“THEY CALLED ACROSS MERRILY TO EACH OTHER”

A JAPANESE
BLOSSOM

by

ONOTO WATANNA

ILLUSTRATED BY

L. W. ZIEGLER

NEW YORK AND LONDON

HARPER & BROTHERS

PUBLISHERS M-C-M-V-I

Copyright, 1906, by Harper & Brothers.

All rights reserved.

Published October, 1906.

TO

MY CHILDREN

ILLUSTRATIONS

A JAPANESE BLOSSOM

A JAPANESE BLOSSOM

I

THE children sat in a little semi-circle about their grandmother, listening intently as she read to them the last letter from their father in America. Ever since they could remember, his business as a tea merchant had taken him away from Japan on long visits to the foreign countries. His latest absence had continued for three years now, and little Juji—born a short time after his departure—had never seen him.

As the grandmother finished the letter, the children instinctively looked first of all at Juji, sitting there in placid indifference, stolidly sucking his thumb. Juji had ceased to be the baby of the Kurukawa family. Afar off in America a new, strange baby had been born, and had taken the place of Juji, just as its mother one year before had taken the place of Juji’s mother, who was dead.

When the old grandmother, with whom they made their home, had gently broken the news to the children that their father had taken a new wife from the daughters of America, she had impressed upon them the seriousness of their duty to their new parent. They must love her as a mother, revere her as their father’s wife, remember her with their father in their prayers, and endeavor to learn those things which would be pleasing to her.

Gozo, who was the eldest of the children—he was seventeen years of age—set his little brothers and sisters a bad example. He grew red with anger, allowing himself to be so overcome by his feelings that for a moment he could not speak. Finally, he snapped his fingers and said, as his eyes blazed:

“Very well. So my father has put a barbarian in my mother’s place. I cannot respect him. Therefore I cannot further obey him. I shall leave his house at once!”

At these revolutionary words, his old grandfather commanded him sternly to keep his place while he taught him a lesson.

“To whom,” asked the old man, “do you owe your existence, and therefore your first duty in life?”

The hot-headed boy, who for a number of years had had neither father nor mother to guide him, answered, immediately:

“To the Emperor I owe my existence and duty, sir. He comes even before my father. Therefore, in leaving my father’s house to enter the service of Ten-shi-sama [the Mikado] I am but doing my highest duty.”

The grandfather looked at the flushed face of the young boy.

“You will enlist?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are too young, my boy.”

“I can pass for much older,” said Gozo, proudly.

“You are but seventeen,” said his grandfather, quietly.

The boy’s heart heaved.

“Life would be unbearable here,” said he, “with such a change in the family.”

“Do not use such expressions before your young brothers and sisters,” said the grandfather, sternly. “You almost make me think you are unfit to be an elder brother.”

At this Gozo winced and became pale. He had always been proud of his position as the young master of the family.

Then his grandmother spoke, and her words reached the heart of the boy.

“Be not rash, my Gozo. Our dearest daughter, your mother, would have been the first to urge you to filial thought for your father.”

“Grandmother,” cried the boy, “I can’t bear—” He flung his hand across his eyes as though to hide the tears. Now all the children began to weep in sympathy with their big brother. Miss Summer, the daughter of their father’s friend, set up a great wail, declaring between her sobs that never, never, never could she be induced to wash the feet or be the slave of a barbarian woman. For Summer, though but twelve years old, was some day to marry Gozo—so their fathers had said—and in Japan a daughter-in-law is under the command of the mother-in-law.

By patience and reasoning, the grandparents at last exacted from Gozo a promise that he would not leave home until his step-mother came to Japan. It was possible she might never come. Gozo, the proud and stubborn, sullenly gave the promise. During the months that followed, however, he seemed greatly changed in disposition. He became studious, quiet, given to gloomy moods, when he would lock himself up in his room and brood over what he considered the wrong and insult done to his mother’s memory. He would have found it hard enough to bear if his father had married a Japanese woman, but the thought of an American mother overwhelmed him with dismay. He pictured to his young mind her influence upon his sisters Plum Blossom and Iris, twelve and eight years old respectively; in boyish indignation he saw her punishing his little ten-year-old brother Taro, who could not keep his face and hands clean nor keep his clothes whole. One night Gozo dreamed he saw his step-mother in the guise of a hated fox-woman soundly switching with a bamboo stick his little, fat, baby brother Juji. When he awoke in the middle of the night to find it only a dream, he got up from his couch, and, going to where Juji slept, carried him to his own bed. He held the little, warm body closely in his arms. Juji slept on, and snuggled down comfortably in his brother’s arms for the rest of the night.

It was the following morning that the letter had come from America telling of the birth of the new baby. As if this news were not bad enough, the father, unconscious of the resentment he had awakened, announced his intention of returning at once to Japan with his wife, the new baby, and his two young step-children, for he had married a young American widow.

