The protest came high and shrill. "Decapitate heads! You sha'n't not! All of ones convey soul of great ancestors."

"Do they?"—in high glee—"all right, I'll make the souls of your blessed ancestors serve as a decoration for America's glorious festival day."

The outraged Ishi fairly shrieked. "Ishi's ancestors! America! You have blasphemeness. I perish to recover!"

Hostilities were suspended for a minute.

Then Zura's fresh young voice called out from below my window: "Ursula, please instruct this bow-legged image of an honorable monkey to let me cut the roses. Hurry, else my hand may get loose and 'swat' him."

What the child meant by "swat" I had no idea; neither did I care. She had called me "Ursula!" Since childhood I had not heard the name. Coming from her lips it went through me like a sharp, sweet pain. Had she beheaded every rose and old Ishi in the bargain I would have smiled, for something in me was being satisfied.

I gave orders to Ishi, to which Zura added, "You are to take your dishonorable old body to the furthermost shrine, and repent of your rudeness to your young mistress." As he turned his angry back upon her, she inquired in honeyed tones, "Mercy, Ishi! How did you ever teach your face to look that way? Take it to a circus! It will make a fortune!"

Very soon after she came into the room so laden with roses that I could just see her face. "Aren't they darlings?" she exclaimed. "Poor old Ishi, I can't blame him much!" Then to me, "Say, beautifulest, tell you what: I'll arrange these flowers and I promise, if I find a sign of an ancestor, I'll go at once and apologize to his mighty madness—if you will write a note to Mr. Hanaford and bid him to the Thanksgiving feast."

I agreed, and she went her busy way. In addressing the note to Page, I was reminded that a few days before his servant had called for a package of his master's clothing which Jane and I kept in repair. To my surprise the servant said that Hanaford San had gone away on business.

Possibly my look of astonishment at the news invited confidence. After glancing around to make sure we were alone, he approached and in mixed Japanese and broken English told me how his heart was weighed "with anxious" for his employer. He said his master was very kind. Therefore, Master's trouble was his. Sometimes the young man was happy and sang tunes through whistle of lips; but one day he walked the floor all night. Lately he sat by the windows long hours and look fast into picture scenery. He feared illness for master. Often he forget to sing, whistle, and eat foods; just sit with hand on head. "One time I say 'Master, have got painful in brain spot? Or have fox spirit got brain?' He give big laugh; then myself makes many fools to see happy stay with master."

He wished Hanaford San had some people, but in his room was not one picture of ancestor. He never had a happy time with many guests, and samisens and feast drinks, like other young American Dana Sans in Yokohama. When not teaching he sat alone with only his pipe and heart for company, sometimes a book.

It was not polite for him to speak of Master's affairs but he hoped the foreign Sensies could advise him how to make Hanaford San have more happy thoughts all of time.

I told the boy that Mr. Hanaford had lost his money and all his people, and probably it was thoughts of these losses that caused his sad hours; he would be all right in time.

"Time," murmured the unsatisfied man, "time very long for troubled heart of young."

Then, as if trying to forget that he was powerless to help, he began to recite the events of a recent visit to the city of a group of Tokio's famous detectives. They were searching for special fugitives and making the rounds of all suspicious quarters. It was most exciting and because of master's absence he had been able to see much. Though he wished Page had been at home. It might have entertained him. With many thanks for my "listening ear" the servant left.

Everywhere I looked I seemed to see this question written: Was Page Hanaford's absence at the time of the detectives' visit accidental or planned? Try as I would to put the hateful thought away from me, it came back again and again.

The boy's slow return to health had troubled me more than I could well say. It was so unnatural. Jane and I did everything that sincere affection could suggest to ward off the hours of strange dejection, and he never failed in appreciation; yet we made no headway to a permanent sunny spot in his life, where he could be always happy and healthy, as was the right of youth. I gave him every opportunity to tell me what caused his moods. I showed him by my interest and sympathy that I wanted to believe in him and would stand by him at any cost. There were times when he seemed on the verge of making a confidant of me, but his lips refused to utter the words.

Usually he responded eagerly to Zura's gay coaxings to friendship and gladly shared her blithesome fun; but sometimes there was a look in his eyes such as a youthful prisoner might have when he knew that for life he is barred from blue skies. As time went on less often appeared the playful curve of his lips, the crinkly smile in the corners of his eyes.

Once in the moonlight I saw him stretch out his hand as if to touch Zura's glistening hair. Some memory smote him. He drew back sharply.

At times I was sure that he was purposely avoiding her. Yet the thought seemed foolish. If ever there was a goodly sight for eyes glad or sad it was the incarnation of joyous girlhood whose name was Zura Wingate.

Unable to solve the puzzle, I could only give my unstinted attention to the boy and girl. If only our armor of love could shield the beloved!

I sent the invitation for the Thanksgiving celebration, and was much relieved by the answer that Mr. Hanaford would join us that evening.

The dinner was a great success. For all of us it was full of good cheer. Jane in her happiness looked years younger. She was in high glee.

"Do you know, my friends in the Quarters are so happy over the hospital," she exclaimed. "I was obliged to ask the Sake Ya to sell only one little bottle of wine to each man. He promised and said he would dilute it at that. Wasn't it good of him to do it? Oh! it's beautiful how big difficulties are melting away—just like fax in the wire!" She joined in the laugh at her expense.

Zura urged, "Lady Jinny, please get you a pair of crutches for that limp in your tongue."

"Better than that, child. First operation in the hospital will be to take the kinks out of my foolish, twisted words."

Afterwards in the sitting-room Zura went through her pretty little ceremony of making after-dinner coffee and serving it in some rare old Kutani cups. The wonderful decoration of the frail china led her to talk of the many phases of Japan and its life that appealed to the artist. Of the lights and shadows on land and sea the effects of the mists and the combination of color that defied mere paint.

I'd never heard Zura talk so well nor so enthusiastically on a sensible subject. For a moment I had a hope that her love for the beauty of the country would overcome her antagonism to her mother's people. I was quickly undeceived.

Then, as if fearful that praise for the glories of old Nippon might make her seem forgetful of the festal day of her own land, she flashed out, "But please don't anybody forget that I am an American to the marrow-bone." She turned to Page. "Did you come direct from America to Japan?"

The usual miserable flush of confusion covered the boy's face. "Well—you see, I never keep track of dates; guess I'm too—maybe I've traveled a bit too much to count days—"

Either ignoring Page's evasion or not seeing it, Zura continued, "But you love the blessed old country, don't you?"

"With all my heart," he answered fervently.

"Then why do you stay out here? A man can go where he pleases."

"I have my work on hand and riches in mind. You know the old saw about a rolling stone?"

"Indeed I do. It gathers no moss. Neither does it collect burrs in gray whiskers and hayseed in long hair. I tell you," she half-whispered, leaning towards him confidentially, "Let's you and I kidnap Jane and Ursula and emigrate to 'Dixie Land, the land of cotton, where fun and life are easily gotten.' Are you with me?" she audaciously challenged.

Page's face matched the white flowers near him. With a lightness, all assumed, he answered, "All right; but wait till I make a fortune—teaching." He arose, saying he would go out on the balcony for a smoke.

Soon after that Jane left, saying she must write many letters of thanks.

I was alone with Zura. The night being mild for the time of year, she proposed that we stroll in the garden. To her this lovely spot was something new and beautiful. To me it was something old and tender, but the charm, the spell it wove around us both was the same. It lay in perfect peace, kissed to silence and tender mystery by the splendor of the great, red, autumn moon. More beautiful now, the legend said, because the gods gathered all the brilliant coloring from the dying foliage and gave it to the pale moon lady for safe keeping.

"And look," exclaimed Zura, as we walked beside the waters which gave back the unclouded glory, "if the shining dame isn't using our lake for a looking-glass. You know, Ursula, this is the only night in the year the moon wears a hat. It's made from the scent of the flowers. Doesn't that halo around her look like a chapeau?"

We strolled along, and to Zura's pleadings I answered with ghost legends and myths from a full store gathered through long, lonely years. Charmed by the magic of the night and the wonder of the garden, we lingered long.

We paused in the ghostly half-light of the tall bamboo where the moonlight trickled through, to listen to the song of the Mysterious Bird of the Spirit Land. The bird is seldom seen alive, but if separated from its mate, at once it begins the search by a soft appealing call. If absence is prolonged the call increases to heart-breaking moaning, till from exhaustion the bird droops head downward and dies from grief.

That night the mate was surely lost. The lonely feathered thing made us shiver with the weirdness of its sad notes.

