me. A smile twitched her lips as she said, "Never mind, Miss Jenkins. Don't be troubled. No use fighting against fate and freckles." The tears in her voice belied her frivolous words.

Anxious for what might happen, I sat for the rest of the night in the room adjoining the one occupied by my unexpected guest. Twice before the coming of the dawn there reached me from the farther chamber sounds of a soul in conflict—the first battle of a young girl in a strange land, facing the future penniless and heavily handicapped.

It was a lonely vigil and a weary one.



XII

A DREAM COMES TRUE

If becoming a member of my household was a turning-point in Zura's life, in mine it was nothing less than a small-sized revolution, moving with the speed of a typhoon.

The days piled into weeks; the weeks plunged head-foremost into eternity, and before we could say "how d'y' do" to lovely summer, autumn had put on her splendid robes of red and yellow and soft, dull brown.

If once I yearned for things to happen, I now sometimes pined for a chance, as one of my students put it, "to shut the door of think and rest my tired by suspended animation." For I had as much idea about rearing girls as I had on the subject of training young kangaroos. But it grew plainer to me every day my nearly ossified habits would have to disintegrate. Also I must learn to manipulate the role of mother without being one.

Soon after the girl's break with her family the ineffective child-woman who had given Zura life passed quietly into the great Silence before the daughter could be summoned. Though Zura was included among the mourners at the stately funeral, she had no communication with her grandfather. Afterwards the separation was final.

Once only I visited Kishimoto San's house and had an interview with him. He was courteous, and his formality more sad than cold. He would never again take Zura into his house; neither would he interfere with her. Her name had been stricken from his family register. As long as I was kind enough to give her shelter, he would provide for her. Further than that he would not go, "for his memory had long ears and he could never forget."

It was a painful hour which I did not care to repeat.

* * * * *

I acquainted Zura with her grandfather's decision.

Her only comment was, "His memory has long ears, has it? So has mine, and they'll grow longer, for I have longer to live."

In the first intimate talk I had with my protegee, her one idea was to earn the money to return to America, where there was "more chance to make a living." So far as she knew her father was without relatives. There was no one to look to for help. But she could work; she knew many girls who worked; and there was always "something to do" in Seattle.

"How good it will be to get back to it. Wish I could get a whiff of the air right now. Yes, indeed! I am American to the ends of my fingers, and hallelujah to the day when I sail back."

I entered into her plans with enthusiasm, reserving my determination never to lose sight of her till she was in safer hands than mine.

She was very eager to begin earning money for her passage home, offering to teach, to scrub, and even to learn to cook, if we'd learn to eat it.

I pointed out that, with her ability to sketch and her natural fascination for young girls, the forming of classes would be a simple matter. She was only to teach them drawing at first.

To this she demurred; the pay was so poor that she pleaded to be allowed to have one little class in English.

I was dubious; but, as it was only a beginner's class, I consented—upon her solemn promise to "cut out all ragtime classics and teach plain cats and dogs, rats and mice."

The process of readjustment in life is sometimes as painful as skin grafting. The passing of each day under the new conditions which Zura's coming had brought about marked for both of us either a decided growth or a complete backset. With earnestness I endeavored to make my old eyes see the world and all its allurements from the windows of Zura's uncontrolled youth. Earnestly I then appealed to her to try to understand that life was a school and not a playground and to look without prejudice at the reasonableness of conventions which life in any country demanded, if happiness was to come.

For the first time since I had known her the girl seemed fully to realize that regulated law was a force, and no bogey man which crabbed old grandfathers dangled before pleasure-loving girls, and for her running loose in the green pasture of life was at an end. The bit she must learn to wear would teach her to be bridle wise. However stupid, the process was an unavoidable necessity.

Zura was really serious when we finished our long conference. She leaned over and put her hand on mine. "Nobody but father was ever so kind to me. I'll truly do my best." As if afraid of growing too serious she added: "But, Miss Jenkins,"—her voice was low and her eyes sparkled, proving how hard the old Zura was dying—"I just bet I kick over the traces some time. I feel it in my system."

"You what?" I reminded.

"Madam, I have a premonition that this process of eliminating the gay and the festive will be something of a herculean task. In other words, keeping in the middle of the road is a dull, tough job."

"Oh, Zura!" I cried despairingly.

"Yes'm. But from this minute I am starting down the track on the race for reformation. Give me time. Even a colt can't get a new character and a sweet disposition in a week."