The children’s faces wore a frightened expression as the grandmother read the letter aloud. Little Plum Blossom glanced stealthily at her brother; then suddenly, to the surprise of them all, she spoke up:

“Well,” said she, “Daikoku [god of fortune] is good. He has given us another sister. I shall make him a great offering this year.”

Iris, who was a mere echo of her sister, ventured a little sing-song assent.

“I shall make a big offering, too.”

Taro grinned apprehensively in the direction of his moody brother; then said, defiantly:

“As for me, I shall beat every single day of the honorable year that barbarian step-brother”; for there was a little step-brother of the same age as Taro, and the latter, boylike, longed to try his powers upon him.

Gozo ground his teeth together.

“The gods only know,” said he, “what you poor little ones will do. As for me, I shall not be here to bow to the barbarian. My time has come. The Emperor needs me.”

“Oh, please don’t leave us, brother,” said Iris, resting her face on his hand; “I shall die of fear if you are not here to help us defy her.”

“Children, hush!” cried the old grandmother. “Never did I dream I should hear such words from my children. Ah, had my beloved daughter lived, you little ones would have had more filial principles.”

“It is not right to distress grandmother,” said Plum Blossom, “and it is very wrong to speak evil of one we do not even know. I, for one, am going to—to—love the foreign devil!”

“So am I,” sobbed Iris, still caressing Gozo’s hand, “b-but I shall hate her if she drives our Gozo away!”

Gozo patted the little girl’s head, but said nothing.

Meanwhile, little Juji’s thumb had fallen from his mouth. For some time he had been watching in perplexed wonder the expressions upon the faces of his brothers and sisters. He could not decide in his small mind just what was troubling them all; but troubled they surely were. The weeping Iris had finally decided Juji. Plainly something was wrong. The baby’s lower lip, unnoticed by any one, had gradually been swelling out. Suddenly a gasp escaped him, the next moment the room resounded with his cries. When Juji cried, it seemed as if the very house shook. Though not often given to these tempestuous storms, he seemed fairly convulsed when once started upon one. He would lie on his back on the floor, stiffened out. First he would hold his breath, then gasp, then roar. Juji’s crying could never be stopped until a pail of water was thrown in the face of the enraged child. This time, however, he became the object of intense commiseration. The children felt that he had acquired somehow a sense of their common calamity.

The screaming child was alternately hugged and petted and fanned, until finally, his fat little legs kicking out in every direction, he was carried from the room by Gozo. Out in the garden, the big brother ducked him in the family pond. Kind travellers in Japan have made the extraordinary statement that Japanese children never cry. Certainly they could never have heard Juji—and there are many Jujis in Japan, just as there are in every country.

Juji’s crying fit broke up the little family council for that day, but he was the only member of the family who slept soundly that night.

The little girls cried softly together, as they whispered under the great padded coverlid of their bed. Taro was quite feverish in his imaginative battles with his step-brother.

As for Gozo, he sat up all night long, gazing with melancholy eyes at the stars, thinking himself the most miserable being on the face of the earth. He, too, like Juji, needed a little pail of something dashed upon him, and soon he was to have it!

II

“OH, dear, how I can ever bear this corset!”

Plum Blossom subsided in a little, breathless heap on the floor.

Early in the day both she and Iris had been dressed in their best—a plum-colored crêpe kimono for little Plum Blossom, and an iris-colored crêpe one for little Iris. Their hair had been carefully arranged in the pretty mode at this time fashionable for little girls in Japan. Flower ornaments glistened at the sides of the glossy coiffures. The grandmother had regarded them with pride when the maid brought them before her.

“Certainly,” said she, “your father and mother will be proud to see you.”

“And we have a great surprise, too, for her,” said Iris, her bright eyes dancing.

Plum Blossom put a plump little hand over her sister’s mouth.

“Hush! Not even grandmother shall know yet.”

Grandmother smiled knowingly.

“And now,” said she, “can you say all the big English words—you remember?”

“Yes, yes,” cried Iris, excitedly. At once she began to shout in her most sing-song voice:

“How de do! Ver’ glad see you two days. Thanzs your healt’ is good. Most honorable welcome at Japan. Pray seated be and egscuse the most unworthy house of my fadder.”

Plum Blossom was chanting her welcome before Iris had quite finished.

“Mos’ glad you cum. Come agin. Happy see you. Come agin. Liddle girl, welcome for sister. Liddle boy, too. Nize bebby! Please I will kees. So!”

She indicated the kiss by putting a little, open mouth against her sister’s cheek, leaving a wet spot behind. Iris wiped her cheek carefully with one of her paper handkerchiefs; then as carefully she repowdered the spot where her sister’s moist lips had rested.

Ever since their father had been in America, the family had been learning to speak English. Their teacher was a missionary priest, and now, at the end of three years, even the smallest child could speak the language, though imperfectly. In order to obtain fluency, they had made English the spoken language in the family. The speeches of welcome to the step-mother were composed: by the grandmother; the children had learned them like parrots. Madame Sano tapped both of the little girls on the shoulder and caressed them. Clinging to each other’s sleeves, off they tripped into the other room, where was the great “secret.” The secret consisted of a few articles of American attire, which the little girls had induced a jinrikiman to bring them from Tokio. All of the money Gozo had left behind for them as his parting gift had been expended thus. How the boy’s angry heart would have stormed had he known his little sisters had spent his gift for such a purpose!