Suddenly we remembered the lateness of the hour and our guest. We took a short cut across the soft grass toward the house.

We turned sharply around a clump of bamboo and halted. A few steps before us was Page Hanaford. Seated on the edge of an old stone lantern, head in hands, out of the bitterness of some agony we heard him cry, "God in Heaven! How can I tell her!"

Zura and I clutched hands and crept away to the house. Even then we did not dare to look each other in the face.

Soon after Page came in. He gave no sign of his recent storm, but said good-night to me and, looking down at Zura, he held out his hand without speaking.

Now that I could see the girl's face I could hardly believe she was the same being. With flushed cheeks and downcast eyes she stood in wondering silence, as if in stumbling upon a secret place in a man's soul, she had fallen upon undiscovered regions in her own.

When I returned from locking the door after Page, Zura had gone to her room.

In the night I remembered that not once had Page referred to his absence from the city.

Zura, Jane and I had not often discussed young Hanaford. When we did, it was how we could give him pleasure rather than the probable cause of his spells of dejection. But when I found Jane alone the next day and told her what we had seen in the gardens, omitting what we'd heard, she had an explanation for the whole affair.



"It is perfectly plain, Miss Jenkins. Page has been disappointed in love. I know the signs," Jane said with a little sigh, brightening as she went on, "but that doesn't kill, just hurts, and makes people moody. I am going to tell Page I know his secret. I know, too, a recipe that will soon heal wounds like his. We have it right here in the house."

"Oh! Jane Gray," I said, exasperated, "do cultivate a little common sense. Now you run along and make us some beaten biscuit for supper by that recipe that you know is infallible, and do not add to Page's burden whatever it is, by trying your sentimental remedies on him."



XIV

WHAT THE SETTING SUN REVEALED

I heard Zura softly singing as she went about her work. She sang more and talked less in the two weeks that followed our Thanksgiving celebration than ever before since I had known her. In that time we had not seen Page. In our one talk of what we had seen in the garden Zura simply remarked that she supposed what we heard Page say meant he dreaded to tell somebody of the loss of his fortune and family. She lightly scoffed at my suggestion of anything more serious. I prayed that might be true, but why his confusion and evasion?

Thoughts of the boy and his secret would have weighed heavily upon me had it not been for my joy in seeing day by day the increasing sweetness and graciousness of my adopted child. Her gentleness of manner and speech often caused me to wonder if she could be the same untamed hoyden of some months ago. Every day I prided myself on my quick understanding of girls, also of the way to rear them. It made me more than happy to see what I was accomplishing with Jane's help. While it was no royal road to peace and happiness which we traveled, for Zura's impatience with the Orient and its ways, her rebellion against the stigma laid upon Eurasians, brought the shadows upon many a day's sunshine, yet, as the time slipped by, there seemed to be a growing contentment. There were fewer references made to a definite return to America. In the prospect of her permanent stay with me, I found great joy.

Her high spirits found expression in her work. Her love of excitement fed on encounters with Ishi and in teasing Jane.

One afternoon she locked the old gardener up in a tea-house till he apologized for some disrespect. She detained him till intense fear of the coming darkness induced him to submit.

One night Jane brought home a long bundle.

"A new dress, Saint Jinny?" asked Zura.

"No, honey, I haven't had a store dress in ten years. One somebody is through with becomes me quite well. These are the models for my hospital."

"You mean plans, don't you? You wouldn't be caught bringing home a model. Models are ladies who would be overcome by the superfluous drapery of a dress. My daddy used them for pictures in his studio. Sit right down here by the fire, Miss Jaygray, and while you dissipate in hot beef tea, I'll give you a lesson on models."

Zura painted so graphically a word picture of her father's studio it made me laugh, for I knew well enough that such clotheless creatures would not be permitted outside the Cannibal islands. The sheriff would take them up.

As Zura continued her wild exaggerations a look of horror covered Miss Gray's face.

"Oh! Zury!" she cried. "Surely those ladies had on part of a dress."

"No! angel child, not even a symptom. Daddy didn't want to paint their clothes. He wanted to copy the curves that grew on the people."

Jane covered her eyes and spoke in a voice filled with trouble.

"Dearie! I've lived in America a long time but I didn't know there were people like that! I'm really afraid they aren't selling their souls for the highest price."

"Daddy wasn't dealing in souls, but he did pay a pretty high price for lines."

Jane, unsatisfied, asked why her father couldn't use statues for his model and Zura seeing how troubled her friend was for the souls of the undressed, asked with eager sympathy to be allowed to see the plans for the soon-to-be built hospital.

The ground for the building had been purchased and work was well on the way. Shortly the roof-raising ceremony would take place. In this part of the country it is the most important event in building. Jane said that we were all expected to attend these exercises, even if we were so afraid of the criminal quarters that we had to take our hearts in our hands to enter.

Brown head and gray were bent together over blueprints and long columns of figures. Both maid and woman were frail and delicate tools to be used in the up-building of wrecked lives. Yet by the skill of the Master Mechanic these instruments were not only working wonders in other lives, but also something very beautiful in their own.

Zura took untiring interest in all Jane's plans for the after-festivities of the occasion. Most of their evenings were spent in arranging programs. I took no part. My hands were full of my own work and, while they talked, I paused to listen and was delighted not only in the transformation of Zura, but also in my own enlarged understanding of her.

I loved all young things, and youth itself, but I had never been near them before. With tender interest I watched every mood of Zura's, passing from an untamed child to a lovely girl. Sometimes her bounding spirits seemed overlaid by a soft enchantment. She would sit chin in palm, dark, luminous eyes gazing out into space as if she saw some wonderful picture. I suppose most girls do this. I never had time, but I made it possible for Zura to have her dreams. She should have all that I had missed, if I could give it to her—even a lover in years to come. I did not share these thoughts with Jane, for it is plain human to be irritated when we see our weaknesses reflected in another, and encouragement was the last thing Jane's sentimental soul needed. I failed to make out what had come over my companion these days; she would fasten her eyes on Zura and smile knowingly, as if telling herself a happy secret, sighing softly the while. And poetry! We ate, lived and slept to the swing of some love ditty.

Once I found Zura in a mood of gentle brooding. I suggested to her that, as the year was drawing to a close, it would be wise to start the new one with a clean bill of conscience. Did she not think it would be well for her to write to her grandfather and tell him she could see now that she had made it most difficult for him? That while she didn't want to be taken back she would like to be friends with him?

At once she was alert, but not aggressively so as in the past. "Ursula, I'll do it if you insist; but it wouldn't be honest and I couldn't be polite. I do not want to be friends with that old man who labels everybody evil that doesn't think as he does. We'd never think alike in a thousand years. What's the use of poking up a tiger when he's quiet?"

I persuaded.

She evaded by saying at last: "Well, some time—maybe. I have too much on my mind now."

"What, Zura?"

"Oh, my future—and a few other things."

* * * * *

Kishimoto San had never honored me with a visit since his granddaughter had been an inmate of my house. Whenever a business conference was necessary, I was requested, by mail, to "assemble" in the audience chamber of the Normal School.

The man was beginning to look old and broken but he still faithfully carried out his many duties of office and religion.

He never retreated one inch in his fight against all innovations that would make the country the less Japanese or his faith less Buddhistic. More often than not he stood alone and faced the bitter opposition of the progressives. In no one thing did he so prove his unconquerable spirit and his great ideals for his country as the patience with which he endured the ridicule of his opponents. For to a man of the proud and sensitive East, shot and shell are far easier to face than ridicule.

On a certain afternoon I had gone to meet with a committee to discuss a question pertaining to a school regulation, by which the girl students of the city schools would be granted liberty in dress and conduct more equal with the boys. Of course Kishimoto San stood firm against so radical a measure. Another member of the committee asked him if he did not believe in progress. The unbending old man answered sternly:

"Progress—yes. But a progress based on the traditions of our august ancestors, not a progress founded on Western principle, which, if adopted by us unmodified, means that we, with our legions of years behind us, our forefathers descended from the gods, as they were, will be neither wholly East nor West but a something as distorted as a dragon's body with the heads and wings of an eagle. Progress! Have not our misconceptions of progress cost us countless lives and sickening humiliations? Has not the breaking of traditions threatened the very foundations of our homes? Small wonder the foreign nations offer careless insult when we stoop to make monkeys of ourselves and adopt customs and assume a civilization that can no more be grafted on to our nation than cabbage can be grown on plum trees. Take what is needful to strengthen and uplift. Make the highest and best of any land your own standard and live thereby. But remember, in long years ago the divine gods created you Japanese, and to the end of eternity, struggle as you may, as such you cannot escape your destiny!"