* * * * *

As the days passed it proved not a race, but a hard, up-hill battle, where in gaining one fight she sometimes lost two, and while still aching with the last defeat had to begin all over again. The vision, though, of the home-going to America lured and beckoned her to the utmost effort to conquer not only circumstances, but herself.

Jane and I helped whenever we could, but there were places so dark through which the girl must pass alone, that not even our fast increasing love could light the shadows of the struggles.

I realized that a young girl should have young company of her own kind; but there was none for her. In Hijiyama, and especially in our neighborhood, were many high-class families. Even members of the royal line claimed it as residence. With these the taint of foreign blood in any Japanese marked that person impossible. I dreaded to tell Zura this. She saved me the trouble by finding it out for herself. Ever afterward, when by chance she encountered the elect, her attitude caused me no end of delight and amusement. In courteous snubbing she outclassed the highest and most conservative to them. In absenting herself from their presence Zura's queenly dignity would have been matchless, had she been a little taller.

As much as possible, I made of myself a companion for her and the most of our days were spent together.

It was a curious pact between young and old. One learning to keep the law, the other to break it, for in my efforts to be a gay comrade as well as a wise mother I came as near to breaking my neck as my well-seasoned habits. Zura had a passion for out-of-door sketching, as violent as the whooping cough and lasting longer and the particular view she craved proved always most difficult of access, It severely tested my durability and mettle. I wondered if Zura had this in mind, but I stuck grimly to my task and though often with aching muscles and panting lungs, scrambled by dangerous paths to the edge of some precipice where I dared neither to stand up nor to sit down, but I had longed for excitement and happenings and dared not complain when my wish was fulfilled.

I could always count upon it that, whatever place Zura chose, from there one could obtain the most splendid view of vast stretches of sea, the curve of a temple roof, a crooked pine, or a mass of blossom. She was as irresistibly drawn to the beautiful as love is to youth. Her passion for the lovely scenery of Japan amounted almost to worship.

I had never been a model for anything. Now I was used as such by my companion indiscriminately, in the background, in the foreground and once as a grayhaired witch. I was commanded to sit still, to not wink an eyelash, though the mosquitoes feasted and the hornets buzzed.

Fortunately the summer holiday gave me some leisure. I absorbed every moment seeking comprehension of youthful ways of looking at things, and in Zura's effort to reduce her wild gallop to a sober pace, the way was as rough for the girl, as the climb up the mountain side was for me. Often she stumbled and was bruised in the fall. Brushing aside the tears of discouragement she pluckily faced about and tried again.

There were many battles of tongue and spirit but when the smoke had been swept away, the vision was clearer, the purpose firmer.

That monotony might not work disaster or routine grow irksome our workdays were interspersed with picnics, journeys to famous spots and, for the nights, moonlight sails on the Inland Sea.

Page Hanaford was our frequent guest. To Jane and me his attitude was one of kindly deference and attention. Towards Zura it was the mighty call of youth to youth. She answered with ready friendship. It was easy to see that the boy was buoyant by nature, but the moods that sometimes overtook him were strange. Often at a moment when the merriment was at its height, the hand of some invisible enemy seemed to reach out and clutch him in a dumb horror, confused the frankness of his eyes, left him with bloodless lips. From light-hearted happiness he plunged to silent gloom.

Twice it had occurred when the day was heavy with moisture, thick and superheated by the summer's sun. The last time it happened, to the heat was added the excitement of a police launch stopping our little pleasure craft and demanding our names and business. When it left Page grew silent and, until we landed, lay in the prow his face hidden by his hat. Mental or physical I could not say. I wished I knew for it subtracted the joy from the day as surely as dampness takes the kink out of unnatural curls.

When I mentioned the incident to Jane, she only looked wise and smiled. I could almost believe she was glad, for it gave her unlimited opportunity for coddling. Zura made no comment. So great was the rebound partial freedom induced, her spirits refused to descend from the exhilarating heights of "having a good time and doing things." She blandly ignored any suggestion of hidden trouble, or the possibility of it daring to come in the future. Untiring in her preparations for our festivities, the hour of their happening found her so gracious a hostess, naturally she was the pivot around which the other three of us swung.

I wondered if, in our many festivities we were not forming habits of useless dissipation. Jane said our parties were much livelier than church socials at home. Our experienced leader assured me, however, these picnics were as slow as a gathering of turtles in a coral cave, but they continued, ceasing only when the nights grew too chill for comfort. Our pleasures were then transferred to the homeyness of the little living-room in "The House of the Misty Star."