Plum Blossom wore a corset outside her kimono. Some one had told her that this was the most important article of a barbarian woman’s wardrobe, and the tighter it was the better. So the little Japanese girl had tied herself by the corset-string to a post. By dint of hard pulling she had managed to encase her plump form so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. Iris, with hands clad in large kid gloves, was drawing on a pair of number five shoes. Her feet were those of the average American child of seven or eight years. At this juncture Miss Summer (who being engaged to Gozo was always called “Miss” by the little girls) opened the shoji and thrust a flushed and excited face between the partitions. She was six months older than when she had wailed aloud her determination not to wash the feet of a barbarian mother-in-law, but she seemed as childish and silly as ever as she came tittering into the room, an enormous straw hat, from which dangled ribbons and bedraggled ostrich-feathers, upon her head. The sisters gasped in admiration, their eyes purple with envy and wonder. Only in pictures had they seen anything so gorgeous as that hat.

“Where did you get it?” inquired Plum Blossom, letting the corset out a bit by the simple method of breathing hard, hence snapping the fragile cord.

“Well,” said Summer, confidentially, “I will tell you if you will never, never repeat it to my future husband.”

“Gozo?”

Summer nodded. “Gozo hates much Otami Ichi,” said Summer, with meaning.

Plum Blossom’s scorn burst the last string of the corset. It slipped from her as she arose.

“Hi,” she said, “Otami Ichi! He says he is two years too young to be a soldier. He is older than Gozo. Did you take gifts from him!”

Summer giggled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why not? His honorable father keeps a fine foreign store in Tokio.”

It was Plum Blossom’s turn to shrug. She undid her obi and tied the corset to her with the sash.

“What do you suppose Taro has been doing?” said Iris.

“Something bad?”

“No, not bad exactly,” said Plum Blossom, who disliked her future sister-in-law. “He has been learning jiu-jitsu.”

It was Summer’s turn to gasp, thus displacing her elaborate headgear.

“What! A baby of ten learn jiu-jitsu?”

“Eleven,” corrected Plum Blossom. “His grandfather was samurai. Ver’ well. That grandfather’s friend teach him jiu-jitsu—a few tricks of jiu-jitsu.”

“What for? Will he, too, fight the Russians?” inquired Miss Summer, sarcastically.

“N-no,” said Plum Blossom, dubiously, “but he says he will fight somebody.”

“And little Juji,” put in Iris, “has a fine present for our dear mother.”

“What is it?”

“A bag of peanuts!”

“That’s nize. How can I keep this hat on. It falls off if I move.”

“You must pin it on,” suggested Plum Blossom, “for so the fashion-books say. There, take one of your hair-pins.” She adjusted the hat back to front on Summer’s head, and fixed it firmly in place with a long hair-dagger she took from the girl’s coiffure.

Summer found a seat and began to fan herself languidly. “My sleeves feel very heavy to-day,” said she.

“Why?”

“They are much weighted,” declared Summer; “I carry in them five love-letters.”

“Oh! Oh-h! From our Gozo? Why, has he already written to you, Summer?”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” said Summer, giggling. “No, you must not listen, Iris. You are too young.” She whispered into Plum Blossom’s ear. Suddenly the latter thrust out her little, plump hands.

“Go away. You are not good girl. Only my brother should write you love-letters!”

Plaintively Summer made a gesture of annoyance.

“I must spend a lifetime with Gozo,” said she. “Therefore, is it not better to have a little fun first of all?”

Iris cried out something in a very jeering voice. Summer pretended she did not hear.

“What is that?” cried her sister, excitedly.

“Oh, I know who wrote Summer’s love-letters to her.”

“Who did?”

“She wrote them herself.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I did not!”

“You did, for your cousin told me so.”

“Oh, the wicked little fiend!”

“Young ladies,” called a maid from below. “Come, come; come quickly. Your father is seen. The jinrikishas! Hurry! Your honorable grandmother wishes you to be at the door to welcome him!”

In a panic the little girls rushed about the room, gathering up their various articles. Then, grasping each other’s sleeves, they tripped down the stairs.

III

WHILE the husband assisted the children and nurse to alight from the jinrikishas, Mrs. Kurukawa the second stood looking about her.

She was a little woman, possibly thirty-five years old. Her face was expressive, showing a somewhat shy and timid nature. Her large, brown eyes had a look of appeal in them as she turned them towards her husband. He smiled reassuringly and put an affectionate hand upon her arm. Immediately her momentary restraint and fear left her.

“Is this the famous Plum Blossom Avenue?” she asked, indicating the budding trees under which they now passed, and which served as an exquisite pathway through the garden.

“This is Plum Blossom Avenue,” replied her husband, “and as you see, I keep my promise. You know I cabled to Japan to have the plum blossoms all in bud for us when we should arrive.”