As he finished his impassioned speech, a ray of sun fell upon his face, lifted in stern warning to his opponents. He was like a figure of the Past demanding reverence and a hearing from the Present.

For the time he won his point and I was glad, for it was Kishimoto San's last public speech. Soon after he was stricken with a lingering illness.

In previous talks he had neither asked after his granddaughter nor referred to her. But this afternoon, taking advantage of his look of half-pleasure caused by the victory he had won single handed, I took occasion, when offering congratulations, to give him every opportunity to inquire as to Zura and her progress. I was very proud of what I had done with the girl, of the change her affection for Jane and me had accomplished.

Naturally I was anxious to exhibit my handiwork. As well tempt a mountain lion to inspect a piece of beautiful tapestry in the process of weaving.

However tactfully I led up to the subject he walked around it without touching it. To him she was not. Reconciliation was afar off. I said good-by and left. It was this and the speech I had heard in the afternoon that occupied my mind as I wended my way home.

Of course the country must go forward; but it was a pity that, even if progress were not compatible with tradition, it could not be tempered with beauty. Why must the youth of the land adopt those hideous imitations of foreign clothes? The flower-like children wear on their heads the grotesque combinations of muslin and chicken feathers they called hats? There are miles of ancient moats around the city, filled with lotus, the great pink-and-white blossoms giving joy to the eye as its roots gave food for the body. Slowly these stretches of loveliness were being turned into dreary levels of sand for the roadbed of a trolley. Even now the quiet of the city was broken by the clang of the street-car gong. I was taking my first ride that day.

With Kishimoto San's plea for progress of the right kind still ringing in my ears, my eyes fell upon some of the rules for the conduct of the passengers, printed in large type, and hung upon the front door of the car:

"Please do not stick your knees or your elbows out of the windows."

"Fat people must ride on the platform."

"Soiled coolies must take a bath before entering."

An advertisement in English emphasized the talk of the afternoon: "Invaluable most fragrant and nice pills, especially for sudden illness. For refreshing drooping minds and regulating disordered spirits, whooping cough and helping reconvalescents to progress."

The force of Kishimoto's appeal was strong upon me.

I alighted at my street and began the climb that led to my house. Halfway up a picture-book tea-house offered hospitality; in its miniature garden I paused to rest and faced the sea in all its evening beauty. Happily the glory of the skies and the tender loveliness of the hills still belonged to their Maker, untouched by commercialism.

The golden track of the setting sun streamed across the mountain tops and turned to fiery red a feathery shock of distant clouds. High and clear came the note of a wild goose as he called to his mate on their homeward flight. In the city below a thousand lights danced and beckoned through the soft velvet shadows of coming night. There fluttered up to me many sounds—a temple bell, the happy call of children at play, cheerful echoes of home-like content, the gentle gaiety of simple life. It was for these, the foundations of the Empire, that Kishimoto San feared ruin, with the coming of too sudden a transition.

But I forgot the man and his woes. The spell of heavenly peace that spread upon land and sea fell like a benediction.

It crept into my heart and filled me with thankfulness that I had known this land and its people and for all the blessings that had fallen to me in the coming of Zura Wingate. Gratitude for my full understanding of her was deep. If only the shadows could be cleared away from the boy I loved, life would be complete.

Exalted by the beauty of the evening, and by my spiritual communings, I entered my house and faced the door of the study. It was ajar. Silhouetted against the golden light, which had so filled me with joy and peace, stood two figures. And the man held the hands of the girl against his breast, and looked down into her glad eyes as a soul in the balance must look into Paradise.

It was Page Hanaford and Zura Wingate!

As quietly as possible I went around another way and dropped into the first handy chair. The truth was as bare as a model. The force of it came to me like a blow between the eyes. Long ago, because of chilblains, I had adopted felt shoes. In that second of time I stood at the door the noiseless footgear cured me of all the egotism I ever possessed.

Now I knew by what magic the transformation had been wrought in Zura. And the castle of dreams, built on my supposed understanding of youth and the way it grew, was swept away by a single breath from the young god of love. What a silly old jay bird I had been! Was that what Jane Gray had been smiling to herself about? I felt like shaking her for seeing it before I did.

* * * * *

At dinner Jane was the only one of the three of us without an impediment in her silence. I was glad when the meal was over and we went to the study.

Zura buried herself in a deep windowseat, to watch the lights on the water, she said. When there was not another glimmer to be seen, from the shadows came a voice with a soft little tremble in it, or possibly I had grown suddenly sensitive to trembles: "Ursula, Mr. Hanaford was here this afternoon."

Now, thought I, it's coming. Steadying myself I asked: "Was he? What did he have to say?"

"Oh-h!"—indifferently—"nothing much. He brought back an armful of books."

An armful of books—aye, and his heart full of love! How dared he speak of it with his life wrapped in the dark shadows of some secret?

Talk to me of progress! That day I could have raced neck-and-neck with a shooting star!



XV

PINKEY CHALMERS CALLS AGAIN

Never having been within hailing distance before of the processes of love and proceedings of courtship there were no signposts in my experience to guide me as to what should be my next step, if it were mine to take. I had been too busy a woman to indulge in many novels, but in the few I had read the hero lost no time in saying, "Will you?" and at once somebody began to practise the wedding march. I suppose the fashion in lovemaking changes as much as the styles; nothing I ever thought or dreamed on the subject seemed to fit the case in hand.

I waited for Zura to tell me, but she didn't. She only sang the more as she went about her work, doubling her efforts in making sweet the home and herself. She seemed to find fresh joy in every hour.

Any thoughts I'd cherished that young Hanaford would come at once, clear up all the confusion about himself, frankly declare his love for Zura and be happy forever afterward died from lack of nourishment.

Only my deep affection for the boy restrained my anger at his silence. The love and sympathy which bolstered up my faith in him were reinforced by his gentle breeding and high mental quality; but circumstances forced me reluctantly to admit that the story he told when he first came was not true. Page Hanaford was not only under a shadow, but also was undoubtedly seeking to conceal his whereabouts. And why? The question sat on the foot of my bed at night and made faces at me, scrawled itself all over my work and met me around every corner.

It was next to impossible to connect him with dishonesty or baseness when looking into his face, or hearing him talk. But why didn't he speak out, and why hide his talents in this obscure place? He was gifted. His classes had increased to large numbers, and so excellent were his methods his fame had gone abroad. The Department of Education had offered him a lucrative position as teacher in the Higher Normal College in a neighboring city. But, instead of snatching at this good fortune, he asked for time to consider.

He came frequently to talk it over with me; at least that's what he said he came for. The law required the applicant for such a position to answer questions concerning himself and all his ancestors. In my talks with Page about this law I emphasized every detail of the intimate questions that would be put to him. I tried to impress upon him the necessity of having either a clean record, or a very clever tongue when he went before the judgment seat of the Japanese authorities. I hoped my seriousness would bring about a speedy explanation, denial, declaration—anything, so it came quickly. The truth is I don't believe he ever heard a word of what I said on the subject.

If Zura was out of the room, his eyes were glued to the door watching for it to open. If she were present, his eyes would be fixed on her face. If I made an excuse to leave the room, Page made another to keep me, as if he feared the thing he most desired. What did it all mean? If Page Hanaford could not explain himself honorably, what right had he to look at the girl with his heart in his eyes? If no explanation could be given, what right had Zura Wingate to grow prettier and happier every day?

I had always believed that love was as simple and straightforward as finding the end of a blind alley. There was good reason for me to change my belief as the days passed and nothing was said on the subject.

Of course, I could have hauled the two up before me, like children, and told them what I had seen and was still seeing; but I dreaded to force the man's secret and I had to acknowledge that, for the time, I was no more equal to guiding this thing called "love" than I was to instructing birds to build a nest.

Jane was not a bit of help to me. Refusing to discuss anything except the sentimental side of the affair, she repeated verse till I was almost persuaded this poetical streak was a disease rather than a habit. Between stanzas she proffered food and drink to Page, in quantities sufficient to end quickly both man and mystery, had he accepted. Her attitude to Zura was one of perfect understanding and entire sympathy. Every time she looked at the girl, she sighed and went off into more poetry.

Troubled thoughts stormed my brain as hailstones pelt a tin roof. I prayed for wisdom as I had never prayed for happiness.

The announcement one day that Mr. Tom Chalmers had called caused no sudden rise in my spirits, but a second card, bearing the name of Mrs. Tom, somewhat relieved my mind. Their coming offered a diversion and proved Pinkey of a forgiving spirit.