* * * * *

In my adoption of Zura the humor was incidental; in Zura's adoption of Jane it was uppermost. From the first the girl assumed proprietorship and authority that kept the little gray missionary see-sawing between pleasure and trouble. By Zura's merry teasing Jane's naturally stammering tongue was fatally twisted. She joked till tears were near; then with swift compunction Jane was caught in arms tender and strong and loved back to happiness.

Like a mother guarding a busy careless child, Zura watched Miss Gray's comings and goings. Overshoes and wraps became a special subject of argument. There was no denying that in the arrangement of Jane's clothes there was a startling transformation.

My attention was called to this one morning when I heard a merry, audacious voice cry out, "See here, Lady Jinny, do you think it a hallmark of piety to have that hefty safety-pin showing in your waistband? Walk right back and get your belt."

"Oh, Zury," pleaded the harassed woman, "what's the use of putting it on? I'll just have to take it off to-night and, my dear, people are waiting for me."

"Let 'em whistle, Sweetheart," was the unmoved response. "Even though the heathen roar, I cannot turn aside from my purpose of making you a Parisian fashion-plate."

"Yes, child! It is good of you to want to dress me up. But," with a half-laugh, "don't try to make me resemble one of those foreign fashion ladies. I saw one picture in a style paper that looked almost immoral. The placket of the dress was at the foot and showed two inches of the ankle."

"Trust your mother, innocent child," Zura advised, "those picture ladies don't wear dresses, just symptoms and I'd slap anybody that would ask you to wear a symptom. Now, tell me where to search for your belt."

Jane, ever weak in certain resistances, yielded and adored the more while submitting.

Under Zura's care Jane's person grew neater and trimmer. In her face, now filled out with proper food and rest, there was a look of happiness as if some great hope foreshadowed fulfilment.

The self-appointed missionary in her talks with me seldom referred to her work in detail. I respected her reserve and asked no questions, for I gravely doubted any good results from her labor. But to Zura she confided her plans and her dreams, and Zura having many dreams of her own, listened and sympathized. In all the Empire there was no collection of humanity that could surpass in degradation and sordid evil the inhabitants of the quarter that Jane Gray had chosen to uplift. Time and again the best-trained workers had experimented in this place. Men and women with splendid theories, and the courage to try them had given it up as hopeless, for fear of their lives.

Once only I remonstrated with Miss Gray and that when there had been in that section an unprovoked murder of particular horror. The answer of the frail woman was:

"I don't want to make you anxious, Miss Jenkins, but I must go back. The people are my friends. I've been charged with a message for them and I must deliver it. My poor life would be small forfeit, could I but make them fully understand."

I said no more for I thought if Jane was set on dying that way she'd just as well get all the pleasure out of it possible. To my surprise, unmolested and unafraid, she made her way through streets where no one officer went alone. Haunts of criminals and gamblers, murderers in hiding followed by their unspeakable womenkind.

This dream of Miss Gray's scorned to limit itself to a hospital for diseased bodies of the wretched inhabitants, but included a chapel for sick souls. These days it was difficult enough to get money for real things, the unreal stood no chance. Without resources of her own, backed by no organization, it seemed to me, like a child planning a palace. To the little missionary the dawn of each glorious day brought new enthusiasm, fresh confidence and the vision was an ever beckoning fire, which might consume her body if it would accomplish her desire.

At present she rented a tiny house in the Quarters and called it her preaching place. I was told that to it flocked the outcasts of life who listened in silent curiosity to the strange foreign woman delivering a message from a stranger foreign God.

As the days went by the members of my household were deeply absorbed in dreams of a hospital, pursuit of passage money to America, and wisdom in guiding girls.

In all the years in my adopted country I'd never seen so lovely an autumn. Colors were brighter, the haze bluer, and far more tender the smile of the heavens on the face of the waters.

The song of the North wind through the top of the ancient pines was no melancholy dirge of the dying summer, but a hymn of peace and restful joy to the coming winter.

One lovely day melted into another. The year was sinking softly to its close when one evening found Zura, Jane and me quietly at work in the living-room of the House of the Misty Star. Jane was knitting on the eternal bibs, Zura adding figures in a little book.

Our quiet was broken by a knock at the door. Maple Leaf appeared bearing on a tray a pink folded paper.

"It's a cable; I know its color," exclaimed Zura, "and it's for Miss Jane Gray."

With shaking fingers Jane tore open the message. She read, then dropped her face in her hands.

"What is it?" I asked anxiously.

"It's the hospital."

"In a cable?" cried Zura. "Think of that and break into tears."