“How good of you!” she laughed. “Just as if you didn’t know they bloom at the end of March! But where are the children? You also promised that they would be under the trees waiting for us.”

Mr. Kurukawa looked a bit worried.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Ah, here come my mother and father-in-law.”

His first wife’s father and mother hastened down the path to meet them.

To the delight of the little American children, the old man and woman favored them with the most wonderful bows they had ever seen. In fact, the boy afterwards insisted that the old man’s bald head had literally touched his own boots.

The new wife held out both her hands with a pretty impulse.

“Oh,” she said, “I have heard all about you—how very, very good you have been to the children.”

The old couple did not quite understand what she said, but feeling assured that it was something complimentary, they began a fresh series of bows, repeating over and over again one of the English words they had learned.

“Thangs, thangs, very thangs.”

Mr. Kurukawa now inquired anxiously for his children. He had certainly expected they would be at the gate to meet them. The grandmother explained that only a moment before the two little boys had been with her, and she had sent immediately for the little girls. But just as they came to the door the little boys had run away in fright, and were now shyly hiding somewhere.

“Gozo? What of Gozo?”

The two old people looked at each other. They did not know what to say.

“Pray come into the house, my son,” said Madame Sano. “We can better speak there.”

They had been talking in Japanese. Noting her husband’s look of worry, Mrs. Kurukawa anxiously inquired the reason. Without explaining, he led her into the house. As they entered they were startled by the strange sound that greeted them. It was like the sharp sigh of a wind in an empty house. In reality it was the panic-stricken flight from the hallway of the children of Mr. Kurukawa.

Grouped closely together, the four children and Miss Summer had retreated to the far end of the hall, where they awaited the advent of the dreaded “barbarian” step-mother, for such Gozo had made them believe she must be. For many months they had conjured up in imagination pictures of their step-mother and her children.

They had seen but one foreigner in their town, the missionary, who had been their teacher. Him they had held in as much awe and fear as they would a strange animal.

Now their father appeared in the hall, holding by the arm what seemed to the children a most extraordinary looking creature, while behind them came, hand in hand, the strangest-looking little boy and girl, with eyes so big that Plum Blossom thought them like those of a goblin. The face, however, which frightened them most was that of the Irish nurse, who bore the baby in her arms. The children gazed only a moment at this outlandish group; then with one accord they fled, each in a different direction.

The strangers coming from the out-door sunlight into the darkened hall had barely time to see the children ere they were gone. They had a hazy glimpse of a patch of color at the end of the hall, and then its sudden, wild dispersion. For a moment they stood looking about them in blank astonishment. Suddenly Mr. Kurukawa, who was ebullient with humor and good-nature, burst into laughter. He laughed so hard, indeed, that his wife, the children, and the nurse joined him. This unusual mirth in the house brought the children cautiously back, too curious and inquisitive to withstand the novelty of the situation.

Through the paper walls little fingers were cautiously thrust; little black eyes peered at the new-comers from behind these frail retrenchments.

When his mirth had subsided, Mr. Kurukawa favored his wife with a sly wink, and then quick as a flash he pushed back one of the shojis, disclosing the little figure behind it. He lifted it up by the bow of its obi. Something strange stuck closely to it and invited the gaze of Mrs. Kurukawa. It was the corset!

At the same time the father perceived it, and, pulling it off, held it aloft.

“Ah, ha!” he cried, “here is surely a little flag of truce.”

He threw it aside and caught the little, trembling Plum Blossom in his arms, hugging her tightly. She hid her face in his bosom. After a time he set her down upon the floor.

“This,” he said, “is Plum Blossom. In America she would be called Roly-poly—she is so fat, and, like her father, good-natured,” and he pinched her cheek. “Go now,” he bade her, “and kiss your new mother.”

She went obediently, but with fear in her eyes, towards Mrs. Kurukawa. The latter knelt and held out both her arms. She was crying a bit, and possibly it was the tears and the sweet sound of her voice that won Plum Blossom. She tried to remember the speech she had learned, but the only words that came to her lips were:

“Come agin,” and this she kept mechanically reiterating. “Come agin—come agin—come agin.”

Here it is painful to relate that the young son of Mrs. Kurukawa chose to make himself heard in uncouth American slang. Billy spoke almost reflectively, as if he had heard that “Come agin” somewhere before. “Come agin, on agin, gone agin, Finnegan!” said Billy, promptly.

“Oh, Billy, hush!” said his mother, reprovingly, but Plum Blossom’s face radiated. Here was a kindred spirit, one who had repeated her own words. “Come agin,” and then possibly finer ones.

Meanwhile, Iris, showing first a curious little topknot, gradually projected her head, and then her whole body through the dividing doors. She stood in the opening greedily watching Plum Blossom. Half hidden behind her scanty little skirt, the small, fat face of Juji peered. Though no one so far had seen him, Juji, with the usual consciousness of two and a half years, was alternately showing and then hiding his face, being divided between a desire to stand joyfully on his head, or indulge in one of his famous roars. Iris, edging farther into the room, drew him after her. Mrs. Kurukawa perceived them. On the instant Juji sank to the floor, impeding the further progress of his sister by clinging to her legs.