They were on their wedding journey, he told us after I had summoned Zura. Greetings and congratulations were soon over. While the steamer was coaling in a near-by port he thought he would just run over in jinrikishas to say "Hello!" and show Mrs. Chalmers to us. Yankee Doodle with a hat full of feathers could not have been more proud.

What there was of Mrs. Pinkey to exhibit was indeed a show. Her youthful prettiness belonged more to the schoolroom period than wifehood; and Heaven forbid that the clothes she wore should be typical of my country; there was not enough material in her skirt to make me a comfortable pair of sleeves! I marveled how, in so limited a space, she advanced one limb before the other.

Later Zura explained the process to me: "It's a matter of politeness, Ursula. One knee says to the other, 'You let me pass this time, and I'll step aside when your turn comes.'"

Even this courtesy had failed to prevent a catastrophe; one seam of her dress was ripped for a foot above the ankle. The coat of this remarkable costume was all back and no front, and from the rear edge of her hat floated a wonderful feather like a flag from the stern of a gunboat.

I could see by her face how funny she thought my clothes. I hoped she did not realize how near to scandalous her outfit seemed to me. Usually the point of view depends on which side of the ocean one is when delivering judgment.

Pinkey was as eloquent on the subject of his wedding as if he had been the only Adam who ever marched down a church aisle. He was most joyful at the prospect of showing to his bride all the curiosities and shortcomings of the East. He felt he had encompassed wide and intimate knowledge of it in his two or three trips. I asked Mrs. Chalmers how she liked Japan.

She took her adoring eyes off her newly-acquired husband long enough to answer: "It is lovely. Wonderful little people—so progressive and clean. It's too bad they are so dishonest; of course you must have lost a lot of money."

"No, I can't say that I have. I've been in the country thirty years and never lost a 'rin' except when my pocket was torn. Come to think of it, if histories, travelers and police records state facts, dishonesty is not peculiar to the Orient."

The little bride answered: "I don't know about that; but the Japanese must be awfully tricky, for Pinkey says so and the captain of the ship, who hates every inhabitant of the Empire, said the banks had to employ Chinese clerks."

Why waste words? What were real facts, or the experience of a lifetime against such unimpeachable authority as Mr. Pinkey Chalmers and the captain of a Pacific steamer! Why condemn the little bride, for after all she was human. Nationally and individually, the tighter we hug our own sins and hide their faces, the more clearly we can see the distorted features of our neighbor's weakness. There was more of pity than anger due a person who, ignoring all the beauty in the treasure house before her, chose as a souvenir a warped and very ancient skeleton of a truth and found the same pleasure in dangling it, that a child would in exhibiting a newly-extracted tooth.

Mr. Chalmers had been talking to Zura, but when he caught the word "bank" he included the entire company in his conversation. "Talking banks, are you? Well that is a pretty sore subject with me. Just lost my whole fortune in a bank. Had it happened before the wedding I'd have been obliged to put the soft pedals on the merry marriage bells. Guess you heard about the million-dollar robbery of the Chicago Bank; biggest pile any one fellow ever got away with. And that's the wonder: he got clean away, simply faded into nothing. It happened months ago and not a trace of him since. Detectives everywhere are on the keen jump; big reward hung up. He's being gay somewhere with seventy-five dollars of my good money."

Tea was served and we indulged in much small talk, but I was not sorry when Pinkey said he "must be moving along" to the steamer. He charged us to wireless him, if we saw a strange man standing around with a bushel of gold concealed about his person. It was sure to be the missing cashier. "By-the-way," he asked, pausing at the door, "where is that chap I met when I was here before, who took such an interest in my business? Maybe he is among those absent wanted ones. What was he doing here anyhow?"

Zura answered with what I thought unnecessary color that Mr. Hanaford was in the city, and was soon to be promoted to a very high position in the educational world.

Pinkey looked into her face and, turning, gave me a violent wink. "Oho! Now I'm getting wise." At the same time humming a strain supposed to be from a wedding march.

Oh, but I wished I could slap him! Think of his seeing in a wink what I hadn't seen in months!

My visitors said good-by and went their happy way, but in the story of the missing cashier Mr. Chalmers left behind a suggestion that was as hateful as it was painful and haunting.

* * * * *

Page spent that evening with us. He was lighter of heart than I had ever seen him, more at ease and entertaining, and as far removed from crime as courage is from cowardice.

My heart ached as I looked at him, for I longed for his happiness as I yearned to know he was clean of soul.

If some cruel mistake had darkened his life, why did he not say so and let us, his friends, help him forget? Why not start anew with love as a guide?

It was another Page we were seeing that night. Was it the magic of love that made him hopeful, almost gay? Or was it for the moment he was permitted one more joyous flight in the blue skies of freedom before he was finally caught in the snare of the shadow?

For the time he sunned his soul in the garden of friendship and love and gave us, not only glimpses of other worlds, but disclosed another side of himself. If the new man I was seeing in Page Hanaford captivated me the revelation of the undiscovered woman in Zura mystified and amazed me. Till now her every characteristic was so distinctly of her father's race, everything about her so essentially Western, that I was beginning to think she had tricked a favorite law of Nature and defied maternal influence.

As much as she loved pretty clothes, and regardless of the pressure brought to bear by her grandfather, she had refused to wear the native garb, preferring the shabby garments she brought with her from America. I had never thought of her being Japanese; but that evening, when Page was announced and Zura walked into the room clothed in kimono and obi, my eyes were astonished with as fair a daughter of old Nippon as ever pompadoured her hair or wore sandals on her feet.

She was like a new creature to me. Her daring and sparkling vivacity were tempered by a tranquil charm, as if a slumbering something, wholly of the East had suddenly awakened and claimed her. With eyes half lowered she responded with easy familiarity to Page's talk of other lands. She said her father had traveled far and had spent many of their long winter evenings in spinning yarns of foreign countries for her enjoyment. She'd been brought up more regularly on pictures than she had food. Once they had copies of all the great paintings. Mother sold the last one to get money to pay the passage to come to Japan.

And so they talked. Jane, snug in her chair, was content to listen, and I, who had been blind, was now dumb with the startling surprises that the game of life being played before me revealed.

The girl glowed as softly bright as a firefly and the light lured the man to happy forgetfulness. For once he let love have full sway. He neither sought to conceal what he felt, nor to stem the tide which was fast sweeping him—he knew not nor cared not whither so long as his eyes might rest upon the dearness of Zura's face, as with folded feet and hands she sat on a low cushion, the dull red fire reflecting its glory in the gold embroidery of her gown.

There had been a long silence. Then Zura recalled the event of the day: "Oh, Mr. Hanaford, by the way. You remember Pinkey Chalmers, don't you—the nice boy you and Ursula entertained so beautifully in the garden when he called the last time? He was here again to-day; had his bride with him. Ursula will tell you what she looked like. I do wish you had been here. Mr. Chalmers told us the most exciting news about a Chicago cashier who skipped away with a million dollars and hid both himself and the money—nobody knows where. They think he is out this way and I think I am going to find him."

In the passing of one second the happiness in Page Hanaford's face withered. Like a mask fear covered it. He thrust his strained body forward and with shaking hand grasped the shoulder of the girl. "Hid it! Tell me, in heaven's name, tell me where could a man hide a million dollars?" His voice was tense to the breaking point. He searched the girl's face as if all eternity depended upon her reply.

Before she could make it he sank back in his chair, pitifully white and limp. He begged for air. We opened the window. Zura ran for water. While I bathed his face he said, looking at Zura: "I beg your pardon. I'm not at all well, but I didn't mean to startle you."

"I'm not startled," she answered, and lightly added: "but I was just wondering why anybody would care so much where a million old dollars were hid. I know a hundred things I'd rather find."

The man laid his hand on that of the girl as it rested on the arm of the chair. "Name one, Zura."

"Love." And on her face the high lights were softened to compassion and tenderness.

Page took his hand from hers and covered his eyes.

* * * * *

There I stood waiting to put another cold cloth on the boy's head. Neither one of them knew I was on earth. I hardly knew it myself. For the first time in my life I was seeing the real thing and the wonder of it almost petrified me.

What else might have happened is an untold tale. Jane saved the situation. I had not noticed her absence. She now entered, carrying a tray well filled with crackers and a beverage which she placed before Page. "Honey, I don't believe in any of those spirit-rising liquors even when you faint, but I made this jape gruice right off our own vine and fig tree and I know it's pure and innocent. Yes, Zura, grape juice is what I said. Page can drink every gallon I have if he wants it, and I'll toast cheese and crackers for him all night."