"No, the money for it."

"Money! Where did you get it?" I demanded, thinking that Jane had suddenly gone crazy.

"I prayed and wrote letters," she answered. "Read."

Still doubting I took the paper and read aloud:

Build hospital. Draft for four thousand dollars on way.

FRIENDS OF THE CAUSE.

For minutes the ticking of the clock sounded like the dropping of pebbles in a still pool. I could not speak, for the wonder of a miracle was upon me. By faith the impossible had come to pass. Finally Jane looked up and asked wistfully, "Oh! Zury, aren't you glad for me?"

"Glad!" echoed the girl, leaning over and caressing the faded cheek. "I'm as happy as if I were pinning on my own orange blossoms this minute. Dear, dear little Jinny with her beautiful dream coming true!"

I had never thought Zura beautiful. Now, as she bent over Jane, flushed with excitement, her eyes deep glowing, her shining hair flashing back the red of the firelight, she was as brilliant as a golden pheasant hovering above a little gray sparrow.

With some sudden memory the girl stood erect and reached for a calendar. "Hurrah!" she cried, "It's true! To-morrow is Thanksgiving at home. We are going to celebrate too, if I have to sell my shoes."

Seeing Jane still shaken with emotion and the glad tears so close to hand, Zura jumped up on a chair and began to read from the calendar as if it were a proclamation:

"Know all ye! Wherever you be up above or down below, far or near on the to-morrow, by my command, every citizen of these United States is to assemble all by himself, or with his best girl and give thanks. Thanks for living and for giving. Thanks for hospitals and people to build them. Sermons to preach and sinners to hear. Then give thanks and still more thanks, that to you and to me, the beautifulest land the good God ever made spells home, and friends, and America! Amen."



XIII

A THANKSGIVING DINNER

More and more Zura had assumed the duties of our housekeeping. The generous sum Kishimoto San promptly forwarded each month for her maintenance so relieved the financial pressure that I was able to relax somewhat my vigilance over the treasury. So I stepped aside that her ambition and energy might have full expression. I knew that absorbing work erases restlessness in mind and heart as effectively as a hot iron smooths out a rough-dried cloth. I urged her to further experiments and made a joke of her many mistakes, ofttimes when it was sheer waste of material. But what mattered that? Better to die softheaded, than hardhearted. I wanted the girl to be happy. Rather than be separated, I would let her make a bonfire of every bean, potato and barrel of flour in the house. As even the sun has specks on it, I saw no reason to be too critical of my understudy, whose shortcomings grew less as she grew prettier.

With all the cocksureness of youth, Zura seized the domestic steering gear. Sometimes the weather was very fair and we sailed along. Often it was squally, but the crew was merry, and I was happy. I had something of my very own to love.

To Pine Tree and Maple Leaf and the ancient cook the young housekeeper was a gifted being from a wonderful country where every woman was a princess. Unquestioningly they obeyed and adored her, but Ishi to whom no woman was a princess and all of them nuisances—stood proof against Zura's every smile and coaxing word. Love of flowers amounted to a passion with the old gardener. To him they were living, breathing beings to be adored and jealously protected. His forefathers had ever been keepers of this place. He inherited all their garden skill and his equal could not be found in the Empire. For that reason, I forgave his backsliding seventy times one hundred and seventy, and kept him.

Often Zura took the children she used as models for her pictures into the garden and loaded them with flowers. On the mossy banks they romped and indulged in feasts of tea and crackers. Ishi would stand near and invoke the vengeance of eighty thousand deities to descend and annihilate this forward girl from a land of barbarians. Finding his deities failed to respond, he threatened to cast his unworthy body upon the point of a sword, if Zura cut another bud. But I knew, if Ishi's love of flowers failed to prevent so tragic an end, his love of sake would do so.

For years the garden had been his undisturbed kingdom, and now that it should be invaded and the flowers cut without his permission and frequently without his knowledge enraged him to the bursting point. His habits were as set as the wart on his nose and he proposed to change neither one nor the other. "Most very bad," he wailed to me. "All blossoms soul have got. Bad girl cut off head of same; peaceful makes absence from their hearts. Their weep strikes my ear."

So on the day we were to celebrate Thanksgiving and Jane's happiness, and Zura had declared her intention of decorating every spot in the house, I was not surprised to hear coming from the garden sounds of an overheated argument. "Ishi, if it weren't for hurting the feelings of the august pig I would say you were it. Stand aside and let me cut those roses. There's a thousand of them, if there's one."