“Oh, the darling little boy!” cried the little American girl, and ran to him to lift him up. Juji’s lip began to protrude ominously. Plum Blossom sprang into the breach.

“Juji! Juji!” she cried, in motherly Japanese, “don’t cry! Good boy! Give nice present to—l-lady!”

Whereupon Juji held out a grimy little hand, from which Plum Blossom extracted a crumpled paper package. She presented it to Mrs. Kurukawa with a smiling bow.

“Peanut!” said she, in English; “nize. For you!” She had remembered the words now.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, darling,” said Mrs. Kurukawa. Wishing to show her delight in the gift, she added:

“Come, we will all have some.”

She emptied the contents into her lap, then stared for a moment. Gradually her astonishment changed to laughter.

The package contained only shells. Juji had eaten the peanuts.

Plum Blossom and Iris felt completely disgraced. Iris, from the shelter of her father’s arms, whither she had gone, now flew towards the wicked Juji.

“Oh, the bad boy!” she cried.

Juji’s lip broke. One of his terrific roars ensued. He was borne from the room by the humiliated little girls.

“And now,” said Mr. Kurukawa, rubbing his hands and speaking in a loud voice: “Where are my sons? Taro!” he called.

Promptly the boy answered. He came literally tumbling into the hall, which, with the panels pushed aside, had now become a large room.

Taro’s eyes evaded his father. For some time he had been watching intently the American boy from his peep-hole in the paper shoji. As he appeared at the call of his father, his eyes were still riveted upon his hated rival. Suddenly he made a catlike spring in the boy’s direction and landed sprawling on Billy’s chest. For the astonished Billy, tripped unawares, was lying on his back. A great flame of indignation, and yet almost unwilling admiration, stirred within the heart of the prize fighter of a certain Chicago school.

Could it be possible that this little mite of a Jap was sitting victoriously on his chest? He growled and moved a bit, but Taro, wildly trying to keep in mind the few jiu-jitsu tricks he had lately learned, touched the boy’s arm in a sensitive place.

Billy rose like a lion shaking off a troublesome cub. As Taro caught him about the calf of his leg, Billy reached down and took the little Japanese boy by the waist and coolly tucked him under his arm; then he marched up and down, singing at the top of his voice:

“Yankee Doodle came to town,

Riding on a pony—

Took a little Jappy Jap

Who was a bit too funny!”

Here it may be well to explain that Billy, besides being the prize fighter of his school, was also the class poet.

Mrs. Kurukawa rescued the little “Jappy Jap” from her big son’s hands, and gave the latter a reproving look, saying:

“Oh, Billy, is that the way to treat your little brother?”

“Well, mother,” protested Billy, “he did get funny, now didn’t he, father?” He appealed to Mr. Kurukawa, who was patting the ruffled head of the discomfited and conquered jiu-jitsu student.

Taro’s expression had undergone a change. In his little black eyes a gleam of respect for Billy might have been seen. Suddenly he nodded his head significantly, and made a motion of his hand towards the garden, signifying in boy language the invitation:

“Come outside. I’ll show you some things.”

Out they wandered together, excellent friends at once.

“Sa-ay,” said Taro, pausing on the brink of his own private garden brook, “you—you,” he touched Billy with a stiff little finger—“you—Gozo!”

Billy was at a loss to understand what “say—you—Gozo!” could mean, but he liked the look on Taro’s face, so grinned and said: “Me—Gozo.” Taro nodded. He had paid Billy the highest compliment in his power, likening him to the hero of the Kurukawa family, the great, elder brother Gozo.

IV

MEANWHILE, in the house, Mr. Kurukawa was inquiring urgently for Gozo. Where was he? Why was he not the first to greet his parents? The grandparents would not respond to his inquiries, but remained silent, looking very dejected and miserable. Their aspect alarmed Mr. Kurukawa, who now clapped his hands loudly. Several servants came running into the room in answer to his summons. Immediately the master questioned them:

“Where is my son Gozo?”

But all the response he received from the servants was a profound silence, broken by that hissing, sighing sound peculiar to the Japanese when moved, a drawing in of the breath through the teeth. Mr. Kurukawa recognized a boy who had been his own body-servant, and to him he strode, seizing the latter by the shoulder of his kimono. But the boy slipped from his hand to the ground and put his head at his master’s feet. There, with his face hidden, he answered the questions put to him.

“Speak, my boy, where is Gozo?”

“O Excellency, young master—sir—” he broke off and began to cry, beating his head as he did so on the floor. Mr. Kurukawa raised him forcibly to his feet.

“What is it, Ido? Has anything happened to our Gozo?”

He could hardly bring the words out. The bare thought that misfortune had befallen his eldest son horrified him.

Ido dried his face on his sleeve, and from his new hiding-place spoke:

“Young master, sir, gone away, O Excellency!”