The twist in Jane Gray's tongue might lead to laughter, but her heart never missed the road to thoughtful kindness.

Very soon Page said he felt much better and would get home and to bed. When he took his coat and hat from the hall he looked so weak, so near to illness, I begged him to stay and let us care for him. He gently refused, saying he would be all right in the morning. I followed him to the gate. He turned to say good-night.

I put my hands on his shoulders and with all the affection at my command I invited his confidence. "What is it, son? I'm an old woman, but maybe I can help you. Let me try."

He lifted his hands to mine and his grasp was painful. The dim light from the old bronze lantern reflected the tears in his eyes as he answered: "Help me? You have in a thousand ways. I'll soon be all right. I'm just a little over-worked. Haven't slept much lately. Need rest."

Then leaning near with sudden tenderness: "Heaven bless you, dear woman. You have been as good to me as my own mother. Some day—perhaps. Good-night. Don't worry, Miss Jenkins."

Why didn't he throw me over into a bramble patch and tell me not to get scratched? I just leaned my old head up against the gate and cried.

I returned to the house by a rear door, for Jane was in the living-room.



XVI

ENTER KOBU, THE DETECTIVE

The compensation of the morning's belated brightness came in the golden glory with which it flooded the world, so warm it melted the hoar frost jewels on tree and shrub, so tender the drooping roses lifted their pink heads and blushed anew. It was the kind of a morning one knew that something was waiting just ahead. It required no feat of intellect for me to know that a great many somethings awaited my little household. Whenever I arose in the morning feeling sentimental, something was sure to happen. The afternoon of this day was the appointed time for the "roof-raising festival" of Jane's hospital. Three o'clock was the hour set to begin the ceremonies, but early morning found Jane and Zura as busy collecting books, bundles and a folding baby-organ, as if moving day had fallen upon the household. Neither one of my companions seemed depressed by the happenings of the night before, or else they were determined that every other thought should be put aside till the roof was safely over the dream of Jane's life. Jinrickishas piled high with baskets of refreshments and decorations moved gaily down the street. Jane and Zura, laughing like two schoolgirls and as irrepressible, headed the little procession.

I waved them good luck and went back to my work and my thoughts. I was interrupted by a note that came from Page in answer to one of mine, saying a slight fever would prevent his accepting the invitation to go with me to the exercises in the afternoon, but he hoped to see us at the house later in the evening. Of course he meant us in general, Zura particularly, and it might be fever or it might be other things that kept him away from Jane's tea party. I was going to know in either case as soon as I could get Page Hanaford by himself. Right or wrong I would help him all I could, but know I must and would. I simply could not live through another day of anxiety.

If Page told me his trouble, there was no reason why it would fade away, and my anxiety cease to be, but having made up my mind to act definitely, my spirits rose like a clay pigeon released by a spring.

That afternoon, at the time appointed for the ceremony, when I turned from Flying Sparrow Street into Tube Rose Lane a strange sight met my eyes. It was clean. For once in the history of the Quarter poverty and crime had taken a bath and were indulging in an open holiday. It had gone still farther. From the lowliest hut of straw and plaster to the little better house of the chief criminal, cheap, but very gay decorations fluttered in honor of the coming hospital. The people stood about in small groups. The many kimonos, well patched in varied colors, lent a touch of brilliancy to the sordid alleyway, haunted with ghosts of men and women, dead to all things spiritual.

Here and there policemen strolled, always in pairs. Whenever they drew near, and until they were past, the talking groups fell silent, and before an open door, or window a blank white screen was softly shifted. This coming from cover by the inhabitants and premeditatedly giving a visible sign of their existence was a supreme tribute to the woman who had lived among them successfully, because hers was the courage of the sanctified, her bravery that of love.

The day sparkled with winter's bright beauty. The sun had wooed an ancient plum tree into blossoming long before its time. It spread its dainty flowers on the soft straw bed of an old gray roof. A playful wind caught up the petals, sending the white blossoms flying across the heads of the unjust into the unclean ditches where they covered stagnation with a frail loveliness.

For the time at least degradation hid its face. Though poverty and sin were abroad, peace and good will might have been their next-door neighbors had it not been for a certain quality in the atmosphere, invisible but powerful, which caused a feeling that behind it all, there was an evil something that sneered alike at life and beauty; that had for its motto lust and greed, and mercilessly demanded as tribute the soul of every inhabitant.

Collected crime at bay was an unyielding force not easily reckoned with. The fact that one small woman, with only faith to back her, was battling against it single-handed, sent Jane Gray so high up in my estimation that I could barely see her as she floated in the clouds.

I saw my companion in an entirely new light as I joined the throngs gathered about the space where the raising of the roof was taking place. The ceremony here was brief. With countless ropes tied to the joined roof as it lay on the ground, the eager coolies stood ready for the signal to pull aloft the structure and guide it to the posts placed ready to receive it.

Jane walked to the cleared center and stood waiting to speak. There was instant silence when the crowd saw her. With simple words she thanked the workmen for their interest and the many half-days' labor they had contributed, then she raised her hand, and with great shouting and cheering the roof of Jane's long-dreamed-of refuge for sinners, sick and hopeless, was safely hoisted to its place.

After this everybody was entitled to a holiday and went quickly to the tea and cake which Zura and her helpers had prepared and served from small booths. The rest of the exercises were to take place in the near-by house that Miss Gray had been using temporarily. By removing all the paper partitions the lower part of the house had been thrown into one large room. Circling the crowd of waiting people seated on the floor a row of cots held the sick and afflicted, worsted by sin and disease.

Before them stood Jane, who, in the custom of the country, bade them welcome. A small sea of faces was lifted to her. Such faces!—none beautiful; all stamped with crime; some scarcely human, only physical apparitions of debased Nature.

With shifting glances they listened to an official who made Jane an offer from the city to contribute to the support of the hospital, the pledge of two doctors to give their services so many hours a week, a contribution of milk from a rich merchant, and an offer from a friendly barber to give so many free shaves. Their eyes widened with wonder and suspicion. What could people mean by giving things and taking away the excitement of stealing them?

But when the man spoke of how the officials had watched Jane and her work, at first with skeptical unbelief because they thought she would not endure a month, now with warmest sympathy because she had succeeded in keeping the Quarters freer of crime and disease than ever before, they forgot their fear and voiced their approval in much hand-clapping, and wise shaking of heads. They called for Miss Gray.

Jane arose and very shyly thanked the city's representative. Then as gently and as simply as if talking to wayward children, she spoke to the men and women before her, who bent forward with respectful attention while the sick ones fastened their weary eyes upon her.

"My people, the building of this little hospital means not only the healing of your bodies, but also the way to cleansing your souls. Dear friends, let me say in this world there is nothing worth while but your souls. Make them clean and white. Sell them for the highest price. What do I mean by that? I mean that if it is for the sake of your souls, it is nothing to go hungry, cold and in rags. What matters the outside so long as you make your hearts sweet and shiny and true? All of you before me have gone astray. So many of you have wandered like lost children from the homeward path, and darkness came and you could not find the way back. Each of you was once a happy little child, with some place to call home and some one there to care when you were lost. I do not know why the darkness overtook you, but I know it did, and to-day, as before, I am a messenger to show you the way back. I have come to tell you that there is still Somebody who cares whether you are lost or not. There is still Some One who waits to guide you home. He asks you as a little child to take hold of His hand and He will lead you out of the fearful darkness. I do not ask what nameless deeds have made you fear the light of day and the eyes of men. I only know you are my friends, to whom I so gladly bring this message, and to whom I so willingly give my strength and my life to help you find the way back to the greatest Friend, who, understanding all, forgives."

A look resembling a shadow of hope came into their faces as she finished, and when, at a sign, Zura haltingly played, "I Need Thee Every Hour," and the people stumbled along with the music in an attempt to sing, the burden of the sound as well as the song was a cry for help.

The song finished, one part of the crowd seemed to fade away, the others stayed and gathered about Jane as if only to touch her meant something better than their own sin-stained lives. She moved among them speaking gently to this one, earnestly to that one. Tenderly she smoothed the covers over the sick bodies, leaving a smile and word of cheer wherever she stopped.

Sentimentalism dropped from her like a garment worn for play. It was the spiritual woman only I was seeing, one who faced these real and awful facts of life with the calm, blissful assurance of knowing the truth, of giving her life for humanity because of love.

Jane Gray was indeed a "Daughter of Hope."

* * * * *

A little later, Zura—here, there, everywhere, like a bright autumn leaf dancing among dead twigs—found me conversing with a man who all the afternoon had kept very near to me and evidenced every desire to be friendly.

"Belovedest," exclaimed the girl gaily, her face glowing as she approached, "come with me quick or you will miss the sight of your young life. You may come, too, sir, if you wish," addressing my persistent companion, who apparently had decided to spend the rest of his natural life in my presence.

Zura led us toward the rear of the house. As we approached a closed room there came to us sounds of splashing water and happy squeals. She slid open the paper doors. Before us were two big tubs full of small children. The baths were wide enough for six and so deep only the cropped heads showed above the rims as they stood neck high. The lower ranks of young Japan were engaged in a fierce water battle of ducking and splashing and a trial of endurance, as to who could stay under longest. Their thin yellow bodies gleamed in the sun of the late afternoon as they romped and shouted.

The fun growing so boisterous, and a miniature war threatening, the one attendant, a very old woman, was outclassed. Without invitation Zura rolled up her sleeves and took part in the fray.

Instantly there was quiet. A bath was strange enough to those waifs, but to be touched by a foreigner who looked like a princess made them half fear while they wondered. They soon found she knew their games as well as their talk; then everybody claimed attention at once.

She scrubbed them one by one playfully but firmly. She stood them in a row and put them through a funny little drill, commanding them to salute, and when they finished they were clothed ready to march out to the street in perfect order.

While this was going on the man who had attached himself to me stood close by, seemingly much interested. In a detached sort of way he began talking in broken English. "Miss Jaygray most wonderful of persons," he observed. "She come to this place of hell and make clean spot. She like gray owl too. She have see of all bad things. But learning of such stop right in her eye; it never get to her memory place. All time she talk 'bout one, two very little good thing what are in this street. Low womans in here give much works also rin and sen for to buy water tubs for babies. Bad mens give work of hands, for Miss Jaygray. She most wonderful of females. Maybe because she 'Merican. Hijiyama much honored by skilful 'Mericans: Jenkins San, Wingate San, Hanaford San too. He most skilful of all. You know Hanaford San?"

Something in his voice made me look in the man's face. It was as expressive as biscuit dough. I acknowledged my acquaintance with Page.

The man resumed: "Hanaford San nice gentleman. I give wonder why he stay this far-away place. I hear some time he have much sadful. Too bad. Maybe he have the yearn for his country. If this be truthful why he not give quick return to 'Merica?"

I answered that Mr. Hanaford had lost all his money and his father and had come to Japan to begin anew. His success in teaching was reason enough for his remaining.

Apparently indifferent my questioner mused as if to himself: "Him papa have gone dead. Badful news. And moneys have got lost. Most big troublesome for young man."

I did not think it strange this queer person knew Page. The boy had all kinds and conditions in his classes, as Jane had in her Quarters. Neither was it unusual for a stranger to follow me around. When I went to a new part of the city, I was accustomed to being followed as if I were a part of a circus. But my self-attached friend's interest in Page's history caused me to observe him more closely. Except that his patched clothes were cleaner and he spoke English I could discover little difference between him and Jane's other guests.

Criminal or not his carelessly put but persistent questions regarding Page, his habits, how long I had known him, how often he came to my house and many other things, so annoyed me that I arose to find Jane and suggest going home. Failing in my quest I returned to find my inquisitor gone and Zura putting on her coat and hat.

"Zura," I said, "who was that man who stuck to me all afternoon like furniture varnish? He made me talk whether I wanted to or not. Such questions as he asked!"

"Do you mean that clean, raggy little man who looked through you, but not at you?" she questioned. "Star of my Sapphire, you have made a hit. That was Kobu, the keenest detective the flag of the Rising Sun ever waved over. I thought you knew. He has been here a week trying to pry information out of Lady Jinny. You should hear their interviews. He asks the subtlest questions, and Jane Gray doesn't do a thing but let her tongue get locomotor ataxia, and Kobu can make nothing of her answers. It's as good as vaudeville to hear them. He'd just as well leave her alone. Torture wouldn't make her tell what she knows, and she doesn't have to either! Did he ask you about Page? He did me too. What does it matter? I told him all I knew. That is most all. Why shouldn't I? There's nothing wrong about Page. He just can't get over the loss of his father, and there is something about old money that worries him."

She threw her arms around my waist.

"What a happy day! Isn't Jane the realest saint you ever knew? You're a saint, too, Ursula, the nice sinnery kind that I love to play with. I am tired and hungry. Come on, let's find Lady Jinny and go home. Isn't the blessedest thing in the world to have one to go to? I dare you to race me to the corner." I was far from feeling playful, so declined.

More than ever I felt the necessity of an interview with Page. I must know the truth. He must know the happenings of the afternoon.

* * * * *

That evening, after dinner, while sitting with Zura in the living-room, I eagerly listened for Page's step in the hall. Soon it came, and as we arose to greet him I was made more anxious by his fever-bright eyes.

I was reassured, however, when he replied to my inquiries by saying: "Quite all right, thank you. Head gets a bit rocky at times, but that does not matter. Awfully sorry I was unable to be among those present at Miss Jane's tea party. Tell me all about it—the guests and the costumes."

Though he walked about the room, picking up books and small objects only to lay them quickly down, he gave the closest attention to Zura as she eagerly gave her account of the afternoon.

I was about to interrupt with a request to Page to come with me for a private conference in the dining-room, when a summons came for me to go at once to the house in the garden where Ishi lived. The messenger thought Ishi was very ill, or gone crazy. I found him very drunk. Standing in the middle of the room, with rows of rare orchids ranged around the walls, he was waving a sharp-bladed weapon while executing a sword dance. In between steps he made speeches to the plants, telling them how their blessed brothers and sisters had had their heads cut off by a silly girl on whom he would have vengeance. He had sworn by his blood at the temple.

It required me a good hour to reduce him to submission and to sleep. When I returned to the house Page Hanaford was gone. I was disappointed enough to cry. Zura said that the next morning was the time for him to go to the Government office to fill out the papers required for his position at the Normal College, and that he must make his last preparation for this. He asked her to say to me that he would accept the offer I had made to go with him as interpreter and would call for me on his way down.

"But," I asked almost peevishly, "what made him go so soon?"

"I am not sure. Maybe he wanted to study. Or, it may be, I made his head ache. I did talk a lot. I told him everything—about the babies in the bath and Jane's sermon and your detective."

"Oh, Zura!" I said helplessly.

"Yes, I did. Why not?"

She leaned 'way over and looked at me steadily. Then with something of her old passion she cried: "Listen to me, Ursula! Don't you dare think Page Hanaford guilty of crime! There isn't anything wrong with him. I know it. I know it."

"How do you know it, my child? Has he told you the real reason for his being in Japan? Has he told you why fear suddenly overtakes and confuses him? Or has he only dared to tell you other things?"

A joyous little sob caught in her throat. "His lips have told me nothing, Ursula. His eyes and my heart have told me all."

"And without knowing these things you love him, Zura?"

"Love him," she echoed softly. "Right or wrong, I love him absolutely!"

I looked at the girl in amazed wonder. There seemed to be an inner radiance as if her soul had been steeped in some luminous medium. She came nearer, her young face held close to mine. "Oh, I am so happy, so blissfully happy! For good or not, it's love for eternity. Dear, kind old friend!"—inclosing my face with her hands, she kissed me on the lips. In that faraway time of my babyhood my mother's good-by kiss was the last I had known. The rapture of the girl's caress repaid long, empty years. For a moment I was as happy as she. Then I remembered.

All day I had seen love perform miracles, and, like some invisible power, regulate the workings of life as some deft hand might guide a piece of delicate machinery; but that anybody could be happy, radiantly happy, with shadows and detectives closing around the main cause of happiness was farther than I could stretch my belief in the transforming power of joy. Surely this thing called "love" was either farseeing wisdom or shortsighted foolishness.



XVII

A VISIT TO THE KENCHO

The North Wind began a wild song through the trees in the night. It tore at the mountains with the fury of an attacking army. It lashed the waters of the sea into a frenzy. With the dawn came the snow. Softly and tenderly it wrapped the earth in a great white coverlet, hushing the troubled notes of the savage storm music into plaintive echoes of a lullaby. As it grew light a world of magic beauty greeted my eyes. Winter was King, but withal a tender monarch wooing as his handmaidens the beauties of early spring. The great Camellia trees gave lavishly of their waxen flowers, brocading the snow in crimson. Young bamboo swinging low under the burden, edged its covering of white down with a lacy fringe of delicate green. The scene should have called forth a hymn of praise; but the feelings which gripped me more nearly matched the clouds rolled in heavy gray masses over land and sea.

Page was to call for me at ten. Long before that time I was sitting on the edge of the chair, ready and waiting, trying to coax into my over-soul an ounce or so of poise, a measure of serenity. It needed no fortune teller to forecast that this visit to the Kencho would be productive of results, whether good or bad the coming hours alone could tell.

Knowing the searching questions that would be put to Page Hanaford, I was beginning to wonder if the offer of this position was not part of the game Kobu was playing. I had never seen Japan's famous manhunter till the day before, but by reputation I knew him to be relentless in pursuit of victims to be offered as tribute to his genius. Thoughts of Page Hanaford in prison garb behind barred doors made me shiver.

I was depressed in spirits and was trying to plan what I could possibly do, when the sound of Zura's voice came to me as she moved about in the upper story attending to her household duties. It was a foolish old negro melody she sang, and one of its verses ran:

Ole Cap'n Noah a-feelin' mighty blue, Kep' a sayin' to hisself, "Oh, what shall I do?" 'Long come a sparrow bird, spic 'n spin, 'N he say, "Brer Noah, do de bes' you kin.

Yo' joy 'n yo' trouble is sho' gwine to bide 'N las' jes' as long as yo' own tough hide. So say, Cap'n Noah, better laugh 'n grin; Perk up yo' speerits 'n do de bes' yo kin.

The insistent note of happiness in the girl's voice and the humble philosophy of the song so cheered me that, when my escort appeared on the stroke of ten, hope came riding down on the streaks of sunshine that were battling through the clouds.

While my companion had about him every mark of nervous restlessness that so often precedes a crisis or an illness he also had the air of a man at last determined to turn and face a pursuing enemy and stand, or fall by the clash. Fear was absent from face and manner. He even lightly jested as Jane, while greeting him, slipped into his pocket a tempting-looking package.

"Page, dear," she twittered, "it is only cookies and sandwiches and pickles and cake. But talking always makes people hungry. Those nice gentlemen down at the Kencho are never in a hurry. They may keep you till after lunchtime. You and Miss Jenkins can have a tea party."

Page laid a kindly hand on Jane's shoulder. "You dear little saint of a woman! How good all of you are to me, and how I thank you. Well good-by. When you see me again I'll be—"

With hand outstretched to open the door for me to pass, he paused. Once again the sound of a song reached us:

"Before I slept, I thought of thee; Then fell asleep and sought for thee And found thee. Had I but known 'twas only seeming, I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."

There was enough sweetness in Zura's voice to woo a man to Heaven or lure him to the other place. Page listened till the last note, then softly closed the door and walked beside me. The look on his face held me speechless. It was a glorious something he had gained, yet never to be his; a glimpse into paradise, then the falling of the shadows between; but the vision was his reward.

Usually it takes endless time in Japan to unwind the huge ball of red tape that is wrapped about the smallest official act. That morning, when Page and I presented ourselves at the Government office, the end of the tape seemed to have a pin stuck in it, so easily and swiftly was it found. Promptly announced, we were ushered without delay into a small inner office.

The walls of this room were lined with numberless shelves filled with files and papers. Any remaining space was covered by pictures of famous persons, people wanted or wanting, and a geisha girl or two.

I noticed two other things in the room. Adorning the center of the table, before which we were seated, was a large cuspidor. The fresh flowers inside matched the painted ones outside. To Japanese eyes the only possible use for such an ornament was to hold blossoms. It was neither beautiful nor artistic, but being foreign was the very thing with which to welcome American guests. Anxious as I was I felt myself smiling, if rather palely, at the many ways in which Kishimoto's prophecy was being fulfilled.

The other thing was not amusing, only significant. Page sat opposite me and I faced a heavily curtained recess, and some one was behind the drapery. I had seen the folds move. I had no way of warning the boy. Had we been alone, I doubt if I would have made the effort. Concealment for Page, unendurable suspense for those who loved him, must end. I spoke only when necessary to interpret an unusual word.

A small official with a big manner began by eulogizing Mr. Hanaford's skill in teaching and his success in imparting English. He felt it a great rudeness of manner to the honorable teacher gentleman, but the law compelled applicant for the position of Professor of English in the Normal College to answer many personal questions. For a moment he dallied with a few preliminary statements; then, throwing aside all reserve, the man began his probe as a skilled surgeon might search a victim's body for hidden bullets.

Page, outwardly calm, answered steadily at first, but his knotted fingers and swelling veins showed the strain. Once his lips trembled. I had never seen a man's lips tremble before. It's no wonder mothers can die for sons.

Inquiries as to quantity and quality of ancestors, place of birth, age, calling now and formerly came with the precision of a marksman hunting the center of the target. "How long have you been in this country?"

"About a year."

"From where did you come to Japan?"

Page hesitated, then stammered: "Don't remember."

The high-lifted brows of the official were eloquent, his voice increasingly sarcastic: "So! Your memory makes absence. Repeat your name once again."

"Page Hanaford."

"Hanaford? So! Now your other name?"

"I have no other name."

"Your other name!" was the sharp demand.

"My name is Page Hanaford, I tell you." He spoke with quick anger as he arose from the chair.

"Your other name!" sternly reiterated his inquisitor.

A wave of confusion seemed to cover the boy. Desperate and at bay, he rather feebly steadied himself for a last defense. "What do you mean? Can't you hear me? I tell you for the last time my name is—"

"Ford Page Hamilton," supplied the voice of Kobu, cool, suave and sure as he came from behind the curtain. "I arrest you as fugitive. See what paper says? You take moneys from bank." He exposed a circular printed in large type. It read:

"$5,000 reward for information of one Ford Page Hamilton, dead or alive. Last seen in Singapore, summer of 1912," followed by a detailed description and signed by a Chicago banking firm.

"It's a lie!" shouted Page as he read.

"No lie. See? Page Hanaford San, Ford Hamilton San all same." Kobu held close to the pitiful white face a photograph which undoubtedly could have been Page Hanaford in happier days.

The boy looked, then laid his shaking arm across his eyes. With a moan as if his soul had yielded to despair he hoarsely whispered: "Oh, God! A thief! It's over!"

He sank to the floor.



XVIII

A VISITOR FROM AMERICA

In old Nippon the flower of kindness reaches full perfection when friend or foe suffers defeat. Page Hanaford might be a long-hunted prize in the police world, but to the group around him as he lay on the floor, his head upon my lap, he was a stranger far from home and very ill. Justice could wait while mercy served. Pity urged willing messengers to bring restoratives, to summon doctors who pronounced the sick man in the clutches of fever. Hospitals in Hijiyama are built for the emergencies of war, and solicitude for Page's comfort was uppermost when, after a short consultation among the officials, permission was granted to remove him to my house with an officer in charge.

A policeman headed the little procession that moved slowly up the steps to The House of the Misty Star, and one followed to keep at a distance the sympathetic, but curious crowd. Four men carried a stretcher beside which I walked holding the limp hand of Page, who was still claimed by a merciful unconsciousness.

The news spread rapidly. As we reached the upper road I saw Zura at the entrance, waiting our coming, so rigid she seemed a part of the carving on the old lodge gates. Her face matched the snow beneath her feet.

"Is he dead?" she demanded, as we came closer.

"No. But he's desperately ill—and under arrest," I hurriedly added.

"Oh, but he's alive; nothing else matters. Come on; my room is ready."

Before I could protest, she had given orders to the men, and Zura's bedroom was soon converted from a girlish habitation into a dwelling place where life and death waged contest.

Later the two physicians asked for an audience with me and delivered their opinion: "Hanaford San's illness is the result of a severe mental shock, received before recovery from previous illness; cause unknown; outcome doubtful."

From the sick-room orders had been issued for absolute quiet. Every member of the house crept about, keenly aware of the grim foe that lurked in every corner. When night came down the darkness seemed to enter the house and wrap itself about us as well.



As Red Cross nurse on battlefields in the aftermath, I had helped put together the remnants of splendid men and promising youth; in sorrowing homes I had seen hope die with the going-out of such as these. But for me, no past moment of life held gloom so impenetrable as that first night when Page Hanaford lay in my house, helpless. The dreaded thing had come. The boy who had walked into our hearts to stay was a fugitive with only a small chance to live that he might prove he was not a criminal.

The evening household dinner remained untouched. The servants hung about the doors, eager to be of service, refusing to believe the sick man was anything but a prince of whom the gods were jealous. Only old Ishi was happy. In festal robes he was stationed at the lodge gates with a small table before him ready to do the honors of the house in the ancient custom of receiving cards.

Up the steps came a long procession of students, officials and civilians, my friends and Page's, every caller in best kimono. From one hand dangled a lighted lantern with the caller's name and calling shining boldly out through the thin paper, in the other he held a calling-card which was laid upon the table in passing. The long line testified to their liking and sympathy for the sick man. To each caller Ishi had a wonderful tale to tell. The marvel of it grew as his cups of sake increased. At a late hour I found him entertaining a crowd with the story of how the silly foreign girl had cut off the heads of his ancestors which were in the flowers. Now the gods were taking their vengeance upon the one she loved best. Of course only an American girl would be so brazen as to show her liking for any special man. I took him by the shoulder.

"Ishi, you are drunk. And at such a time."

"No, Jenkins San, I triumph for Hanaford San. He die to escape Zura San. 'T is special 'casion. All Japanese gentlemens drink special 'casions. I assist honorable gods celebrate downfall of 'Merca and women."

Having locked up the gates and Ishi, I went back to the living-room, where I found Jane and Zura. It was my first opportunity to tell them in detail what had happened at the Kencho—of Kobu's charge, the arrest and Page's collapse.

Zura was called from the room by some household duty. Jane and I were left alone. Though my companion looked tired and a little anxious, she seemed buoyed up by some mental vision to which she hopefully clung.

"Miss Jenkins, please tell me just what the poster said," asked Jane.

The printed words I had read that morning seemed burned into my brain. I repeated them exactly.

"Well, it didn't even give a hint that Page was that nice cashier gentleman from Chicago, did it?" she inquired.

"No, Jane, it didn't; only it was signed by the Chicago Bank. But Kobu told me he was sure Page was the man. He has cabled the authorities to come."

"He has cabled, has he? He knows, does he? Kobu has himself going to another thought. Isn't that what Zura says? Page Hanaford is no more the man wanted for borrowing that bank's money than I am a fashion plate wanted in Paris." Her words were light, but very sure.

Her apparent levity irritated me. "How do you know? What are you saying, Jane?" I asked sharply.

"Oh, I just have a feeling that way. Page is too good-looking," answered my companion.

"For the love of heaven, Jane Gray, that's no reason. Good looks don't keep a man from sin."

"Maybe not, but they help; and Page loves poetry too," she ended with quiet stubbornness. Then after a pause: "That program did not say what particular thing our boy was wanted for, did it?" Neither in joy nor sorrow did Jane's talent desert her for misusing words.

"No, the circular did not state the details. But if you think there is any mistake about the whole thing go to the room and look at that policeman pacing up and down before the door. And if you think the boy's not desperately ill, look inside and see those two doctors and that speck of a trained nurse watching his every breath. You can read the paper yourself, if you don't believe me."

"Miss Jenkins, don't pin your faith to a program; they tell awful fibs. Once I wrote one myself for a meeting and I said, 'The audience will remain standing while collection is taken,' and it made me say: 'The remains of the audience will be collected while standing.'"

"How can you?" I asked. Hot tears stung my eyes.

Instantly Jane was by my side. "How can I? Because it's best never to believe anything you hear and only half of what you see. I know the dear boy is ill. But he's not guilty. The idea of that sweet boy, with such a nice mouth and teeth, doing anything dishonorable! It's all a mistake. I know guilt when I see it, and Page hasn't a feature of it."

Jane Gray exasperated me to the verge of hysteria, but her sure, simple faith had built a hospital and changed the criminal record of a city. The thought that she might be right, in spite of the circular and Kobu, gave me so much comfort that the tears flowed unchecked.

My companion looked at me critically for a moment, then left the room. She returned shortly bearing a heaped-up tray, which she arranged before me. "Honey, you can't be hopeful when you are hungry. You told me so yourself. I don't believe you've eaten since morning. Here's just a little bite of turkey and mince pie and chicken salad. Eat it. There's plenty more, for nobody's touched that big dinner we were going to celebrate Page's new position with. Now turn around to the lamp so you can see. What a funny fat shadow you make! But how sweet it is to know if we keep our faces to the light the shadows are always behind us! Now I must run and get a little sleep. Zura says I am to go on watch at three."

I thought her gone, when the door opened again and I could see only her gray head and bright, though tired face. "Miss Jenkins, please don't let that layer cake fool you. It is not tough. I just forgot to take the brown papers from the bottom of the layers when I iced them. Do as I tell you, eat and sleep."

"What if to-morrow's care were here Without its rest? I'd rather He'd unlock the day And, as the hours swing open, say, 'Thy will be best.'"

"Good-night, dear friend."

Then she was gone. The tables were turned in more ways than one. Jane was counselor and I the counseled, she the comforter and I to be comforted.

* * * * *

In the daughters of Japan lies a hidden quality ever dormant unless aroused by a rough shake from the hand of necessity; it is the power to respond calmly and skilfully to emergencies. In this, as never before, Zura Wingate declared her Oriental heritage. On the tragic morning when I had gone with Page to the Kencho I had left her a singing, joyous girl, her feet touching the borderland of earth's paradise. I returned and found her a woman, white lipped and tense, but full of quiet command. The path to love's domain had been blocked by a sorrow which threatened desolation to happiness and life. Not with tears and vain rebellion did she protest against fate or circumstances, nor waste a grain of energy in useless re-pinings. With the lofty bearing her lordly forefathers wore when going forth to defeat or victory this girl stood ready, and served so efficiently that both nurse and doctors bestowed their highest praise when they told her she was truly a Japanese woman.

So frequent were the demands from household and sick-room that I feared for her strength. I knew she suffered. Rigid face muscles and dark-rimmed eyes so testified; but aside from these some tireless spirit held her far above weariness. Alert to see and quick to perform, under her hand, after a few days, the house settled down into a routine where each member had a special duty. In turn we watched or waited while the heavy, anxious days dragged themselves along until they numbered ten.

In the last half of each night Zura and I watched by Page and wrestled with the cruel thing that held him captive. They were painful, but revealing hours. I was very close to the great secrets of life, and the eternal miracle of coming dawn was only matched in tender beauty by the wonder of a woman's love. It was Zura's cool, soft hand that held the burning lids and shut out the hideous specters Page's fevered eyes saw closing down upon him. It was her voice that soothed him into slumber after the frenzy of delirium.

"Ah," he'd pant, weary of the struggle with a fancied foe, "you've come, my lovely princess. No! You're my goddess!" Then with tones piteous and beseeching he would begin anew the prayer ever present on his lips since his illness. "Beloved goddess, tell me—what did I do with them? You are divine; you know. Help me to find them quick. Quick; they are shutting the door; it has bars. I cannot see your face."

"I am here, Page," Zura would answer. "If the door shuts, I'll be right by your side."

In love for the boy each member of the house was ready day or night for instant service, but vain were our combined efforts to help the fevered brain to lay hold of definite thought long enough for him to name the thing that was breaking his heart. From pleading for time to search for something, he would wander into scenes of his boyhood. Once he appealed to me as his mother and asked me to sing him to sleep. Before I could steady my lips he had drifted into talk of the sea and tried to sing a sailor's song. Often he fancied himself on a pirate ship and begged not to be put off on some lonely island. He fiercely resisted. But his feebleness was no match for Zura's young strength, and as she held him she would begin to sing:

"Before I slept I thought of thee; Then fell asleep and sought for thee And found thee: Had I but known 'twas only seeming, I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."

"Dreaming, dreaming," the boy would repeat. "Sweetheart, you are my dearest dream."

Inch by inch we fought and held at bay the enemy. We lost all contact with the outside. To us the center of the world was the pink-and-white room, and on the stricken boy that lay on the bed was staked all our hope.

The long delayed crisis flashed upon us early one morning when the doctors found in what we had feared was the end only a healing sleep from which Page awakened and called Zura by name. Even then it was a toss-up whether he could win out against despair. Uppermost in his mind was ever the torturing thought of the thing that had made him a fugitive.

An icy hand was laid upon our joy at the signs of returning health when we remembered a certain ship that was right then cutting the blue waters of the Pacific nearing the shores of Japan, bearing authority to make a prisoner of Page if he lived. They were not happy days, and it was with undefined emotions that I saw life and strength come slowly to the sick man.

By daily visits Kobu kept himself advised of the patient's condition, and kept us informed of the swift approach of the Vancouver steamer and its dreaded passenger. One day, when Page was sleeping and our anxiety as to what was coming had reached the breaking point, the detective came. He announced that he had received information that the steamer had docked at Yokohama that morning. In the afternoon the Chicago Bank representative would arrive at Otsu, our nearest railroad station. Kobu said he would bring the guest to our house at once and his kind wish that Page San's "sicker would soon be healthy" did not wholly hide the triumph of his professional pride.