Mr. Kurukawa’s grasp on the boy’s shoulder relaxed. He stepped back and stood a moment silent, his hand against his forehead.

“What is it, Kiyo? What is it?” asked his wife, going to him and throwing an arm about him.

The color came back into her husband’s face. He laughed a bit weakly.

“I thought it possible that my boy was—”

She held his hand tightly, her eyes full of tears.

“Oh, I understand. I do,” she said. “But where is he?”

Her husband stepped back to the spot where Ido had been. Then he saw that in almost complete silence the servants, including Ido, had slipped from the room.

He fancied he heard the slight movement of their feet on the padded floor beyond the shoji. Impetuously and insistently he clapped his hands again, and silently they answered his summons. Nearly all the servants of the Kurukawa family had been in their service for years, some of them having served the grandparents. Their averted faces alarmed Mr. Kurukawa. This time he did not question them.

“Send Plum Blossom-san to me at once,” he said.

The little girl was brought in. With her Iris and the consoled Juji came.

The father took the eldest girl by the hand; kneeling, he spoke to her almost pleadingly.

“Tell father all about Gozo,” he said.

Plum Blossom grew very red and looked towards Mrs. Kurukawa. Then she spoke low in Japanese, her hand half pointing in the direction of her step-mother.

“She—she—send away our Gozo,” she said.

At the mention of Gozo’s name Juji paused in his eating of a juicy persimmon to give signs of a renewal of his late tear-storm. Little Iris drew him comfortingly into her arms, soothing him in this wise:

“There, there, Juji, don’t cry! Gozo is coming back some day. Oh, you should laugh, Juji, because our Gozo is so brave and fine. Think of it! He is a soldier of the beloved Ten-shi-sama!”

“Soldier!” cried Mr. Kurukawa, and leaped to his feet. “My boy a soldier!” he cried, almost staggering forward.

“Yes, father,” said Plum Blossom. “Gozo is a g-great soldier now!”

Mr. Kurukawa went towards the grandparents.

“What does this mean? He was left in your charge. He is only a child—a mere boy of eighteen. How could he enlist at such an age?”

“He passed for older,” said the grandmother, slowly. “We did everything to prevent his going—but he has gone.”

“Ah, I see—I understand,” said Mr. Kurukawa. For a moment his face was lighted as a look of pride swept across it. “The boy was inspired. He could not wait to come of age. He wanted to give his young life for his country, his Emperor. I am proud of him. Where is he now?”

“The last time we heard from him he was at Port Arthur. That was—two months ago.”

“Ah-h! Condescend to give me his letter—”

The grandmother slowly and reluctantly took it from her sleeve and handed it to the father. Mr. Kurukawa’s eager fingers shook as he unfolded the letter, a long, narrow sheet, covered with the bold and characteristic writing up and down the pages of his son Gozo. As he perused it his face grew darkly red. The sheet rustled in his hands. When he had finished he crushed it, and stood for a moment in silence, anger and sorrow combating within him.

“So,” he finally spoke, “it was not honorable loyalty to the Mikado which inspired him, but a mean emotion—hatred of one he does not even know. I expected better of my son.”

He let the crumpled letter fall from his hand. Stooping, the grandmother picked it up, to place it tenderly in her sleeve. She spoke with a touch of reproach in her voice:

“Kurukawa Kiyskichi,” she said, “never before have I heard your lips speak bitterly of your eldest son. Be not inspired to feel anger towards him.” She glanced at Mrs. Kurukawa as though she were the one at fault. “Gozo is a good boy, has always been so. It was not hatred, as you say, which prompted him to leave his own. Call it rather a boy’s feeling of resentment, that the place of the one he had loved dearly—his mother—should so soon be filled—and by a bar—”

She did not finish the word. Her son-in-law stopped her with a stern gesture.

“Say no more, honorable mother-in-law. It is enough that my son has, without so much as referring to me in the matter, left my house. In his letter he speaks slanderously of one who is good, who was ready to love him as her very son. She is my wife just as much as Gozo’s mother was. She is not an intruder in her husband’s house, and my son has no right to question her place here. Of his own free will he has left his father’s house. Very well, he shall never return to—”

“What does it all mean?” broke in his wife with agitation. “Tell me what you are saying, Kiyo. Where is Gozo?”

“I will tell unto you,” spoke the grandmother, going towards her. “Better, madame, that you should know. I say not English well, but—”

“I understand you.”

“Gozo—our boy—go way—mek soldier—fight Lussians. He angry account you—therefore he be soldier—”

“Account—me! Why, I don’t understand—that is—Yes—I think I do understand. He was opposed to his father’s marriage?”

“He love his mother,” said the old woman, and then began to tremble, for Mrs. Kurukawa had hidden her face in her hands. The grandmother spoke uncertainly.

“Pray egscuse—I sawry—ve’y sawry. Gozo—Gozo—bad.” She brought the word out as if it hurt her to admit this much of her best-loved grandchild.

“No, no,” said Mrs. Kurukawa, softly. “He is not bad. I understand him. Why, it was only natural.” She moved appealingly towards her husband. “Don’t you remember, Kiyo, I feared this—that the children might not want me.”

“And I told you,” said he, quickly, “that it was not my children you were marrying, but myself.”

“You are angry with that boy,” she cried.

“Angry! I will never forgive him!”

“Oh, you don’t mean that.”

“We will not talk of it any longer,” said her husband, turning away.

The boy had written:

“The barbarian female who has taken my mother’s place is a witch—a fox-woman—a devil! Otherwise how could she have worked upon my father’s mind so soon to forget our mother? I could not remain at home and face such a woman. Better that I should go. Here, at least, my bitter thoughts can do no injury. How I long to be exposed to great danger! Maybe, if I die, my father will be sorry!”

Such unfilial, rebellious words were unheard of from a Japanese son. Left to the care of his doting old grandparents, Mr. Kurukawa saw clearly how much Gozo had needed the guiding hand of a father.

V

MARION sat on a gigantic moss-grown rock, looking with somewhat wistful eyes at the children in the family pond. She envied them their intense enjoyment. The family pond, it should be explained, was also the family bath-tub. It was a great pool of water, set in the heart of the garden, a beautiful and alluring spot for the children. All about it the blossoming trees bent their heads as if to look at their own reflected images in the mirror of the water. The Kurukawas had added to its natural beauty by placing along its banks huge rocks of strange formation, very charming to look at, and comfortable to sit upon.

“MARION SAT ON A GIGANTIC MOSS-GROWN ROCK, LOOKING ... AT THE CHILDREN IN THE FAMILY POND”

Out over the water a sort of pleasure-booth was built, over which the wistaria vines clambered and bloomed in wild profusion. This was the dolls’ house of the little Japanese girls. In the water were two diminutive sampans and also a raft, the property of Taro, inherited from Gozo.

The pond was a natural one. It might have been termed a small lake, but the family had always referred to it as “the pond,” and even had called it the “bath,” for that was its chief use. The little Kurukawas dipped into it sometimes three times a day in the summer. They had almost literally spent their lives in it. Even three-year-old Juji would throw his fat little hands over his head, and dive into the water, swimming as naturally as a wild duck.

Now as Marion watched the shining brown bodies of her step-brothers and sisters her eyes unconsciously filled with tears. Why could not she throw aside her white starched clothes and join them in their pleasures? It was not that her mother would not permit her; but Marion’s sensitive soul had been deeply wounded by the manner of her step-sisters when first she had put on a kimono, and had gone, with innocent friendliness, to join them. At first the little girls had regarded her with amazement. Summer, who happened to be with them, hid her face behind her fan, where she giggled and tittered in the most provoking way imaginable. Plum Blossom asked, bluntly:

“Wha’s thad? Dress?”

“My kimono,” faltered Marion.

“Where you git?”

“Mother bought it at a Japanese store in Chicago.”

Plum Blossom shook her head disapprovingly, while Iris, in imitation of Summer, began to titter also.

“Thas nod Japanese,” said Plum Blossom, severely.

Marion had moved proudly and silently away.

“Mother,” she cried, running into her room, with crimson cheeks and flashing eyes, “give me back my own clothes. Oh, I never, never, never want to wear these horrid things again,” she sobbed in her mother’s lap.

And now, a week later, Marion still wore her white starched gown of piqué, and sat there on the rock, quite alone; for Billy was one of the happy bathers in the shining spring-pond. It was against him she felt most bitter. He was her own, own brother; yet there he was quite at home with the enemy, even sometimes pushing the boat which held that “nasty Miss Summer,” who was at the root of all her trouble. She felt sure she could have been happy with Plum Blossom and Iris had not Summer, in some way, influenced them against her. And as for dear, little, fat Juji, why, she just loved him!—even if he did scream every time she came near him and ran from her as fast as his little, fat, frightened legs could carry him. Summer had told him Marion was a fox-girl, who would bite him if she caught him. At first Juji had regarded this announcement with doubt. Full of confidence because of the winning, smiling face of Marion, he had even timorously gone into her arms. Lo and behold, she had indeed attempted to “bite” him, for such the kiss had seemed to Juji, who had never been kissed in all his life. After that, Juji had kept his distance from the “yellow-haired fox-girl.”

There was a sudden squeal of delight from the pond. Something flashed in the sun a moment. Then over went the sampan in which the three little Japanese girls were seated. Billy had tipped it over, immersing the three girls, who came up shaking their little black heads, and swam towards the raft, upon which they clambered.

Leading from the booth to the shore was a little arched bridge, part, indeed, of the pleasure-booth. Suspended between a pole on shore and another half-way out in the water, was a long, delightful bamboo rest. The gymnastic Taro would climb out on this pole as easily as a kitten; he would twist and twirl about, and end with his head hanging over the water and his feet clinging to the pole. Each time he performed these tricks Billy was filled with an intense ambition to transport his step-brother to America, to exhibit him to his old school-mates.

Now the rock on which Marion sat was close to the shore end of the bamboo pole, and near to the little arbor. As she sat there in sad dejection, Taro softly clambered up from the water end of the bamboo pole and crawled along the ridge until he stood over the head of the unconscious girl. His body swayed, until he rested in his favorite position and hung by his feet from the pole. One quick, sharp push, and the next moment the little girl on the rock was plunged head-foremost into the water below. Taro had revenged the upsetting of his sisters from the boat by Billy. The latter went suddenly white to his lips and began swimming frantically in the direction of his sister.

One fleeting glimpse of the boy’s horrified face Taro had; then he understood. Marion could not swim!

On the instant he threw up his arms and dived. Never had Billy seen anything so quick as that lightning dive and swift return of Taro. He supported his step-sister while he swam with her to the shore. She had been hardly a minute in the water; but she was frightened. Her little hands and face were blue, her teeth were chattering, and she was shivering and crying hysterically, although it was sultry and warm. The first words she spoke were:

“Billy—I—I’m all right. Pl-please don’t fight Taro about it,” for Billy was pugnaciously regarding his step-brother.

The other children were now all about her, Plum Blossom’s motherly little face looking very concerned. The water was dripping from the kimonos of the three Japanese girls. As they looked at the drenched Marion a kindred feeling must have possessed them simultaneously, for suddenly they all laughed outright in unison, Marion joining with them. She was almost glad of the adventure now, as she said:

“If I had on a kimono—I’d—I’d go into the water with you.”

“You want keemono?” inquired Taro, eagerly.

“Yes,” she nodded.

He brought her his own.

She laughed with delight, and Iris and Plum Blossom clapped their hands. What fun to see the yellow-haired one arrayed in a boy’s kimono! But Marion had disappeared with the garment. A few minutes later she returned clad in it, to the uproarious delight of every one.

Taro himself wore with great pride one of Billy’s bathing-suits.

As the sampan moved down the surface of the tiny lake, Marion confided to Plum Blossom, who held one of her hands, while Iris held the other:

“I wanted so much to go into the water, but—I thought you didn’t want me. Oh, dear, I feel so comfy in this dear old loose thing,” she added.

“Tha’s nize,” said Plum Blossom.

“Vaery nize,” agreed Iris.

Summer, sitting in the stern of the boat, opened her paper parasol. The sight of it sent the little girls into another peal of laughter. When Billy upset the boat the parasol had shared the fate of its owner as it was thrust into her obi in front. The effect of its bath was ludicrously apparent. Being of paper, it split in several places as she opened it. Now as she held it loftily above her head, water of several shades of color rolled from it to splash upon its haughty owner, for just at this moment Summer was endeavoring to make an impression upon the sisters. She had succeeded beyond her expectations. The boat rocked with the wild gale of their mirth.

VI

IT was the day after Marion’s accident that the baby was lost, or, rather, “shtolen,” as the nurse-maid put it.

Norah had taken it in its carriage a short distance from the house. In Chicago it had been her daily duty to push the baby up and down the street on which they lived. The Kurukawas’ garden was of a fair size, but its dimensions were limited for Norah’s purpose. Moreover, the girl was intensely homesick “for the soight of the face of a foine cop!”

When she had gone to America, one of the first things she noticed was that all, or nearly all, the policemen were Irish. The idea occurred to her that it might be the same in Japan. And so, unmindful of the instructions of her mistress not to leave the vicinity of the house, Norah sallied forth, and wandered on until she came to the main street of the little town. The news of the presence in the street of a most extraordinary looking foreign devil, a giant in size, pushing an outlandish jinrikisha with a pale-faced, yellow-hair baby in it, spread like wildfire through the surrounding streets. Soon a small mob of children and a number of curious men and women were following and surrounding Norah. Some of them ran ahead of her, impeding the progress of the baby-carriage. At first Norah regarded them with inherent good-humor, but after a time she became embarrassed and annoyed. A little girl of about seven years had actually climbed over the front of the carriage, and there she perched, regarding the baby with great curiosity.

Norah stopped. One hand sought her plump hip, and the other doubled to a fist, which she shook.

“Now, you young spalpeen,” said she, “you climb down, or I’ll put you down none too gently. Off with you, you haythen imp!”

The little girl regarded her unblinkingly, but the surrounding crowd began to jabber excitedly. Norah turned upon them.

“Shure, it’s a fine lot of haythens you be! wid nothing better to consarn yersilves wid than the business of others. Off wid you all, or Oi’ll make short worruk of the boonch of yez.”

A threatening movement cleared a space about her. Her fighting blood was up. She began to lay about her in every direction, spanking a little boy on her right, pushing along by the ear another, and cuffing a giggling maiden of fifteen summers, whose tittering had for some time irritated her. But in attacking the children following her, Norah made a mistake. The “haythens,” merely curious at first, now became aggressive. In a few minutes there was a concerted rush in the direction of the Irish girl. She took fright at this, and at the top of her voice shrieked: