The Lady and Sada San

A Sequel to

The Lady of the Decoration

By

Frances Little

New YorkThe Century Co. 1912

Copyright, 1912, by

THE CENTURY CO. 

Published, October, 1912

TO

ELLEN CHURCHILL SEMPLE

AND

CHARLOTTE SMITH

MY FELLOW WANDERERS THROUGH THE ORIENT

The Lady and Sada San

ON THE HIGH SEAS. June, 1911. 

_Mate_:

You once told me, before you went to Italy, that after having beenmy intimate relative all these years, you had drawn a red linethrough the word surprise. Restore the abused thing to its own atonce. You will need it when the end of this letter is reached. Ihave left Kentucky after nine years of stay-at-home happiness, andonce again I am on my way to Japan--this time in wifelydisobedience to Jack's wishes. 

What do you think that same Jack has "gone and done"! Of course heis right. That is the provoking part of Jack; it always turns outthat he is in the right. Two months ago he went to some place inChina which, from its ungodly name, should be in the furthermostparts of a wilderness. Perhaps you have snatched enough time fromguarding the kiddies from a premature end in Como to read aheadline or so in the home papers. If by some wonderful chance, between baby prattle, bumps and measles, they have given you amoment's respite, then you know that the Government has growndecidedly restless for fear the energetic and enterprising bubonicor pneumonic germ might take passage on some of the ships from theOrient. So it is fortifying against invasion. The Government, knowing Jack's indomitable determination to learn everythingknowable about the private life and character of a given germ, asked him to join several other men it is sending out to getinformation, provided of course the germ doesn't get them first. 

Jack read me the official-looking document one night between puffsof his after-dinner pipe. 

Another surprise awaits you. For once in my life I had nothing tosay. Possibly it is just as well for the good of the cause thatthe honorable writer of the letter could not see how my thoughtslooked. 

I glanced about our little den, aglow with soft lights; everythingin it seemed to smile. Well, as you know it, Mate, I do notbelieve even you realize the blissfulness of the hours of quietcomradeship we have spent there. With the great know-it-all oldworld shut out, for joyful years we have dwelt together in ahome-made paradise. And yet it seemed just then as if I weredwelling in a home-made Other Place. 

The difference in the speed of time depends on whether love is yourguest or not. 

The thought of the briefest interruption to my content made me feellike cold storage. A break in happiness is sometimes hard to mend. The blossom does not return to the tree after the storm, no matterhow beautiful the sunshine; and the awful fear of the faintest echoof past sorrow made my heart as numb as a snowball. To the oldterror of loneliness was added fear for Jack's safety. But I didnot do what you naturally would prophesy. After seeing the look onJack's face I changed my mind, and my protest was the silent kindthat says so much. It was lost! Already Jack had gone into one ofhis trances, as he does whenever there is a possibility of beardinga brand-new microbe in its den, whether it is in his own country orone beyond the seas. In body he was in a padded chair with all thecomforts of home and a charming wife within speaking distance. Inspirit he was in dust-laden China, joyfully following the trail ofthe wandering germ. Later on, when Jack came to, we talked itover. I truly remembered your warnings on the danger ofimpetuosity; for I choked off every hasty word and gave my consentfor Jack to go. Then I cried half the night because I had. 

We both know that long ago Jack headed for the topmost rung of avery tall scientific ladder. Sometimes my enthusiasm as chiefbooster and encourager has failed, as when it meant absence andrisk. Though I have known women who specialized in renunciation, till they were the only happy people in the neighborhood, itscharms have never lured me into any violent sacrifice. Here was mychance and I firmly refused to be the millstone to ornament Jack'sneck. 

You might know, Mate? I was hoping all the time that he would findit quite impossible to leave such a nice biddable wife at home. But I learn something new about Jack every day. After ratherheated discussion it was decided that I should stay in the littlehome. That is, the heat and the discussion was all on my side. The decision lay in the set of Jack's mouth, despite the tendernessin his eyes. He thought the risks of the journey too great for me;the hardships of the rough life too much. Dear me! Will men neverlearn that hardship and risk are double cousins to loneliness, andnot even related to love by marriage?

But just as well paint on water as to argue with a scientist whenhe has reached a conclusion. 

Besides, said Jack, the fatherly Government has no intention thatpetticoats, even hobbled ones, should be flitting around while thehabits and the methods of the busy insect were being examinedthrough a microscope or a telescope. The choice of instrumentdepending, of course, upon the activity of the bug. 

Black Charity was to be my chief-of-police andcomforter-in-general. Parties--house, card and otherwise--were tobe my diversion, and I was to make any little trips I cared for. Well, that 's just what I am doing. Of course, there might be adifference of opinion as to whether a journey from Kentucky toJapan is a _little_ trip. 

I am held by a vague uneasiness today. Possibly it 's because I amnot certain as to Jack's attitude, when he learns through myletter, which is sailing along with me, that I am going to Japan tobe as near him as possible. I hope he will appreciate mythoughtfulness in saving him all the bother of saying no. Or itmight be that my slightly dampened spirits come from the discussionI am still having with myself whether it 's the part of a dutifulwife to present herself a wiggling sacrifice to science, or whetherscience should attend to its own business and lead not intotemptation the scientifically inclined heads of peaceful households. 

You 'll say the decision of what was best lay with Jack. Honey, there 's the error of your mortal mind! In a question like that myspouse is as one-sided as a Civil War veteran. Say germ-hunt toJack and it 's like dangling a gaudy fly before a hungry carp. 

I saw Jack off at the station, and went hack to the little house. Charity had sent the cook home and with her own hands served allthe beloved dainties of my long-ago childhood, trying to coax meinto forgetfulness. As you remember, Mate, dinner has always beenthe happiest hour of the day in our small domain. Now? Well, everything was just the same. The only difference was Jack. Andthe half circle of bare tablecloth opposite me was about ascheerful as a snowy afternoon at the North Pole. I wandered aroundthe house for awhile, but every time I turned a corner there was amemory waiting to greet me. Now the merriest of them seemed to becovered with a chilly shadow, and every one was pale and ghostly. All night I lay awake, playing at the old game of mental solitaireand keeping tryst with the wind which seemed to tap with unseenfingers at my window and sigh, "Then let come what come may . . . . . . I shall have had my day. "

Is it possible, Mate, that my glorious day, which I thought hadbarely tipped the hour of noon, is already lengthening into thestill shadows of evening?

It was foolish but, for the small comfort I got out of it, I turnedon the light and looked inside my wedding-ring. Time has worn it abit but the letters which spell "My Lady of the Decoration, "spelled again the old-time thrill into my heart. 

What 's the use of tying your heartstrings around a man, and thenhave ambition slip the knot and leave you all a-quiver?

Far be it from me to stand in Jack's way if germ-stalking isnecessary to his success. Just the same, I could have spentprofitable moments reading the burial service over every microbe, home-grown and foreign. 

Really, Mate, I 've conscientiously tried every plan Jack proposedand a few of my own. It was no use. That day-after-Christmasfeeling promptly suppressed any effort towards contentment. 

At first there was a certain exhilaration in catching pace with thegay whirl which for so long had been passed by for homier things. You will remember there was a time when the pace of that same whirlwas never swift enough for me; but my taste for it now was gone, and it was like trying to do a two-step to a funeral march. Foronce in my life I knew the real meaning of that poor oldworn-to-a-frazzle call of the East, for now the' dominant note wasthe call of love. 

I heard it above the clink of the teacups. It was in the swish ofevery silk petticoat. If I went to the theater, church or concert, the call of that germ-ridden spot of the unholy name beat into mybrain with the persistency of a tom-tom on a Chinese holiday. 

Say what you will, Mate, it once took all my courage to leave thoseI loved best and go to far-away Japan. Now it required more than Icould dig up to _stay_--with the best on the other side of thePacific. 

The struggle was easy and swift. The tom-tom won and I am on myway to be next-door neighbor to Jack. Those whom it concerned herewere away from home, so I told no one good-by, thus savingeverybody so much wasted advice. If there were a tax on advice thenecessities of life would not come so high. Charity followed me tothe train, protesting to the last that "Marse Jack gwine doubt hervelocity when she tell him de truf bout her lady going a-gaddin'off by herse'f and payin' no mind to her ole mammy'sprosterations. " I asked her to come with me as maid. She refused;said her church was to have an ice-cream sociable and she had "tofry de fish. " This letter will find you joyfully busy with thebabies and the "only man. " Blest woman that you are. 

But I know you. I have a feeling that you have a few remarks tomake. So hurry up. Let us get it off our minds. Then I canbetter tell you what I am doing. Something is going to happen. Itusually does when I am around. I have been asked to chaperone ayoung girl whose face and name spell romance. If I were seekingoccupation here is the opportunity knocking my door into splinters. 

STILL AT SEA. June, 1911. 

Any time you are out of a job and want to overwork all yourfaculties and a few emotions, try chaperoning a young room-mateanswering to the name of Sada San, who is one-half American dash, and the other half the unnamable witchery of a Japanese woman; agirl with the notes of a lark in her voice when she sings to thesoft twang of an old guitar. 

If, too, you are seeking to study psychological effect of such acombination on people, good, middlin' and otherwise, I wouldsuggest a Pacific liner as offering fifty-seven varieties, and thensome. 

The last twinge of conscience I had over coming, died a cheerfuldeath. I 'd do it again. For not only is romance surcharging theair, but fate gives promise of weaving an intricate pattern in thestory of this maid whose life is just fairly begun and whom theluck of the road has given me as traveling mate. Now, rememberinga few biffs fate has given me, I have no burning desire to meddlewith her business. Neither am I hungering for responsibility. Butwhat are you going to say to yourself, when a young girl with alook in her eyes you would wish your daughter to have, unhesitatingly gives you a letter addressed at large to some"Christian Sister"! You read it to find it's from her home pastor, requesting just a little companionship for "a tender young soul whois trying her wings for the first time in the big and beautifulworld"! I have a very private opinion about reading my title clearto the Christian Sister business, but no woman with a heart as bigas a pinch of snuff could resist giving her very best and much moreto the slip of a winsome maid, who confidingly asks it--especiallyif the sister has any knowledge of the shadows lurking in thebeautiful world. 

Mate, these steamers as they sail from shore to shore are likegiant theaters. Every trip is an impromptu drama where comedy, farce, and often startling tragedy offer large speaking parts. Therevelation of human nature in the original package is funny andpathetic. Amusement is always on tap and life stories are justhanging out of the port-hole waiting to attack your sympathy ortickle your funny bone. But you 'd have to travel far to find thebeginning of a story so heaped up with romantic interest as that ofSada San as she told it to me, one long, lazy afternoon as I lay onthe couch in my cabin, thanking my stars I was getting the best ofthe bare tablecloth and the empty house at home. 

Some twenty years ago Sada's father, an American, grew tired of theslow life in a slow town and lent ear to the fairy stories told ofthe Far East, where fortunes were made by looking wise for a fewmoments every morning and devoting the rest of the day to samisensand flutes. He found the glorious country of Japan. The beguilingtea-houses, and softly swinging sampans were all too distracting. They sang ambition to sleep and the fortune escaped. 

He drifted, and at last sought a mean existence as teacher ofEnglish in a school of a remote seaside village. His spirit brokewhen the message came of the death of the girl in America who waswaiting for him. Isolation from his kind and bitter hours left forthought made life alone too ghastly. He tried to make it moreendurable by taking the pretty daughter of the head man of thevillage as his wife. 

My temperature took a tumble when I saw proofs of a hard and fastmarriage ceremony, signed and counter-signed by a missionarybrother who meant business. 

You say it is a sordid tale? Mate, I know a certain spot in thisLand of Blossoms, where only foreigners are laid to rest, whichbears testimony to a hundred of its kind--strange and pitifuldestinies begun with high and brilliant hopes in their native land;and when illusions have faded, the end has borne the stamp oftragedy, because suicide proved the open door out of a life offailure and exile. 

Sada's father was saved suicide and long unhappiness by a timelytidal-wave, which swept the village nearly bare, and carried theman and his wife out to sea and to eternity. 

The child was found by Susan West who came from a neighboring townto care for the sick and hungry. Susan was a teacher-missionary. Not much to look at, if her picture told the truth, but from bitsof her history that I 've picked up her life was a brighter jewelthan most of us will ever find in a heavenly crown. Instead ofholding the unbeliever by the nape of the neck and thrusting anot-understood doctrine down his unwilling throat, she lived thesimple creed of loving her neighbor better than herself. And theold pair of goggles she wore made little halos around the leastspeck of good she found in any transgressor, no matter how warpedwith evil. 

When she was n't helping some helpless sinner to see the rainbow ofpromise at the end of the straight and narrow way, Susan spent hertime and all her salary, giving sick babies a fighting chance forlife. She took the half-drowned little Sada home with her, andsearched for any kinsman left the child. There was only one, hermother's brother. He was very poor and gladly gave his consentthat Miss West should keep the child--as long as it was a girl!Susan had taught the man English once in the long ago and this washis chance to repay her. 

Later on when the teacher found her health failing and headed forhome in America, Uncle Mura was still more generous and raised noobjections to her taking the baby with her. 

Together they lived in a small Western town. The missionary rearedthe child by rule of love only and went on short rations to educateher. Sada's eager mind absorbed everything offered her like ayoung sponge, and when a few months ago Susanna folded her handsand joined her foremothers, there was let loose on the world thisexquisite girl with her solitary legacy of untried ideals and ablind enthusiasm for her mother's people. 

Right here, Mate, was when I had a prolonged attack of coldshivers. Just before Miss West passed along, knowing that theValley was near, she wrote to Uncle in Japan and told him that hisniece would soon he alone. Can't you imagine the picture she drewof her foster child who had satisfied every craving of her bigmother heart? Fascinating and charming and so weighted withpossibilities, that Mura, who had prospered, leaped for his chanceand sent Sada San money for the passage over. 

Not a mite of anxiety shadowed her eyes when she told me that Unclekept a wonderful tea-house in Kioto. He must be very rich, shethought, because he wrote her of the beautiful things she was tohave. About this time the room seemed suffocating. I got up andturned on the electric fan. The only thing required of her, shecontinued, was to use her voice to entertain Uncle's friends. Butshe hoped to do much more. Through Miss West she knew how many ofher mother's dear people needed help. How glorious that she wasyoung and strong and could give so much. Susan had also talked toher of the flowers, the lovely scenery, the poetry of the peopleand their splendid spirit--making a dreamland where even man wasperfect. How she loved it! How proud she was to feel that in partit was her country. Faithfully would she serve it. Oh, SusannaWest! I 'd like to shake you till your harp snapped a string. It's like sending a baby to pick flowers on the edge of a bottomlesspit. 

What could I say! The missionary-teacher had told the truth. Shesimply failed to mention that in the fairy-land there arecherry-blossom lanes down which no human can wander without beingtorn by the brier patches. 

The path usually starts from a wonderful tea-house where Uncleshave grown rich. Miss West didn't mean to shirk her duty. In mostthings the begoggled lady was a visionary with a theory that if youdon't talk about a thing it does not exist; and like most of herkind she swept the disagreeables into a dust heap and made for thehigh places where all was lovely. And yet she had toiled with thegirl through all the difficulties of the Japanese language; and, togive her a musical education, had pinched to the point of buyingone hat in eight years!

Now it is all done and Sada is launched on the high seas of lifewith a pleasure-house for a home and an unscrupulous Uncle withunlimited authority for a chaperon. Shades of Susan! but I amhoping guardian angels are "really truly, " even if invisible. 

Good night, Mate. This game of playing tag with jarring thoughts, new and old, has made six extra wrinkles. I am glad I came and youand Jack will have to be, for to quote Charity, "I 'se doneresoluted on my word of honah" to keep my hands, if possible, onSada whose eyes are as blue as her hair is black. 

PACIFIC OCEAN. 

Since morning the sea has been a sheet of blue, streaked with thesilver of flying fish. That is all the scenery there is; not asail nor a bird nor an insect. Either the unchanging view orsomething in the air has stimulated everybody into being theirnicest. It is surprising how quickly graciousness possesses somepeople when there is a witching girl around. Vivacious young menand benevolent officers have suddenly appeared out of nowhere, spick and span in white duck and their winningest smiles. Entertainments dovetail till there is barely time for change ofcostume between acts. 

But let me tell you, Mate, living up to being a mother is no idlepastime, particularly if it means reviving the lost art of managinglove-smitten youths and elderly male coquettes. There is aspecimen of each opposite Sada and me at table who are so generouswith their company on deck, before and after meals, I have almostrun out of excuses and am short on plans to avoid the heavyobligations of their eager attentions. 

The youth is a To-Be-Ruler of many people, a Maharajah of India. But the name is bigger than the man. Two years ago his fatherstarted the boy around the world with a sack full of rubles and ahead full of ancient Indian lore. With these assets he paused atOxford that he might skim through the classics. He had been toldthis was where all the going-to-be-great men stopped to acquirejust the proper tone of superiority so necessary in ruling acountry. Of course he picked up a bit on electricity, mechanics, etc. This accomplished to his satisfaction he ran over to Americato view the barbarians' god of money and take a glance at theirhouses which touched the sky. But his whole purpose in living, hetold me, was to yield himself to certain meditations, so that inhis final reincarnation, which was only a few centuries off, hewould return to the real thing in Buddha. In the meantime he wasto be a lion, a tiger and a little white bird. At present he isplain human, with the world-old malady gnawing at his heart, a painwhich threatens to send his cogitations whooping down a thornierand rosier lane than any Buddha ever knew. Besides I am thinking afew worldly vanities have crept in and set him hack an eon or so. He wears purple socks, pink ties and a dainty watch strapped aroundhis childish wrist. 

When I asked him what impressed him most in America, he promptlyanswered with his eyes on Sada, "Them girls. They are rapturous!"

Farewell Nirvana! With a camp stool in one hand and a rosary inthe other, he follows Sada San like the shadow on a sun dial. Wherever she is seated, there is the stool and the royal youth, hismournful eyes feasting on the curves and dimples of her face, herlightest jest far sweeter than any prayer, the beads in his handforgotten. 

The other would-be swain calls himself a Seeker of Truth. Incidentally he is hunting a wife. His general attitude is aconstant reminder of the uncertainty of life. His presence makesyou glad that nothing lasts. He says his days are heavy with theproblems of the universe, but you can see for yourself that thisvery commercial traveler carries a light side line in an assortmentof flirtations that surely must be like dancing little sunbeams ona life of gloom. 

Goodness knows how much of a nuisance he would be if it were notfor a little lady named Dolly, who sits beside him, gray in color, dress and experience. At no uncertain age she has found a belatedyouthfulness and is starting on the first pleasure trip of her life. 

Coming across the country to San Francisco, her train was wrecked. In the smash-up a rude chair struck her just south of the belt lineand she fears brain fever from the blow. The alarm is not general, for though just freed by kind death from an unhappy life sentenceof matrimony she is ready to try another jailer. 

Whether he spied Dolly first and hoped that the gleam from her manyjewels would light up the path in his search for Truth and a fewother things, or whether the Seeker was sought, I do not know. However the flirtation which seems to have no age limit hasflourished like a bamboo tree. For once the man was too earnest. Dolly gave heed and promptly attached herself with the persistencyof a barnacle to a weather-beaten junk. By devices worthy afinished fisher of men, she holds him to his job of suitor, and ifin a moment of abstraction his would-be ardor for Sada grows tooperceptible, the little lady reels in a yard or so of line to makesure her prize is still dangling on the hook. 

To-day at tiffin the griefless widow unconsciously scored at theexpense of the Seeker, to the delight of the whole table. ForSada's benefit this man quoted a long passage from some Germanphilosopher. At least it sounded like that. It was far above thelittle gray head he was trying to ignore and so weighty I fearedfor her mentality. But I did not know Dolly. She rose like adoughnut. Looking like a child who delights in the rhythm ofmeaningless sounds, she heard him through, then exclaimed withbreathless delight, "Oh, ain't he fluid!"

The man fled, but not before he had asked Sada for two dances atnight. 

It is like a funny little curtain-raiser, with jealousy as agray-haired Cupid. So far as Sada is concerned, it is admirationgone to waste. Even if she were not gaily indifferent, she is tooabsorbed in the happy days she thinks are awaiting her. Poorchild! Little she knows of the limited possibilities of a Japanesegirl's life; and what the effect of the painful restrictions willbe on one of her rearing, I dare not think. 

Once she is under the authority of Uncle, the Prince, the Seeker, and all mankind will be swept into oblivion; and, until such timeas she can be married profitably and to her master's liking, shewill know no man. The cruelest awakening she will face is theattitude of the Orient toward the innocent offspring in whose veinsruns the blood of two races, separated by differences which neverhave been and never will be overcome. 

In America the girl's way would not have been so hard because hernovel charm would have carried her far. But _hear me_: in Japan, the very wave in her hair and the color of her eyes will prove abarrier to the highest and best in the land. Even with youth andbeauty and intelligence, unqualified recognition for the Eurasianis as rare as a square egg. 

Another thought hits me in the face as if suddenly meeting a crossbumblebee. Will the teachings of the woman, who lived with herhead in the clouds, hold hard and fast when Uncle puts on thescrews?

The Seeker says it is the fellow who thinks first that wins. Hespeaks feelingly on the subject. Right now I am going to begincultivating first thought, and try to be near if danger, whose nameis Uncle, threatens the girl who has walked into my affections andmade herself at home. 

Later. 

All the very good people are in bed. The very worldly minded andthe young are on deck reluctantly finishing the last dance under acanopy of make-believe cherry blossoms and wistaria. I am on thedeck between, closing this letter to you which I will mail inYokohama in a few hours. 

In a way I shall be glad to see a quiet room in a hotel and hie meback to simple living, free from the responsibilities of atemporary parent. I am not promising myself any gay thrills in themeantime. What 's the use, with Jack on the borderland of asulphurous country and you in the Garden of Eden? His letters andyours will be my greatest excitement. So write and keep on writingand never fear that I will not do the same. You are thesafety-valve for my speaking emotions, Mate; so let that help youbear it. 

Please mark with red ink one small detail of Sada's story. When Iwas fastening her simple white gown for the dance her chatter waslike that of a sunny-hearted child. Indeed, she liked to dance. Susan did not think it harmful. She said if your heart was rightyour feet would follow. When Miss West could spare her she alwayswent to parties with _Billy_, and oh, how he could dance if he wasso big and had red hair. 

So! there was a Billy? I looked in her face for signs. The waywas clear but there was a soft little quiver in her voice thatcaused me carefully to label the unknown William, and lay him on ashelf for future reference. Whatever the coming days hold for her, mine has been the privilege of giving the girl three weeks ofunclouded happiness. 

Outside I hear the little Prince pacing up and down, yielding uphis soul to holy meditations. I 'd be willing to wager my bestpiece of jade his contemplations are something like a cycle fromNirvana, and closer far to a pair of heavily fringed eyes. Poorlittle imitation Buddha! He is grasping at the moon's reflectionon the water. Somewhere near I hear Dolly's soft coo anddeep-voiced replies. But unfinished packing, a bath and coffee areawaiting me. 

Dawn is coming, and already through the port hole I see a dot ofearth curled against the horizon. Above floats Fuji, the basewrapped in mists, the peak eternally white, a giant snowdropswinging in a dome of perfect blue. The vision is a call toprayer, a wooing of the soul to the heights of undimmed splendor. 

After all, Mate, I may give you and Jack a glad surprise andjustify Sada handing me that letter addressed to a Christian Sister. 

YOKOHAMA, July, 1911. 

Now that I am here, I am trying to decide what to do with myself. At home each day was so full of happy things and the happiest ofall was listening for Jack's merry whistle as he opened the streetdoor every night. At home there are always demands, big andlittle, popping in on me which I sometimes resent and yet beingfree from makes me feel as dismal as a long vacant house with theFor Rent sign up, looks. In this Lotus land there is no _must_ ofany kind for the alien, and the only whistles I hear belong to thefierce little tugs that buzz around in the harbor, in and out amongthe white sails of the fishing fleet like big black beetles in afield of lilies. But you must not think life dull for me. Fateand I have cried a truce, and she is showing me a few hands she isdealing other people. But first listen to the tale I have to tellof the bruise she gave my pride this morning, that will show blackfor many a day. 

I joined a crowd on the water 's edge in front of the hotel towatch a funeral procession in boats. Recently a hundred and eightyfishermen were sent to the bottom by a big typhoon, and the wivesand the sweethearts were being towed out to sea to pay a lasttribute to them, by strewing the fatal spot with flowers and paperprayers. White-robed priests stood up in the front of the boatsand chanted some mournful ritual, keeping time to the dull thumpingof a drum. The air was heavy with incense. A dreamy melancholyfilled the air and I thought how hallowed and beautiful a thing ismemory. From out that silent watching crowd came a voice that sentmy thoughts flying to starry nights of long ago and my first tripacross the Pacific; soft south winds; vows of eternal devotion thatkept time with the distant throbbing of a ship's engine. I fumed. I was facing little Germany and five littler Germanys strung outbehind. You surely remember him? and how when I could n't seethings his way he swore to a wrecked heart and anever-to-be-forgotten constancy. Mate! There was no more of aflicker of memory in the stare of his round blue eyes than therewould have been in a newly baked pretzel. I stood still, waitingfor some glimmer of recognition. Instead, he turned to thepincushion on his arm, whom I took to be Ma O. , and I heard him say"Herzallorliebsten. " I went straight to the hotel and had ittranslated. Thought it had a familiar sound. Would n't it beinteresting to know how many "only ones" any man's life historyrecords? To think of my imagining him eating his heart out withhopeless longing in some far away Tibetan Monastery. And here hewas, pudgy and content, with his fat little brood waddling alongbehind him. If our vision could penetrate the future, verilyRomance would have to close up shop. Oh, no! I did n't want himto pine entirely away, but he needn't have been in such aneverlasting hurry to get fat and prosperous over it. Would n'tJack howl?

I took good care to see that he was not stopping at this hotel. Then I went back to my own thoughts of the happy years that hadbeen mine since Little Germany bade me a tearful good-by. 

And, too, I wanted to think out some plan whereby I can keep intouch with Sada and be friendly with her relative. 

Before I left the steamer, I had a surprise in the way of Uncles. Next time I will pause before I prophesy. But if Uncle was a blowto my preconceived ideas, I will venture Sada startled a few of histraditions as to nieces. Quarantine inspection was short, and whenat last we cast anchor, the harbor was as blue as if a patch of thesummer sky had dropped into it. The thatched roofs shone russetbrown against the dark foliage of the hills. The temple roofscurved gracefully above the pink mist of the crepe myrtle. 

Sada was standing by me on the upper deck, fascinated by thepicture. As she realized the long dreamed-of fairy-land wasunfolding before her, tears of joy filled her eyes and tears ofanother kind filled mine. 

Sampans, launches and lighters clustered around the steamer asbirds of prey gather to a feast: captains in gilt braid; coolies inblue and white, with their calling-cards stamped in large letterson their backs, and the story of their trade written around thetail of their coats in fantastic Japanese characters. Gentlemen individed skirts and ladies in kimono and clogs swarmed up thegangway. In the smiling, pushing crowd I looked for the low-browedrelative I expected to see. Imagine the shock, Mate, when a manwith manners as beautiful as his silk kimono presented his card andannounced that he was Uncle Mura. I had been pointed out as Sada'sfriend. A week afterwards I could have thought of somethingbrilliant to say. Taken unawares, I stammered out a hope that hishonorable teeth were well and his health poor. You see I am allright in Japanese if I do the talking. For I know what I want tosay and what they ought to say. But when they come at me with aflank movement, as it were, I am lost. Uncle passed over myblunder without a smile and went on to say many remarkable things, if sound means anything. However, trust even a deaf woman to prickup her ears when a compliment is headed her way, whether it is inSanskrit or Polynesian. In acknowledgment I stuck to my flag, andthe man's command of quaint but correct English convinced me that Iwould have to specialize in something more than first thought if Iwas to cope with this tea-house proprietor whose armor is thesubtle manners of the courtier. 

Blessed Sada! Only the cocksureness of youth made her blind to thecheck her enthusiasm was meant to receive in the first encounter ofthe new life. She had always met people on equal terms, most menfalling easy victims. She was blissfully ignorant that Mura, bydirecting his conversation to me, meant to convey to her thatwell-bred girls in this enchanted land lowered their eyes andfolded their hands when they talked in the presence of a MAN, ifthey dared to talk at all. 

Not so this half-child of the West. She fairly palpitated with joyand babbled away with the freedom of a sunny brook in the shadow ofa grim forest. From the man's standpoint, he was not unkind;unrestraint was to him an incomprehensible factor in a young girl'smake-up; and whatever was to follow, the first characters he meanther to learn must spell reverence and repression. 

They hurried ashore to catch a train to Kioto. I must lookharmless, for I was invited to call. I shall accept, for I have afeeling in spite of manners and silken robes that the day is notdistant when the distress signals will be flying. 

I waved good-by to the girl as the little launch made its way toland. She made a trumpet of her hands and called a merry"sayonara. " The master of her future folded his arms and lookedout to sea. 

The next day I had a lonely lunch at the hotel. When I saw twolovery young things at the table where Jack and I had our weddingbreakfast, so long ago, I made for the other end of the room andpersistently turned my back. But I saw out of the corner of my eyethey were far away above food, and, Mate, believe me, they did n'teven know it was hot, though a rain barrel couldn't have measuredthe humidity. 

Of course Jack and I were much more sensible, but that wholeblessed time is wrapped in rosy mists with streaks of moonlight tothe tune of heavenly music, so it 's futile to try to recall justwhat did happen. I ought to have gone to another hotel, but thechain of memory was too strong for me. 

I was hesitating between the luxury of a sentimental spell and afit of loneliness, when a happy interruption came in a message fromCountess Otani, naming the next day at two for luncheon with her atthe Arsenal Gardens at Tokio. How I wished for you, Mate! It wasa fairy-story come true, dragons and all. The Arsenal Garden meansjust what it says. Only when the dove of peace is on duty are itsgates opened, and then to but a few, high in command. For acrossthe white-blossomed hedge that encloses the grounds, armies of mentoil ceaselessly molding black bullets for pale people and theywork so silently that the birds keep house in the long fringedwillows and the goldfish splash in the sunned spots of the tinylake. 

After passing the dragons in the shape of sentries and soldiers, toeach of whom I gave a brief life-history, I wisely followed my noseand a guard down the devious path. 

The Countess received her guests in a banquet-hall all ebony andgold, and was not seated permanently on a throne with a diamondcrown screwed into her head as we used so fondly to imagine. 

The simplicity of her hospitality was charming. She and most ofher ladies-in-waiting had been educated abroad. But despite thelure of the Western freedom, they had returned to their countrywith their heads level and their traditions intact. But you guesswrong, honey, if you imagine custom and formality of official lifehave so overcome these high-born ladies as to make them lay figureswho dare not raise their eyes except by rule. There were threeAmerican guests, and only by being as nimble as grasshoppers did wehold our own in the table talk which was as exhilarating as a gameof snowball on a frosty day. 

We scampered all around war and settled a few important politicalquestions. Poetry, books and the new Cabinet vied with themerriment over comparisons in styles of dress. One delightfulwoman told how gloves and shoes had choked her when she first worethem in America. Another gave her experience in getting fatallytwisted in her court train when she was making her bow before theGerman Empress. 

A soft-voiced matron made us laugh over her story of how, when shewas a young girl at a mission school, she unintentionally joined ina Christian prayer, and nearly took the skin off her tongueafterwards scrubbing it with strong soap and water to wash away thestain. There wasn't even a smile as she quietly spoke of the manytimes later when with that same prayer she had tried to make lesshard the after-horrors of war. 

The possibilities of Japanese women are amazing even to one whothinks he knows them. They look as if made for decoration only, and with a flirt of their sleeves they bring out a surprise thatturns your ideas a double somersault. Here they were, laughing andchatting like a bunch of fresh schoolgirls for whom life was onelong holiday. Yet ten out of the number had recently packed awaytheir gorgeous clothes, and laid on a high shelf all royal ranksand rights, for a nurse's dress and kit. Apparently delicate andshy they can be, if emergency demands, as grim as war or as tenderas heaven. 

It was a blithesome day and if it had n't been for that "all gone"sort of a feeling, that possesses me when evening draws near andJack is far away, content might have marked me as her own. As itwas I put off playing a single at dinner as long as possible bycalling on a month-old bride whom I had known as a girl. With gleeI accepted the offer of an automobile to take me for the visit, andrepented later. Two small chauffeurs and a diminutive footmanraced me through the narrow, crowded streets, scattering thepopulace to any shelter it could find. The only reason we didn'ttake the fronts out of the shops is that Japanese shops arefrontless. I looked back to see the countless victims of ourspeed. I saw only a crowd coming from cover, smiling withcuriosity and interest. We hit the top of the hill with aflourish, and when I asked what was the hurry my attendants lookedhurt and reproachfully asked if that wasn't the way Americans likedto ride. 

Mate, this is a land of contrasts and contradictions. At thegarden all had been life and color. At this home, where thewrinkled old servitor opened the heavily carved gates for me, itwas as if I had stepped into a bit of ancient Japan, jealouslyguarded from any encroachment of new conditions or change of custom. 

Like a curious package, contents unknown, I was passed from oneautomatic servant to another till I finally reached the_Torishihimari_ or mistress of ceremonies. By clock-work sheoffered me a seat on the floor, a fan and congratulations. Thislast simply because I was me. The house was ancient and beautiful. The room in which I sat had nothing in it but matting as fine assilk, a rare old vase with two flowers and a leaf in formalarrangement, and an atmosphere of aloofness that lulled mind andbody to restful revery. After my capacity for tea and sugareddough was tested, the little serving maid fanning me, bowing everytime I blinked, the paper doors near by divided noiselessly and, framed by the dim light, sat the young bride, quaint and orientalas if she had stepped out of some century-old kakemono. Incontrast to my recent hostesses it was like coming from a garden ofbrilliant flowers into the soft, quiet shadows of a bamboo grove. No modern touch about this lady. She had been reduced by rule froma romping girl to a selfless creature fit for a Japanesegentleman's wife and no questions asked. Her hair, her dress, andeven her speech were strictly by the laws laid down in a book forthe thirty-first day of the first month after marriage. But Iwould like to see the convention with a crust thick enough toentirely obliterate one woman's interest in another whose clothesand life belong to a distant land. When I told her I had come toJapan against Jack's wishes and was going to follow him to China ifI could, she paled at my rashness. How could a woman dare disobey?Would not my husband send me home, take my name off the houseregister and put somebody in my place?

Well now, wouldn't you like to see the scientist play any suchtricks with me--that blessed old Jack who smiles at my follies, asks my advice, and does as he pleases, and for whom there hasnever been but the one woman in the world! I struggled to makeplain to her the attitude of American men and women and thesemi-independence of the latter. As well explain theology to achild. To her mind the undeviating path of absolute obedience wasthe only possible way. Anything outside of a complete renunciationof self-interest and thought meant ruin and was not even to bewhispered about. I gave it up and came back to her sphere ofpoetry and mothers-in-law. 

When I said good-by there was a gentle pity in her eyes, for shewas certain her long-time friend was headed for the highroad ofdestruction. But instead I turned into the dim solitude of ShibaPark. I had something to think about. To-day's experiences hadpainted anew in naming colors the difference in husbands. Howprone a woman is, who is free and dearly beloved, to fall into thehabit of taking things for granted, forgetting how one drop of thefull measure of happiness, that a good husband gives her, wouldturn to rosy tints the gray lives of hundreds of her kind who arewives in name only. Her appreciation may be abundant but it is thesilent kind. Her bugaboo is fear of sentiment and when it is toolate, she remembers with a heart-break. 

I can think of a thousand things right now I want to say to Jackand while storing them away for some future happy hour, I walkedfurther into the deep shadows of twilight. 

Instantly the spell of the East was over me. Real life was not. In the soft green silences of mystery and fancy, I found a seat byan ancient moss-covered tomb. Dreamily I watched a great reddragon-fly frivol with the fairy blue wreaths of incense-smoke thathovered above the leaf shadows trembling on the sand. The deepmelody of a bell, sifted through a cloud of blossom, caught up mywilling soul and floated out to sea and Jack far from this lovelyland, where stalks unrestrained the ugly skeleton of easy divorcefor men. The subject always irritates me like prickly heat. 

NIKKO, July, 1911. 

Summer in Japan is no joke, especially if you are waiting forletters. I know perfectly well I can't hear from you and Jack foran age, and yet I watch for the postman three times a day, as ahungry man waits for the dinner-bell. 

The days in Yokohama were too much like a continuous Turkish bath, and I fled to Nikko, the ever moist and mossy. Two things you canalways expect in this village of "roaring, wind-sweptmountains, "--rain and courtesy. One is as inevitable as the other, and both are served in quantities. 

I am staying in a semi-foreign hotel which is tucked away in apocket in the side of a mountain as comfy as a fat old lady in abig rocker who glories in dispensing hospitality with both hands. Just let me put my head out of my room door and the hall fairlyblossoms with little maids eager to serve. A step toward theentrance brings to life a small army of attendants bending as theycome like animated jack-knives on a live wire. One struggles withthe mystery of my overshoes, while the Master stands by and begs meto take care of my honorable spirit. As it is the only spirit Ipossess I heed his advice and bring it back to the hotel to findthe entire force standing at attention, ready to receive me. Ipass on to my room with a procession of bearers and bearessesstrung out behind me like the tail of a kite, anything from atea-tray to the sugar tongs being sufficient excuse for joining theparade. 

When dressing for dinner, if I press the button, no less than sixlittle, picture maids flutter to my door, each begging for thehonor of fastening me up the back. How delighted Jack would be toassign them this particular honor for life. Such whispers over thewonders of a foreign-made dress as they struggle with the curiousfastenings! (They should hear my lord's fierce language!) Eachone takes a turn till some sort of connection is made between hookand eye. All is so earnestly done I dare not laugh or wiggle withimpatience. I may sail into dinner with the upper hook in thelower eye and the middle all askew, but the service is sograciously given, I would rather have my dress upside down than togrumble. Certainly I pay for it. I tip everything from theproprietor to the water-pitcher. But the sum is sodisproportionate to the pleasure and the comfort returned that Ismile to think of the triple price I have paid elsewhere and thehigh-nosed condescension I got in return for my money. Japanesecourtesy may be on the surface, but the polish does not easily wearoff and it soothes the nerves just as the rain cools the air. Itgoes without saying that I did not arrive in Nikko without avariety of experiences along the way. 

Two hours out from Yokohama, the train boy came into the coach, andwith a smile as cheerful as if he were saying, "Happy New Year, "announced that there was a washout in front of us and a landslideat the back of us. Would everybody please rest their honorablebones in the village while a bridge was built and a river filledin. The passengers trailed into a settlement of straw roofs, bamboo poles and acres of white and yellow lilies. I went to aquaint little inn--that was mostly out!--built over a fussy brook;and a pine tree grew right out of the side of the house. My roomwas furnished with four mats and a poem hung on the wall. When thepoliceman came in to apologize for the rudeness of the storm indelaying me, the boy who brought my bags had to step outside sothat the official would have room to bow properly. I ate my supperof fish-omelet and turnip pickle served in red lacquer bowls, anddrank tea out of cups as big as thimbles. Jack says Japaneseteacups ought to be forbidden; in a moment of forgetfulness theycould so easily slip down with the tea. 

It had been many a year since I was so separated from my kind andeach hour of isolation makes clearer a thing I 've never doubted, but sometimes forget, that the happiest woman is she whose everymoment is taken up in being necessary to somebody; and to such, unoccupied minutes are like so many drops of lead. That, with atelegram I read telling of the increasing dangers of the plague inManchuria, threatened to send me headlong into a spell of anxietyand the old terrible loneliness. 

Happily the proprietor and his wife headed it off by asking me if Iwould be their guest for this evening to see the Bon Matsuri, thebeautiful Festival of the Dead. On the thirteenth day of theseventh month, all the departed spirits take a holiday from Nirvanaor any other seaport they happen to be in and come on a visit totheir former homes to see how it fares with the living. Poorhomesick spirits! Not even Heaven can compensate for theseparation from beloved country and friends. As we passed along, the streets were alight with burning rushes placed at many doors toguide the spiritual excursionists. Inside, the people werepraying, shrines were decorated and children in holiday dressmerrily romped. Why, Mate, it was worth being a ghost just to comeback and see how happy everybody was. For on this night of nights, cares and sorrows are doubly locked in a secret place and the keyput carefully away. You couldn't find a coolie so heartless as toshow a shadow of trouble to his ghostly relatives when they returnfor so brief a time to hold happy communion with the living. Hemay be hungry, he may be sick, but there is a brave smile ofwelcome on his lips for the spirits. 

The crazy old temple at the foot of the mountain, glorified by athousand lights and fluttering flags, reaped a harvest of _rins_and _rens_ paid to the priests for paper prayers and bambooflower-holders with which to decorate the graves. The cemetery wason the side of the hill, and every step of the way somebody stoppedat a stone marker to fasten a lantern to a small fishing-pole andpin a prayer near by. This was to guide the spirit to his ownparticular spot. 

A breeze as soft as a happy sigh came through the pines and gentlyrocked the lanterns. The dim figures of the worshipers movedswiftly about, as delighted as children in the shadow-pictures madeby the twinkling lights, eagerly seeking out remote spots that nograve might be without its welcoming gleam. A long line ofwhite-robed dancing girls came swaying by with clapping hands tosoft-voiced chanting. 

I, too, though an alien, was moved with the good-will and kindnessthat sung through the very air and fearlessly I would havedecorated any festive ghost that happened along. I looked to seewhere I might lay the offering I held in my hand. My hostessplucked my sleeve and pointed to a tiny tombstone under a camelliatree. I went closer and read the English inscription, "DorothyDale. Aged 2 years. " There was a tradition that once in the longago a missionary and his wife lived in the village. Through anawful epidemic of cholera they stuck to their posts, nursed andcared for the people. Their only child was the price they paid fortheir constancy. To each generation the story had been told, andthrough all the years faithful watch had been kept over the littleenclosure. Now it was all a-glimmer with lanterns shaped likebirds and butterflies. I added my small offering and turnedhotelwards reluctantly. 

My ancient host and hostess trotted along near by, eager to shareall their pathetic little gaieties with me. Their lives togetherhad about as much real comradeship as a small brown hen and a biggray owl, and they had been married sixty years! They had toiledand grown old together, but that did not mean that wifey was towalk anywhere but three feet to the rear, nor to speak except whenher lord and ruler stopped talking to take a whiff of his pipe. Itried to walk behind with the old lady but she threatened to standin one spot for the rest of the night. Then I vainly coaxed her towalk with me at her husband's side. But her face was so full ofgenuine horror at such disrespect that I desisted. Think, Mate, oftrying to puzzle out the make-up of a nation which for the sake ofa long-ago kindness will for years keep a strange baby's gravegreen and yet whose laws will divorce a woman for disobedience toher husband's mother and where the ancient custom of "women toheel" still holds good. 

And this is the land where the Seeker came for the truth!

Sada thinks it paradise and I, as before, am sending to Jack

 A heart of love for thee Blown by the summer breezes Ten thousand miles of sea. 

July, 1911. 

_Mate_:

There ought to be some kind of capital punishment for the woman whohas nothing to do but kill time. It's an occupation that putscrimps in the soul and offers the supreme moment in which the devilmay work his rabbit foot. No, I cannot settle down or hustle up toanything until I hear from Jack or you. Very soon I will bereduced to doing the one desperate thing lurking in this corner ofthe woods, flirting with the solitary male guest, who has a stronghalt in his voice and whose knees are not on speaking terms. 

Of course it is raining. If the sun gets gay and tries the bluffof being friendly, a heavy giant of a cloud rises promptly up frombehind a mountain and puts him out of business. Still, why moanover the dampness? It makes the hills look like great green plushsofa-cushions and the avenues like mossy caves. 

I have read till my eyes are crossed and I have written to everyhuman I know. I have watched the giggling little maids patter upto a two-inch shrine and, flinging a word or two to Buddha, use therest of their time to gossip. And the old lady who washes hervegetables and her clothes in the same baby-lake just outside mywindow amuses me for at least ten minutes. Then, Mate, for realsatisfaction, I must turn to you, whose patience is elastic andenduring. It is one of my big joys that your interest and love arejust the same, as in those other days when you packed me off toJapan for the good of my country and myself; and then sent Jackafter me. Guess I should have stayed at home, as Jack told me, butI am glad I did not. 

Though it has poured every minute I have been here, there have beenbursts of sunshine inside, if not out. The other day my table boybrought me the menu and asked for an explanation of _assorted_fruits. I told him very carefully it meant _mixed, differentkinds_. He is a smart lad. He understands my Japanese! Hegrasped my meaning immediately, and wrote it down in a little book. This morning he came to my room and announced: "Please, Lady, someassorted guests await you in the audience chamber; one Japanese andtwo American persons. "

I have had my first letter from Sada too, simply spilling over withyouth and enthusiasm. The girl is stark mad over thefairy-landness of it all. Says her rooms are in Uncle's privatehouse, which is in quite a different part of the garden from thetea-house. (Thank the Lord for small mercies!) She says Uncle hasgiven her some beautiful clothes and is so good to her. I daresay. He has taken her to see a lovely old castle and wonderfultemple. The streets are all pictures and the scenery is glorious!That is true, but the girl cannot live off scenery any more than anightingale can thrive on the scent of roses. What is coming whenthe glamour of the scenery wears off and Uncle puts on the pressureof his will?

I have not dared to give her any suggestion of warning. She isdeadly sure of her duty, so enthralled is she with the thought ofservice to her mother's people. If I am to help her, the shock ofdisillusionment must come from some other direction. The_disillusioner_ is seldom forgiven. I do not know what plans arebeing worked out behind Uncle's lowered eyelids. But I _do_ knowhis idea of duty does not include keeping such a valuable asset asa bright and beautiful niece hid away for his solitary joy. Infact, he would consider himself a neglectful and altogether unkindrelative if he did not marry Sada off to the very best advantage tohimself. In the name of all the Orient, what else is there to dowith a _girl_, and especially one whose blood is tainted with thatof the West?

Well, Mate, my thoughts grew so thick on the subject I nearlysuffocated. I went for a walk and ran right into a cavalcade ofdonkeys, jinrickshas and chairs, headed by the Seeker and Dolly, who has also annexed the little Maharajah. 

They had been up to Chuzenji--and Chuzenji I would have you know islovely enough, with its emerald lake and rainbow mists, to start aman's tongue to love-making whether he will or not. And so surelyas it is raining, something has happened. Dolly was as gay as aday-old butterfly and smiled as if a curly-headed Cupid had tickledher with a wing-feather. The Seeker was deadly solemn. Possiblythe aftermath of his impetuosity. 

Oh, well! there is no telling what wonders can be worked byincurable youthfulness and treasures laid up in a trust company. 

The little Prince, with every pocket and his handkerchief full ofsmall images of Buddha which he was collecting, asked at once forSada. His heart was in his eyes, but there is no use tamperingwith a to-be-incarnation by encouraging worldly thoughts. So Isaid I had not seen her since we landed. They were due on boardthe _Siberia_ in Yokohama to-night on their way to China. I wavedthem good wishes and went on, amused and not a little troubled. Worried over Sada, hungry for Jack, lonesome for you. I passed oneof the gorgeous blue, green and yellow gates, at the entrance of atemple. On one side is carved a distorted figure, that looks likea cross between an elephant and a buzzard. It is called "Baku, theeater of evil dreams. " My word! but I could furnish him a feastthat would give him the fanciest case of indigestion he ever knew!

Mate, you would have to see Nikko, with its majestic cryptomarias, sheltering the red and gold lacquer temples; you would have to feelthe mystery of the gray-green avenues, and have its holy silencesfall like a benediction upon a restless spirit, to realize whathealing for soul and body is in the very air, to understand why Ijoyfully loitered for two hours and came back sane and hungry, butwet as a fish. 

Write me about the only man, the kiddies and your own blessed happyself. 

I agree with Charity. "Ef you want to spile a valuable wife, tu'nher loose in a patch of idlesomeness. "

STILL AT NIKKO, August, 1911. 

You beloved girl, I have heard from Jack and my heart is singing aragtime tune of joy and thanksgiving. How he laughed at me forbeing too foolishly lonesome to stay in America without him. Oh, these, men! Does he forget he raged once upon a time, when he wasin America without me? As long as I am here though, he wants me tohave as good a time as possible. Do anything I want, and--blessedtrusting man!--buy anything I see that will fit in the little houseat home. 

Can you believe it? After a fierce battle the sun won out thismorning, and even the blind would know by the dancing feel of theair that it was a glorious day. At eight o'clock, when the littlemaids went up to the shrine, happy as kittens let out for a romp, they forgot even to look Buddha-ward and took up their worship timein playing tag. The old woman who uses the five-foot lake as thefamily wash-tub, brought out all her clothes, the grand-baby, andthe snub-nosed poodle that wears a red bib, to celebrate thesunshine by a carnival of washing. 

I could not stand four walls a minute longer. I am down in thegarden writing you, in a tea-house made with three fishing-polesand a bunch of straw. It is covered with pink morning-glories asbig as coffee cups. 

It has been three weeks since my last letter and I know yourinterest in Jack and germs is almost as great as mine. Jack hasbeen in Peking. He thinks the revolution of the Chinese againstthe Manchu Government is going to be something far more seriousthis time than a flutter of fans and a sputter ofshooting-crackers. The long-suffering worm with the head of adragon is going to turn, and when it does, there will not be aManchu left to tell the pig tale. 

Jack is in Mukden now, where he is about to lose his mind with joyover the prospect of looking straight in the eye--if it hasone--this wicked old germ with a new label, and telling it what hethinks. The technical terms he gives are as paralyzing as aRussian name spelled backwards. 

In a day's time this fearful thing wipes out entire families andvillages. It has simply ravaged northern Manchuria and the countryabout. Jack says so deadly are the effects of these germs in theair that if a man walking along the street happens to breathe inone, he is a corpse on the spot before he is through swallowing. The remains are gathered up by men wearing shrouds and net masks, and the peaceful Oriental who was not doing a thing hut attendingstrictly to his own business, is soon reduced to ashes. Allbecause of a pesky microbe with a surplus of energy. 

You know perfectly well, Mate, Jack does not speak in thisfrivolous manner of his beloved work. The interpretation is whollymine. But I dare not be serious over it. I must push any thoughtof his danger to the further ends of nowhere. 

Jack thinks the native doctors have put up a brave fight, but sofar the laugh has been all on the side of the frisky germ. 

It blasts everything it touches and is most fastidious. Nobody canblame it for choosing as its nesting-place the little soft furredSiberian marmots, which the Chinese hunt for their skin. If onlythe hunters could be given a dip in a sulphur vat before they laythem down to sleep in the unspeakable inns with their spoilswrapped around them, the chance for infection would not be sogreat. Of course the bare suggestion of a bath might prove morefatal than the plague, for oftener than not the hunters are usedonly as a method of travel by the merry microbe and are immune fromthe effects. Of course Jack has all sorts of theories as to whythis is so. But did you ever see a scientist who didn't have aworkable theory for everything from the wrong end of a carpet-tackto the evolution of a June bug?

From the hunters and their spoils the disease spreads and theirpath southwards can be traced by desolated villages and piles ofbones. 

Jack tells me he is garbed in a long white robe effect (I hope hewon't grow wings), with a good-sized mosquito net on a frame overhis head and face. He works in heavy gloves. Mouth and nose beingthe favorite point of attack, everybody who ventures out wears overthis part of the face a curiously shaped shield, whose firm looksays, "No admittance here. " But all the same, that germ fromSiberia is a wily thief and steals lives by the thousands, in spiteof all precautions. 

Jack is as enthusiastic over the fight against the scourge as acollege boy over football. His letter has so many big technicalwords in it, I had to pay excess postage. 

I 've read his letter twice, but to save me I cannot find anysuggestion of the remotest possibility of my coming nearer. Yes, Iknow I said Japan only. But way down in the cellar of my heart I_hoped_ he would say nearer. 

What a happy day it has been. Here is your letter, just come. Thepriests up at the temple have asked me to see the ceremony ofoffering food to the spirits, in the holy of holies. 

There is not time for me to add another word to this letter. Whata dear you are, to love while you lecture me. What you say is alltrue. A woman's place _is_ in her home. But just now out of theEast, I 've had a call to play silent partner to science and whileit 's a lonesome sport, at least it 's far more entertaining thancaring for a husbandless house. Anyhow I am sending you a hug anda thousand kisses for the babies. 

SHOJI LAKE, August, 1911. 

Mate, think of the loveliest landscape picture you ever saw, put mein it and you will know where I am. With some friends fromHonolulu and a darling old man--observe I say _old_!--fromColorado, we started two days ago, to walk around the base of Fuji. Everything went splendidly till a typhoon hit us amidships and sentus careening, blind, battered and soaked into this red and whiterefuge of a hotel, that clings to the side of a mountain like awoodpecker to a telephone pole. I have seen storms, but the worstI ever saw was a playful summer breeze compared with themagnificent fury of this wind that snapped great trees in two as ifthey had been young bean-poles, and whipped the usually peacefullake into raging waves that swept through a gorge and greedilylicked up a whole village. 

Our path was high up, but right over the water. Sometimes we werecrawling on all fours. Mostly we were flying just where the windlisted. If a tree got in our way as we flew, so much the worse forus. It is funny now, but it was not at the time! Seriously, I wasin immediate peril of being blown to glory _via_ the fierce greenfoam below. My Colorado Irishman is not only a darling, but ahero. Once I slipped, and stopped rolling only when some faithfulpines were too stubborn to let go. 

I wag many feet below the reach of any arm. In a twinkling, myfriend had stripped the kimono off the baggage coolie's back, andmade a lasso with which he pulled me up. Then shocked to astandstill by the shortcomings of the coolie's birthday suit, hesnatched off his coat and gave it to him, with a dollar. Such aprocession of bedraggled and exhausted pleasure-seekers as we were, when three men stood behind our hotel door and opened it just wideenough to haul us in. But hot baths and boiling tea revived us andsoon we were as merry as any people can be who have just escapedannihilation. 

The typhoon passed as suddenly as it came, and now the world--or atleast this part of it--is as glowing and beautiful as if freshlytinted by the Master Hand. 

A moment ago I looked up to see my rescuer gazing out of thewindow. I asked, "How do you feel, Mr. Carson?" His voice trembledwhen he answered: "Lady, I feel glorified, satisfied and nigh aboutpetrified. Look at that!"

Below lay Shoji, its shimmering waters rimmed with velvety green. Every raindrop on the pines was a prism; the mountain a brocade ofblossom. To the right Fuji, the graceful, ever lovely Fuji;capricious as a coquette and bewitching in her mystery, with athumbnail moon over her peak, like a silver tiara on the head of aproud beauty; at her base the last fleecy clouds of the day, gathered like worshipers at the feet of some holy saint. 

The man's face shone. For forty years he had worked atharness-making, always with the vision before him that some day hemight take this trip around the world. He has the soul of anartist, which has been half starved in the narrow environment ofhis small town life. Cannot you imagine the mad revel of his soulin this pictureland?

He is going to Mukden. Of course I told him all about Jack's work. The old fellow, he must be all of seventy, was thrilled. I amgoing to give him a letter to Jack. Also to some friends inPeking; they will be good to him. If anybody deserves amerry-go-round sort of a holiday, he does. Think of sewing onsaddles and bridles all these years, when his heart was witheringfor beauty!

I am glad of your eager interest in Sada. How like you! Never tooabsorbed in your own life to share other people's joys and sorrowsand festivities. 

If your wise head evolves a plan of action, send by wireless, forif I read aright her message received to-day, the time is fastcoming when the red lights of danger will be flashing. I willquote: "Last night Uncle asked me to sing to some people who weregiving a dinner at the tea-house. I put on my loveliest kimono anda hair-dresser did my hair in the old Japanese style and stuck ared rose at the side. For the first time I went into thatbeautiful, _beautiful_ place my Uncle calls "the Flower Blooming"tea-house. It was more like a fairy palace. How the girls, wholive there, laughed at my guitar. They had never seen one before. How they whispered over the color of my eyes. Said they matched mykimono, and they tittered over my clumsiness in sitting on thefloor. But I forgot everything when the door slid open and Ilooked into the most wonderful dream-garden that ever was, andpeople everywhere. I finished singing, there was clapping and loud_banzais_. I looked up and realized there were only men at thisdinner and I never saw so many bottles in all my life. I felt verystrange and so far away from dear Susan West. After I had sungonce more I started back to my home. Uncle met me. I told him Iwas going to bed. For the first time he was cross and ordered meback to the play place, where I was to stay until he came for me. There never was anything so lovely as the green and pink garden andthe lily-shaped lights, and the flowers; and such _pretty_ girlswho knew just what to do. But I cannot understand the men who comehere. When dear old Billy"--thank heaven she says _dear_Billy!--"talks I know just what he means. But these men use somany words Susan never taught me, and laugh so loud when they saythem. 

"There was one man named Hara whose clothes were simply gorgeous. The girls say he is very rich, and a great friend of Uncle's! Hemay have money, but he is not over-burdened with manners. He canout-stare an owl. "

There was more. But that is enough to show me Uncle's hand asplainly as if I were a palmist. If nothing happens to prevent, theman promises to do what thousands of his kind have done before:regardless of obstacles and consequences marry the girl off to thehighest bidder; rid himself of all responsibility and make a profitat the same time. From his point of view it is the only thing todo. He would be the most astonished uncle in Mikado-land ifanybody suggested to him that Sada had any rights or feelings inthe matter. He would tell you that as Sada's only male relative, custom gave him the right to dispose of her as he saw fit, andcustom is law and there is nothing back of _that_!

So far I have played only a thinking part in the drama. But I willnot stand by and see the girl, whose very loneliness is a plea, sacrificed without some kind of a struggle to help her. At thepresent writing I feel about as effective as a February lamb, andevery move calls for tact. Wish I had been born with a needle witinstead of a Roman nose! For if Uncle has a glimmer of a suspicionthat I would befriend Sada at the cost of his plans, so surely asthe river is lost in the sea, Sada would disappear from my worlduntil it was too late for me to lend a hand. 

Good-by, Mate. At eventide, as of old, look my way and send mestrength from your vast store of calm courage and common sense. The odds are against me, but the god of luck has never yet failedto laugh with me. 

September, 1911. 

I am in a monastery, Mate, but only temporarily, thank you. It isa blessing to the cause that Fate did not turn me into a monk or asister or any of those inconvenient things with a restlessreligion, that wakes you up about 3 A. M. On a wintry dawn to prayshiveringly to a piece of wood, to the tune of a thumping drum. Some morning when the frost was on the cypress that carven imagewould disappear!

For one time at least I would have a nice fire, and my prayerswould not be decorated with icicles. 

For two weeks my friends and I have been tramping throughpicture-book villages and silk-worm country, and over mountainwinding ways, sleeping on the floor, sitting on our feet and givingour stomachs surprise parties with hot, cold and lukewarm rice, seaweed and devil-fish. 

It has been one hilarious lark of outdoor life, with nothing to pinus to earth but the joy of being a part of so beautiful a world. 

The road led us through superb forests, over the Bridge of Paradiseto Koyo San, whose peak is so far above the mist-wreathed valleysthat it scrapes the clouds as they float by. But I want to sayright here; Kobo Daishi, who founded this monastery in the distantages and built a temple to his own virtues, may have been a saint, but he was not much of a gentleman! Else he would not have been soreckless of the legs and necks of the coming generations, as toblaze the trail to his shrine over mountains so steep that ourpack-mule coming up could easily have bitten off his own tail if hehad so minded. 

Later. 

This afternoon I must hustle down. I suppose the only way to getdown is to roll. Well; anyway I am in a hurry. My mail beat me upthe trail and a letter from Sada San begs me to come to Kioto tosee her as soon as I can. She only says she needs help and doesnot know what to do. And blessed be the telegram that winds upfrom Hiroshima; the school is in urgent need of an assistant at theKindergarten and they ask me to come. The principal, Miss Look, has gone to America on business, for three months. Hooray! Hereis my chance to resign from the "Folded Hands' Society" and dosomething that is really worth while, as long as I cannot go to myman. How good it will seem once again to be in that dear oldmission school, where in the long ago I toiled and laughed andsuffered while I waited for Jack. 

The prospect of being with the girls and the kiddies again makes mewant to do a Highland Fling, even if I am in a monastery with asad-faced young priest serving me tea and mournful sighs betweenprayers. 

What a flirtatious old world it is after all. It smites you andbruises you, then binds up the hurts by giving you a desire or soof your heart. Just now the desire of my heart is to catch thattrain for Kioto. 

So here goes a prayer, pinned to a shrine, for a body intact as Itread the path that drops straight down the mountain, through thecrimson glory of the maples and the blazing yellow of the gingkotree, to the tiny little station far away that looks like adecorated hen-coop. 

KIOTO, September, 1911. 

_Dearest Mate_:

I cannot spend a drop of ink in telling you how I got here. Howthe baggage beast ran away and decorated the mountain shrubberywith my belongings. And how after all my hurry of dropping downfrom Koyo San, the brakesman forgot to hook our car to the trainand started off on a picnic while the engine went merrily on andleft us out in the rice-fields. Suffice it to say I landed in awhirl that spun me down to Uncle's house and back to the hotel. And by the way my thoughts are going, for all I know I may bebooked to spin on through eternity. 

My visit to Sada was so full of things that did not happen. When Ireached the house, I sent in my card to Sada. Uncle came glidingin like a soft-footed panther. He did it so quietly that I jumpedwhen I saw him. We took up valuable time repeating politegreetings, as set down on page ten of the Book of Etiquette, in thechapter on Calls Made by Inconvenient Foreigners. 

When our countless bows were finished, I asked in my coaxingestvoice if I might see Sada. Presently she came in, dressed inJapanese clothes and beautiful even in her pallor. She waschanged--sad, and a little drooping. The conflict of her ideals ofduty to her mother's people and the real facts in the case, hadmarked her face with something far deeper than girlish innocence. It was inevitable. But above the evidences of struggle there was asomething which said the dead and gone Susan West had left morethan a mere memory. Silently I blessed all her kind. 

Sada was unfeignedly glad to see me, and I longed to take her in myarms and kiss her. But such a display would have marked me inUncle's eyes as a dangerous woman with unsuppressed emotions, andunfit for companionship with Sada. I had hoped his Book ofEtiquette said, "After this, bow and depart. " But my hopes had nota pin-feather to rest on. He stayed right where he was. Allright, old Uncle, thought I, if stay you will, then I shall use alla woman's power to beguile you and a woman's wit to out-trick you, so I can make you show your hand. It is going to be a game withthe girl as the prize. It is also going to be like playingleap-frog with a porcupine. He has cunning and authority to backhim, and I have only my love for Sada. 

For a time I talked at random, directing my whole conversation tohim as the law demands. By accident, or luck, I learned that theweak point in his armor of polite reserve was color prints. Justtalk color prints to a collector and you can pick his pocket withperfect ease. 

My knowledge of color prints could be written on my thumb nail. But I made a long and dangerous shot, by looking wise and asking ifhe thought Matahei compared favorably with Moronobo as painters ofthe same era. I choked off a gasp when I said it, for I would haveyou know that for all I knew, Matahei might have lived in the timeof Jacob and Rebecca, and Moronobo a thousand years afterwards. But I guessed right the very first time and Mura San, with a flashof appreciation at my interest, said that my learning wasremarkable. It was an untruth and he knew that I knew it, but itwas courteous and I looked easy. Then he talked long anddelightfully as only lovers of such things can. At least, it wouldhave been delightful had I not been so anxious to see Sada alone. But it was not to be. At least, not then. But mark one for me, Mate: Uncle was so pleased with my keen and hungry interest incolor prints and my desire to see his collection, that he invitedme to a feast and a dance at the house the next night. 

The following evening I could have hugged the person, male orotherwise, who called my dear host away for a few minutes justbefore the feast began. 

Sada told me hurriedly that Uncle had insisted on her singing everynight at the tea-house. She had first rebelled, and then flatlyrefused, for she did not like the girls. She hated what she sawand was afraid of the men. Her master was furiously angry; said hewould teach her what obedience meant in this country. He wouldmarry her off right away and be rid of a girl who thought herforeign religion gave her a right to disobey her relatives. Shewas afraid he would do it, for he had not asked her to go to thetea-house again. Neither had he permitted her to go out of thehouse. Once she was sick with fear, for she knew Uncle had been ina long consultation with the rich man Hara and he was in such goodhumor afterwards. But Hara, she learned, had gone away. 

She would _not_ sing at these dinners again, not if Uncle chokedher and what must she do! I saw the man returning but I quicklywhispered, "What about Billy?"

Ah, I knew I was right. The rose in her hair was no pinker thanher cheeks. If Billy could only have seen her then, I would wagermy shoes--and shoes are precious in this country--that her duty toher mother's people would have to take a back seat. 

Before Uncle reached us I whispered, "Keep Billy in your heart, Sada. Write him. Tell him. " And in the same breath I heartilythanked Uncle for inviting me. 

It was a feast, Mate--the most picturesque, uneatable feast I eversat on my doubly honorable feet to consume. There were opal-eyedfish with shaded pink scales, served whole; soft brown eels splitup the back and laid on a bed of green moss; soups, thin and thick;lotus root and mountain lily, and raw fish. Each course--and theirname was many--was served on a little two-inch-high lacquer table, with everything to match. Sometimes it was gold lacquer, thenagain green, once red and another black. But it was all a dream ofcolor that shaded in with the little maids who served it; and they, swift, noiseless and pretty, were trained to graceful perfection. The few furnishings of the room were priceless. Uncle sat by inhis silken robes, gracious and courteous, surprising me with hisknowledge of current events. In the guise of host, he is charming. That is, if only he would not always talk with dropped eyelids, giving the impression that he is half dreaming and is only partlyconscious of the world and its follies. And all the time I knowperfectly well that he sees everything around him and clean on tothe city limits. 

Again and again in his talks he referred to his color prints andthe years of patience required to collect them. Right then, Mate, I made a vow to study the pesky things as they have seldom beenattacked before--even though I never had much use for pictures inwhich you cannot tell the top side from the bottom, without alabel. But then, Jack says, my artistic temperament will neverkeep me awake at night. Now I decided all at once to make acollection. Heaven knows what I will do with it. But Uncle grewso enthusiastic he included his niece in the conversation, andwhile his humor was at high tide I coaxed him into a promise thatSada might come down to Hiroshima very soon, and help me look forprints. 

Yes, indeed there was a dance afterwards, and everything wasdeadly, hysterically solemn--so rigidly proper, so stifflyconventional that it palled. It was the most maleless house ofrevelry I ever saw. Why, even the kakemono were pictures ofperfect ladies and the gate-man was a withered old woman. 

There was absolutely nothing wrong I could name. It was allexquisitely, daintily, lawfully Japanese. But I sat by my windowtill early morning. There was a very ghost of a summer moon. Outof the night came the velvety tones of a mighty bell; the sing-songprayers of many priests; the rippling laugh of a little child andthe tinkling of a samisen. Every sound made for simple joy andpeace. But I thought of the girl somewhere beyond the twinklingstreet lights, who, with mixed races in her blood and a strangereligion in her heart, had dreamed dreams of this as a perfectland, and was now paying the price of disillusionment with bittertears. 

Eight o 'clock the next morning. 

I cabled Jack, "Hiroshima for winter. "

He answered, "Thank the Lord you are nailed down at last. "

P. S. --I have bought all the books on color prints I could find. 

October, 1911. 

Hiroshima! Get up and salute, Mate! Is not that name like theface of an old familiar friend? I have to shake myself to realizethat it is not the long ago, but now. A recent picture of Jack andone of you and the babies is about the only touch of the present. Everything is just as it was in the old days, when the difficultiesof teaching in a foreign kindergarten in a _foreigner_ language wasthe least of the battle that faced me. Well, I thought I 'dfinished with battles, but there 's a feeling of fight in the air. 

Same little room, in the same old mission school. Same wall paper, so blue it turned green. And, Lord love us, from the music-roomsstill come the sounds like all the harmonies of a babyorgan-factory gone on a strike. 

But bless you, honey, there is an eternity of difference in havingto stand a thing and doing it of your own free will. As BlackCharity would remark, "I don't pay 'em no mind, " and let themwheeze out their mournful complaints to the same old hymns. 

Had you been here the night my dinky little train pulled into thestation, you would have guessed that it was a big Fourth of Julycelebration or the Emperor's birthday. I would not dare guess howmany girls there were to meet me. It seemed like half a mile ofthem lined up on the platform, and each carried a round red lantern. 

Until they had made the proper bow with deadly precision, there wasnot a smile or a sound. That ceremony over, they charged down uponme in an avalanche of gaiety. They waved their lanterns, theycalled _banzai_, they laughed and sung some of the old time foolishsongs we used to sing. They promptly put to rout all legends oftheir excessive modesty and shyness. They were just young andgirlish. Plain happy. Eager and sweet in their generous welcome. It warmed every fiber of my being. When they thinned out a little, I saw at the other end of the platform a figure flying towards me, with the sleeves of her kimono out-stretched like the wings of agray bird, and a great red rose for a top-knot. It was Miss FirstRiver, a little late, but more than happy, as she sobbed out herwelcome on the front of my clean shirt-waist. 

It was she, you remember, who in all those other years was myfaithful secretary and general comforter. The one who slept acrossmy door when I was ill and who never forgot the hot water bag on acold night. For years she has supported a drunken father and acrazy mother; has sent one brother to America and made a preacherof another. 

Now she is to be married, she told me in a little note she slippedinto my hand as we walked up the Street of the Upper Flowing Riverto the school, adding, "Please guess my heart. "

And miracle of the East! She has known the man a long time andthey are in love! I am so glad I am going to be here for thewedding. It comes off in a few weeks. 

I started work in the kindergarten this morning. It has been saidthat when the Lord ran out of mothers he made kindergartners. Surely he never did a better job--for the kindergartners. Mate, when I stepped into that room, it was like going into an enchantedgarden of morning-glories and dahlias. What a greeting theregiment of young Japlings gave me! I just drank in all thefragrance of joy in the eager comradeship and sweet friendliness ofthe small Mikados and Mikadoesses with a keen delight that made thehours spin like minutes. 

And would you believe it? The first sound that greeted my earsafter their whole duty had been accomplished in the very formalbow, was--"Oh--it is the _skitten Sensei_ (skipping teacher) Askit! A skit! We want to skit!" Of course, they were not the samechildren by many years. But things die slowly in Hiroshima. Evengood reputations. Everything was pushed aside, and work or nowork, teachers and children celebrated by one mad revel of skipping. 

There are many things to do, and getting into the old harness ofsteady routine work and living on the tap of a bell, is not so easyas it sounds, after years of live-as-you-please. But it is goodfor the constitution and is satisfying to the soul. 

I once asked my friend Carson from Colorado if he could choose butone gift in all the world, what would it be? "The contintment ofstidy work, " answered the wise old philosopher from out of theWest; and my heart echoes his wisdom. 

Had a big fat letter from Jack, and the reputation he gives thosegerms he is associating with, is simply disgraceful. He gives mestatistics also. Wish he wouldn't. It takes so much time and Ialways have to count on my fingers. 

He tells me, too, of an English woman who has joined the insectexpedition. Says she is the most brilliant woman he ever met. Thanks awfully. And he has to sit up nights studying, to keep upwith her. I dare say. 

I 'll wager she 's high of color and mighty of muscle and withequal vehemence says a thing is "strawdn'ry" whether it 's adewdrop or a spouting volcano. 

I can't help feeling a little bit envious of her--out there with myJack! Well! I will not get agitated till I have to. 

A note from Sada says Uncle has had another outburst. He stillconsents for her to come down here. Her beautiful ideals have beensmashed to smithereens, and the fact that nothing has ever beeninvented that will stick them together, adds no comfort to thesituation. Her disappointment is heart-breaking. I cannot make amove till I get her to myself and have a life-and-death talk withher. I am playing for time. 

I wrote her a cheerfully foolish letter. Told her I was making allkinds of plans for her visit. I also looked up some doubtfuldates--at least, my textbook on color prints said they weredoubtful--and referred them to Uncle for confirmation, asking thathe give instructions to Sada about a certain dealer in Hiroshimawho has some pictures so violent, positively I would not hang themin the cow-shed. That is, if I cared for Suky. But it is anythingfor conversation now. 

I almost forgot to tell you that we have the same _chef_ as when Iwas kindergarten teacher here in the school years ago. He 'sprosperous as a pawnbroker. He gave me a radiant greeting. "Howare you, _Tanaka_?" quoth I. "All same like damn monkey, _Sensei_, " he replied. But he is unfailingly cheerful and thecleverest grafter in the universe, with an artistic temperamenthighly developed; he sometimes sends in the unchewable roastsmothered in cherry blossoms. 

How wise you were, Mate, to choose home and husband instead of acareer. I love you for it. 

HIROSHIMA, October, 1911. 

For springing surprises, all full of kindness and delicatecourtesies, Japanese girls would be difficult to equal. Before awhisper of it reached me, they made arrangements the other day fora re-union of all my graduates of the kindergarten normal class. It is hard to imagine when they found the time for the elaboratedecorations they put up in the big kindergarten room, and thehundred and one little things they had done to show their love andwarmth of welcome. It was a part of their play to blindfold me andlead me in. When I opened my eyes, there they stood. Twenty-fivehappy faces smiling into mine, and twenty babies to match. It wasthe kiddies that saved the day. I was not a little bewildered, andtears stung my eyes. But with one accord the babies set up a howlat anything so inconceivable as a queer foreign thing with a tanhead appearing in their midst. When peace was restored by naturalmethods, the fun began. 

The girls fairly bombarded me with questions. Could I come to seeevery one of them? Where was Jack? Could they see his picture?Did he say I could come? How "glad" it was to be together again. Did I remember how we used to play? Then everybody giggled. Onethought had touched them all. Why not play now!

The baby question was quickly settled. Soon there was a roaringfire in my study. We raided the classroom for rugs and cushionsand with the collection made down beds in a half ring around thecrackling flames. On each we put a baby, feet fireward. We calledin the _Obasan_ (old woman) to play nurse, and on the table near weplaced a row of bottles marked "First aid to the hungry. " As Iclosed the door of the emergency nursery, I looked back to see asemi-circle of pink heels waving hilariously. Surely the firegoddess never had lovelier devotees than the Oriental cherubs thatlay cooing and kicking before it that day. 

How we played! In all the flowery kingdom so many foolish peoplecould not have been found in one place. What chaff and banter!What laying aside of cares, responsibilities, and heavy hearts, ifthere were any, and just being free and young! For a time at leastthe years fell away from us and we relived all the games andfolk-dances we ever knew. True, time had stiffened joints and someof the movements were about as graceful as a pair of fire tongs andI may be dismissed for some of the fancy steps I showed the girls, but they were happy, and far more supple than when we began. 

When we were breathless we hauled in our old friend the big_hibachi_, with a peck of glowing charcoal right in the middle. Wesat on our folded feet and made a big circle all around, with onlythe glimmer of the coals for a light. Then we talked. 

Each girl had a story to tell, either of herself or some one we hadknown together. Over many we laughed. For others the tearsstarted. 

Warmed by companionship and moved by unwonted freedom, how much theusually reserved women revealed of themselves, their lives, theirtrials and desires! But whatever the story, the dominant note wasacceptance of what was, without protest. It may be fatalism, Mate, but it is indisputable that looking finality in the face hadbrought to all of them a quietness of spirit that no longing forwider fields or personal ambition can disturb. 

None of them had known their husbands before marriage. Few hadever seen them. Many were compelled to live with the difficultiesof an exacting mother-in-law, who had forgotten that she was ever ayoung wife. 

But above it all there was a cheerful peacefulness; a willingnessof service to the husband and all his demands, a joy in childrenand home, that was convincing as to the depth and dignity ofcharacter which can so efface itself for the happiness of others. 

One girl, Miss Deserted Lobster Field, was missing. I asked abouther and this is her story. She was quite pretty; when she leftschool there was no difficulty in marrying her off. Two monthsafterward the young husband left to serve his time in the army. For some reason the mother-in-law did not "enter into the spirit ofthe girl, " and without consulting those most concerned, shedivorced her son and sent the girl home. When the soldier-husbandreturned, a new wife, whom he had never seen, was waiting for himat the cottage door. 

The sent-home wife was terribly in the way in her father's house, for by law she belonged neither there nor in any other place. Itis difficult to re-marry these offcasts. Something, however, hadto be done. So dear father took a stroll out into the village, andbeing sonless adopted a young boy as the head of his house. A_yoshi_ this boy is called. Father married the adopted son to thesoldier's wife that was, securely and permanently. A yoshi has novoice in any family matter and is powerless to get a divorce. 

Moral: If in Japan you want to make sure of keeping a husband whenyou get him, take a boy to raise, then marry him. 

But the wedding of weddings is the one which took place lastsummer, by suggestion. The great unseen has lived in America fortwo years. The maid makes her home in the school. The groom-to-bewrote to a friend in Hiroshima: "Find me a wife. " The friend wroteback: "Here she is. " Miss Chestnut Tree, the maid, fluttered downto the court-house, had her name put on the house register of thefar-away groom, did up her hair as a married woman should and wentback to work. 

To-morrow she sails for America, and we are all going down to waveher good-by and good luck. 

She is married all right. There will be no further ceremony. 

I would not dare tell you all the stories they told me. For Iwould never stop writing and you would never stop laughing orcrying. 

The end of all things comes sometimes. The beautiful afternoonended too soon. But for the rest of time, this day will be crownedwith halos made with the mightiness of the love and the dearness ofthe girls who were once my students, always my friends. 

It took some time to assort the babies and make sure of tying theright one on the right mother's back. Not by one shaved head couldI see the slightest difference in any of them, but mothers have theknack of knowing. 

Out of the big gate they went and down the street all aglow withthe early evening lights twinkling in the purple shadows. Their_geta_ click-clacked against the hard street, to the music of theirvoices as they called back to me, "Oyasumi, Oyasumi, Go kigen yoroshiku" (Honorably rest. Be happy always to yourself). 

My gratitude to this little country is great, Mate. It has givenme much. It was here life taught me her sternest lessons. Andhere I found the heart's-ease of Jack's love. But for nothing am Imore thankful than for the love and friendship of the younggirl-mothers who were my pupils, but from whom I have learned moreof the sweetness and patience of life than I could ever teach. 

November, 1911. 

Mate, there is a man in Hiroshima for whom I long and watch as I dofor no other inhabitant. It is the postman. You should see himgrin as he trots around the corner and finds me waiting at thegate, just as I used to do in the old teaching days. I doublyblest him this morning. Thank you for your letter. It fairlysings content. Homeyness is in every pen stroke. 

Please say to your small son David that I will give his love to the"king's little boy" _if_ I see him. My last glimpse of him was inNikko. Poor little chap. He was permitted to walk for a moment. In that moment he spied a bantam hen, the anxious mother of half adozen puff-ball chickens. Royalty knew no denial and went inpursuit. The bantam knew no royalty, pursued also. The four menand six women attendants were in a panic. The baby was rescuedfrom a storm of feathers and taken back to the palace with an extraguard of three policemen. 

I have been very busy, at play and at work. We have just had awedding tea. My former secretary, Miss First River, as sheexpressed it, "married with" Mr. East Village. 

The wedding took place at the ugly little mission church, which wastransformed into a beautiful garden, with weeping willows, chrysanthemums, and mountain ferns. Also we had a wedding-bell. In a wild moment of enthusiasm I proposed it. It is always a guesswhere your enthusiasm will land you out here. I coaxed a cross oldtinner to make the frame for me. He expostulated the while thatthe thing was impossible, because it had never been done before inthis part of the country. It was rather a weird shape, but I leftthe girls to trim it and went to the church to help decorate. Thebell was to follow upon completion. It failed to follow and afterwaiting an hour or so I sent for it. The girls came carrying onetrimmed bell and one half covered. I asked, "Why are you makingtwo wedding-bells?" My answer was, "Why Sensei! must not the groomhave one for his head too?"

Everybody wanted to do something for the little maid, for she hadso bravely struggled with adversity of fortune and perversity offamily. So there were four flower girls, and the music teacherplayed at the wedding march! In spite of her efforts, Lohengrinseemed suffering as it came from the complaining organ. 

Miss First River was a lovely enough picture, in her bridal robesof crepe, to cause the guests to draw in long breaths ofadmiration, till the room sounded like the coming of a youngcyclone. They were not accustomed to such prominence given abride, nor to weddings served in Western style. 

Oh, yes, the groom was there, a secondary consideration for thefirst time in the history of Hiroshima, but so in love he did notseem to mind the obscurity. 

The ceremony over, the newly-wed seated themselves on a benchfacing the guests. An elder of the church arose and with asolemnity befitting a burial, read a sermon on domestic happinessand some forty or fifty congratulatory telegrams. After an hour orso of this and several speeches, cake was passed around, and it wasover. At the maid's request I gave her an "American watch with agood engine in it" and my blessing with much love in it, and wentback to work. Do not for a minute imagine that because I am not aregularly ordained missionary-sister, that I am not working. Thefact is, Mate, the missionaries are still afflicted with the workhabit, and so subtle is its cheerful influence, it weaves a spellover all who come near. No matter what your private belief is, youroll up your sleeves and pitch right in when you see them at it, and you put all your heart in it and thank the Lord for theopportunity to help. 

The fun begins at 5:30 in the morning, to the merry clang of abrazen bell, and it keeps right on till 6 P. M. For fear of gettingrusty before sunrise, some of the teachers have classes at night. I would rather have rest. I am too tired, then, to think. 

I have put away all my vanity clothes. No need for them inHiroshima and in an icy room on a winter's morning, I do not stopto think whether my dress has an in-curve or an out-sweep. I fallinto the first thing I find and finish buttoning it when the familyfire in the dining-room is reached. A solitary warming-spot to abig house is one of the luxuries of missionary life. 

In between times I 've been cheering up the home sickest youngSwede that ever got loose from his native heath. So firmly did hebelieve that Japan was a land where necessity for work doth notcorrupt nor the thief of pleasure break through and steal, he gaveup a good position at home and signed a three-years' contract withan oil firm. Now he is so sorry, all the pink has gone out of hischeeks. Until he grows used to the thought that living where theSun flag floats is not a continuous holiday, the teachers here atschool take turns in making life livable for him. 

His entertainment means tramps of miles into the country, sails onthe lovely Ujina Bay and climbs over the mountains. In theafternoon the boy is so in evidence, we almost fall over him if westep. Yesterday in desperation I tied an apron on him and let himhelp me make a cake. Even at that, with a dab of chocolate on hischeek and flour on his nose, his summer sky eyes were weepywhenever he spoke of his "Mutter. " I have done everything for himexcept lend him my shoulder to weep on. It may come to that. There is hope, however. One of our teachers is young and pretty. 

Jack, in a much delayed epistle, tells me thrilling and awfulthings about the plague; says he walks through what was once aprosperous village, and now there is not a live dog to wag afriendly tail. Every house and hovel tenantless. Often unfinishedmeals on the table and beds just as the occupants left them. Agreat pit near by full of ashes and bones tells the story of theplague come to town, leaving silent, empty houses, and thedust-laden winds as the only mourners. 

The native doctors gave a splendid banquet the other night. Withthe visiting doctors in full array of evening dress anddecorations. Jack says it looked like a big international flagdraped around the table. Everybody made a speech and Jack has notstopped yet shooting off fireworks in honor of that Englishwoman. 

Well, maybe _I_ should have studied science. It is too late now. Besides, I have Uncle on my hands, and I have to commit to memorypages on color printing that run like this: "Fine as a single hairor swelling imperceptibly till it becomes a broken play of lightand shade or a mass of solid black, it still flows, unworried andwithout hesitation on its appointed course. "

Sada San is coining down nest week. I am looking forward to itwith great delight and hunting for a plan whereby I can help her. 

Suppose Uncle should give me a glad surprise and come too!

HIROSHIMA. 

_My dear Best Girl_:

If ever a sailor needed a compass, I need the level head that topsyour loving heart. I am worried hollow-eyed and as useless as abrass turtle. 

It has been days since I heard from Jack. When he last wrote, hewas going to some remote district out from Mukden. I dare notthink what might happen to him. Says he must travel to the verysource of the trouble. 

If Jack really wanted trouble he could find it nearer home. Is n'tit like him, though, with his German education, to hunt a thing toits lair? I suppose when next I hear from him, he will havedisappeared into some marmot hole at the foot of a tree in aSiberian forest. 

Sada is here. A pale shadow of her former radiant self. She is indeadly fear of what Uncle has written he expects of her when shereturns. 

For the first few days of her visit, she was like an escapedprisoner. She played and sang with the girls. The joy of herlaughter was contagious. Everybody fell a victim to her gaiety. We have been on picnics up the river in a sampan where we waded andfished, then landed on an island of bamboo and fern and cooked ourdinner over a _hibachi_. We have had concerts, tableaux andcharades, here at the school, with a big table for the stage and asilver moon and a green mosquito-net for the scenery. 

In every pastime or pleasure, Sada San has been the moving spirit. Adorably girlish and winning in her innocent joy, I grow faint tothink of the rude awakening. 

She has talked much of Miss West and their life together; theirwork and simple pleasures. 

To the older woman she poured out unmeasured affection, fresh andsweet. Susan made a flower garden of the girl's heart, where, ifeven a tiny weed sprouted it was coaxed into a blossom. But shegave no warning of the savage storms that might come and lay thegarden waste. 

Well, I 'm holding a prayer-meeting a minute that the rosy idealsof the visionary teacher will hold fast when the wind begins toblow. 

I found Sada one day on the bed, a crumpled heap of woe; white andshaking with tearless sobs. Anxious to shield her from thepersistent friendliness of the girls, I persuaded her to come withme to the old Prince's garden, just back of the school. 

She had heard from Uncle. For the first time he definitely statedhis plans. Hara, the rich man, had sent to him a proposal ofmarriage for Sada! Of course, said Uncle, such an offer from soprosperous and prominent a man must be accepted without hesitation. It was wonderful luck for any girl, said dear Mura, especially oneof her birth. Nothing further would be done until she returned, and he wished that to be at once. 

Not a suggestion of feeling or sentiment; not a word as to Sada'swishes or rights. If these were mentioned to him, he wouldundoubtedly reply that the rights in the matter were all his. Asto feelings, a young girl had no business with such things. Hisvoice would be courteous, his manner of saying it would fairlypuncture the air. 

His letter was simply a cold business statement for the sale of thegirl. When I looked at the misery in her young eyes, I couldjoyfully have throttled him and stamped upon him. I wished for adentist's grinding machine and the chance to bore a nice big holeinto each one of his white, even teeth. 

She knows nothing of the man Hara except that he is coarse anddrinks heavily. The girls in the tea-house always seemed afraidwhen he came. Vague whispers of his awful life had come to her. What was she to do? She had no money, no place to go, and Unclewas the only relative she had in the world. 

Mate, I heard a missionary speak a profound truth, when he saidthat no Japanese would ever be worth while till all his relativeswere dead. Their power is a chain forged around individual freedom. 

She had such loving thoughts of Uncle, Sada sobbed, before shecame. She longed to make his home happy and be one of his people. She loved the beautiful country of her mother and craved itsfriendship. 

Miss West had drilled it into her conscience that marriage washoly, and impossible without love. (Bless you, Susan!) She wantedto do her duty, but she _could not_ marry this man whom she hadnever seen but once, and had never spoken to. 

She knew the absolute power the law of the land gave Uncle overher. She knew the uselessness of a Japanese girl strugglingagainst the rigid rules laid down by her elders. She knewresistance might bring punishment. Well, Mate, I do not care everto see again such a look as was in Sada's eyes as she turned herset face to me and forced through her stiff lips a stony, "Iwon't!" But I thanked God for all the Susan Wests and theirteachings. 

In spite of the girl's unhappiness, there was a thrill in theregion of my heart. Of her own free will Sada San had decided. Now there was something definite to work upon. In the back of mybrain a plan was beginning to form. Hope glimmered like aJack-o'-lantern. 

It was late evening. A flaming sunset flushed the sky and bathedthe ancient garden of arched bridges and twisted trees in a pinkishhaze. The very shadows spelled romance and poetry. It was wise touse the charm of the hour for the beginning of my plan. 

I drew Sada down beside me, as we sat in a queer little play-houseby the garden lake. 

In olden times it had been the rest place of the Prince Asano, whenhe was specially moved to write poetry to the moon as it floatedup, a silver ball in a navy-blue sky over "Three UmbrellaMountain. " Had his ghost been strolling along then, it would havefound deeper things than, "in the sadness of the moon night beholdsthe fading blossom of the heart, " to fill his thoughts. 

I led the girl to tell me much of her life in Nebraska; of herfriends and their amusements. Hers had been the usual story of anyfresh wholesome girl. The social life in a small town had limitedher experiences, but had kept her deliciously naive and sweet. 

For the first time in our talks, she avoided Billy's name. Ihailed it as a beautiful sign. I mentioned William myself anddelighted in her red-cheeked confusion. I gently asked her to tellme of him. 

She and Billy had gone to school together, played together and healways seemed like a big brother to her. Once a boy had called hera half-breed and Billy promptly knocked him down and sat on hishead while he manipulated a shingle. 

Another time when they were quite small, the desire of her heartwas to ride on the tricycle of a rich little boy who lived acrossthe street. But the pampered youth jeered at her pleadings andexultingly rode up and down before her. Billy saw and bided histime till the small Croesus was alone. He nabbed him, chucked himin a chicken-coop and stood guard for an hour while Sada rodegloriously. 

Through college they were comrades and rivals. Billy had to workhis way, for he was the poor son of an invalid mother. Fromcollege he had gone straight to a firm of rich manufacturers andwas now one of the big buyers. 

He had pleaded with her not to come to Japan. He loved her. Hewanted her. When she had persisted, he was furious and they hadquarreled. But she had thought she was right, then; she did notknow how dear Billy was, how big and splendid. She had written tohim but seldom, nothing of her disappointment. Maybe he hadmarried. She could not write now. It would be too much likebegging, when she was at bay, for the love she had refused when allwas well. No, she _could not_ tell him. 

We talked long and earnestly in that old garden, and the wind thatsifted through the pine-needles and the waxy leaves was as gentleas if the spirit of Susan West had come to watch and to bless. 

I gained a half promise from her that she would write to Billy atonce, but I didn't stop there. 

Unsuspected by Sada I learned his full address, and Mate, I wrote aletter to the auburn-haired lover in Nebraska, in which I painted apicture that is going to cause something to happen, else I ammistaken in my estimate of the spirit of the West in general andWilliam Weston Milton in particular. 

I told him if he loved the girl to come as fast as steam wouldbring him; that I would help him at the risk of anything, though Ihave no idea how. I have just returned from a solitary promenadeto the post-office through the dark and lonely streets, so thatletter will catch to-morrow's American mail. 

Sada told me that for some reason she had never mentioned Billy'sname to Uncle. Now isn't that a full hand nestling up myhalf-sleeve? Uncle thinks the way clear as an empty race-track, and all he has to do is to saunter down the home stretch and gatherin the prize-money. 

Any scruple on the girl's part will be relentlessly and carelesslybrushed aside as a bothersome insect. If she persists, there isalways force. He fears nothing from me. I am a foreigner--fromhis standpoint too crudely frank to be clever. 

He doubtless argues, if he gives it any thought, that if I could Iwould not dare interfere. And then I am so absorbed incolor-prints! So I am, and, I pray Heaven, in some way to hisundoing. The child has no other friend. Shrinkingly she told meof her one attempt to make friends with some high-class people, andthe uncompromising rebuff she had received upon their discoveringshe was an Eurasian. The pure aristocrats seldom lower the socialbars to those of mixed blood. I wonder, Mate, if the ghost offailure, who was her father, could see the inheritance ofinevitable suffering he has left his child, what his message wouldbe to those who would recklessly dare a like marriage?

Sada goes to Kioto in the morning. She promises not to showresistance, but to keep quiet and alert, writing me at everyopportunity. 

I am sure Uncle's delight in securing so rich a prize as Hara willburst forth in a big wedding-feast and many rich clothes for thetrousseau. I hope so. Preparation will take time. I would rathergain time than treasure. 

I put Sada to bed. Tucked her in and cuddled her to sleep as ifshe had been my own daughter. 

There she lies now. Her face startlingly white against the mass ofblack hair. The only sign of her troubled day is a frequenthalf-sob and the sadness of her mouth, which is constantly readingthe riot act to her laughing eyes in the waking hours. 

Poor girl! She is only one of many whose hopes wither likerose-leaves in a hot sun when met by authority in the form oftyrannical relatives. 

The arched sky over the mountain of "Two Leaves" is all a-shimmerwith the coming day. Thatched roof and bamboo grove are daintilyetched against the amber dawn. Lights begin to twinkle and thriftytradesmen cheerfully call their wares. 

It is a land of peace, a country and people of wondrous charm, butincomprehensible is the spirit of some of the laws that rule itsdaughters. 

_Mate dear_:

One of my girls, when attached with the blues, invariably says inher written apology for a poor lesson, "Please excuse my frivolouswith your imagination, for my heart is warmly. " So say I. 

I am sending you the crepes and the kimono you asked for. Writefor something else. I want an excuse to spend another afternoon inthe two-by-four shop, with a play-garden attached, that should beunder a glass case in a jewelry store. The proprietor gives me atea-party and tells me a few of his troubles every time I go to hisstore. Formerly he kept two shops exclusively for hair ornamentsand ribbons. 

He did a thriving trade with schoolgirls. Recently an order wentout from the mighty maker of school laws to the effect thatlassies, high and low, must not indulge in such foolishextravagances as head ornaments. The ribbon market went to smash. The old man could not give his stock away. He stored his goods andwent to selling high-priced crepes, which everybody was permittedto wear. Make another request quickly. I would rather shop thanthink. 

Also, if you need any information as to how to run acooking-school, I will enclose it with the next package. 

Since the war, scores of Japanese women are wild to learn foreigncooking. On inquiry as to the reason of such enthusiasm, we foundit was because their husbands, while away from home, had acquired ataste for Occidental dainties. Now their wives want to know allabout them so they can set up opposition in their homes to the manytea-houses which offer European food as an extra attraction. Anddepend upon it, if the women start to learn, they stick to it tillthere is nothing more to know on the subject. 

I was to furnish the knowledge and the ladies the necessaryutensils, but I guess I forgot to mention everything we might need. 

The first thing we tried was biscuit. All went well until the timecame for baking. I asked for a pan. A pan? What kind of a pan?Would a wash pan do? No, if it was all the same I would ratherhave a flat pan with a rim. Certainly! Here it was with a rim anda handle! A shiny dust-pan greeted my eyes. Well, there was notvery much difference in the taste of the biscuit. 

The prize accomplishment so far has been pies. Our skill has notonly brought us fame, but the city is in the throes of a pieepidemic. A few days ago when the old Prince of the Ken came tovisit his Hiroshima home, the cooking-ladies, after a few days'consultation, decided that in no better way could royalty bewelcomed than by sending him a lemon pie. They sent two creamyaffairs elaborately decorated with meringued Fujis. They were thehit of the season. The old gentleman wrote a poem about themsaying he ate one and was keeping the other to take back to hiscountry home when he returned a month hence. Then he sent us all apresent. 

We have had only one catastrophe. In a moment of recklessadventure my pupils tried a pound cake without a recipe. A poundcake can be nothing else but what it says. That meant a pound ofeverything and Japanese soda is doubly strong. That was a week agoand we have not been able to stay in the room since. 

Good-by! The tailless pink cat and the purple fish with the paleblue eyes are for the kiddies. 

I am inclosing an original recipe sent in by Miss Turtle Swamp ofClear Water Village:

 Cake. 

 1 cup of _Desecrated_ coconut 5 cup flowers 1 small spoon and barmilla [vanilla] 3 eggs skinned and whipped 1 cup sugar Stir and pat in pan to cook. 

HIROSHIMA, December, 1911. 

_Mate_:

I would be ashamed to tell you how long it is between Jack'sletters. He says the activity of the revolutionists in China isseriously interfering with traffic of every kind. All right, letit go at that! Now he has gone way up north of Harbin. In thename of anything why cannot he be satisfied? England is with him. I do not know who also is in the party. Neither do I care. I donot like it a little bit. Jealous? The idea. Just plain furious. I am no more afraid of Jack falling in love with another woman thanI am of Saturn making Venus a birthday present of one of his rings. The trouble is she may fall in love with him, and it is altogetherunnecessary for any other woman to get her feelings disturbed overJack. 

I fail to see the force of his argument that it is not safe norwise for any woman in that country, and yet for him to show wildenthusiasm over the presence of the Britisher. No, Jack has losthis head over intellect. It may take a good sharp blow for him torealize that intellect, pure and simple, is an icy substitute forlove. Like most men he is so deadly sure of one, he is taking aholiday with the other. 

Of course you are laughing at me. So would Jack. And both wouldsay it is unworthy. That's just it. It is the measly littleunworthies that nag one to desperation. Besides, Mate, I shrinkfrom any more trouble, any more heart-aches as I would from names. The terror of the by-gone years creeps over me and covers thepresent like a pall. 

There is only one thing left to do. Work. Work and dig, tillthere is not an ounce of strength left for worry. I stay in thekindergarten every available minute. The unstinted friendship ofthe kiddies over there, is the heart's-ease for so many of life'shurts. 

There are always the long walks, when healing and uplift of spiritcan be found in the beauty of the country. I tramp away all alone. The little Swede begs often to go. At first I rather enjoyed him. But he is growing far too affectionate. I am not equal to caringfor two young things; a broken-hearted girl and a homesick fat boyare too much for me. He is improving so rapidly I think it betterfor him to talk love stories and poetry to some one moreappreciative. I am not in a very poetical mood. He might just aswell talk to the pretty young teacher as to talk about her all thetime. 

I have scores of friends up and down the many country roads Itravel. The boatmen on the silvery river, who always wave theirhead rags in salute, the women hoeing in the fields with babies ontheir backs, stop long enough to say good day and good luck. Thelaughing red-cheeked coolie girls pause in their work of drivingpiles for the new bridge to have a little talk about the wonders ofa foreigner's head. With bated breath they watch while I give themproof that my long hatpins do not go straight through my skull. 

The sunny greetings of multitudes of children lift the shadows fromthe darkest day, and always there is the glorious scenery; theshadowed mystery of the mountains, a turquoise sky, the blossomsand bamboo. The brooding spirit of serenity soon envelops me, andin its irresistible charm is found a tender peace. 

On my way home, in the river close to shore, is a crazy littletea-house. It is furnished with three mats and a paper lantern. The pretty hostess, fresh and sweet from her out-of-door life, brings me rice, tea and fresh eel. She serves it with suchgracious hospitality it makes my heart warm. While I eat, shetells me stories of the river life. I am learning about the sociallife of families of fish and their numerous relatives that sport inthe "Thing of Substance River"; the habits of the red-headed wildducks which nest near; of the god and goddesses who rule the riverlife, the pranks they play, the revenge they take. And, too, I amlearning a lesson in patience through the lives of the humblefishermen. In season seven cents a day is the total of theirearnings. At other times, two cents is the limit. On this theymanage to live and laugh and raise a family. It is all so simpleand childlike, so free from pretension, hurry and rush. SometimesI wonder if it is not we, with our myriad interests, who havestrayed from the real things of life. 

On my road homeward, too, there is a crudely carved Buddha. He isso altogether hideous, they have put him in a cage of wooden slats. On certain days it is quite possible to try your fortune, by buyinga paper prayer from the priest at the temple, chewing it up andthrowing it through the cage at the image. If it sticks you willbe lucky. 

My aim was not straight or luck was against me to-day. My prayersare all on the floor at the feet of the grinning Buddha. 

Jack is in Siberia and Uncle has Sada. I have not heard from hersince she left. I am growing truly anxious. 

January, 1912. 

_Dearest Mate_:

At last I have a letter from Jack. Strange to say I am about asfull of enthusiasm over the news he gives me as a thorn-tree is ofpond-lilies. 

He says he has something like a ton of notes and things on thevarious stunts of the bubonic germ in Manchuria when it is feelingfit and spry. But he is seized with a conviction that he must gosomewhere in northwest China where he thinks there is happyhunting-ground of evidence which will verify his report to theGovernment. Suppose the next thing I hear he will be chasingaround the outer rim of the old world hunting for somebody toverify the Government. 

There is absolutely no use of my trying to say the name of theplace he has started for. Even when written it looks too wicked topronounce. It is near the Pass that leads into the Gobi Desert. 

Jack wrote me to go to Shanghai and he would join me later. I amwriting him that I can't start till the fate of Sada San is settledfor better or for worse. 

NANKOW, CHINA. February, 1912. 

_Mate_:

News of Jack's desperate illness came to me ten days ago and haslaid waste my heart as the desert wind blasts life. I have beenflying to him as fast as boat and train and cart will take me. 

The second wire reached me in Peking last night. Jack has typhusfever and the disease is nearing the crisis. I have read themessage over and over, trying to read between the lines some faintglimmer of hope; but I can get no comfort from the noncommittalwords except the fact that Jack is still alive. I am on my way tothe terminus of the railroad, from where the message was sent. Icame this far by train, only to find all regular traffic stopped byorder of the Government. The line may be needed for the escape ofthe Imperial Family from Peking if the Palace is threatened by therevolutionists. 

Orders had been given that no foreigner should leave the Legationenclosure. I bribed the room boy to slip me through the sidestreets and dark alleys to an outside station. I must go the restof the distance by cart when the road is possible, by camel ordonkey when not. Nothing seems possible now. Everything withinsight looks as if it had been dead for centuries, and the peoplewalking around have just forgotten to be buried. 

I am wild with impatience to be gone but neither bribes nor threatswill hurry the coolies who take their time harnessing the donkeysand the camels. 

A ring of ossified men, women and children have formed about me, staring with unblinking eyes, till I feel as if I was full of peepholes. It is not life, for neither youth nor love nor sorrow hasever passed this way. The tiniest emotion would shrivel if itdared begin to live. Maybe they are better so. But then, theyhave never known Jack. 

How true it is that one big heart-ache withers up all the littleones and the joy of years as well. With this terror upon me, evenSada's desperate trouble has faded and grown pale as the memory ofa dream. Jack is ill and I must get to him, though my body isracked with the rough travel, and the ancient road holds the end oflove and life for me. 

Around the sad old world I am stretching out my arms to you, Mate, for the courage to face whatever comes, and your love which hasnever failed me. 

KALGAN. 

Such wild unbelievable things have happened!

After twenty miles of intolerable shaking on the back of a camel, my battered body fell off at the last stopping-place, whichhappened to be here. There is no hotel. But three blessedEuropean hoys living at this place--agents for a big tobaccofirm--took me into their little home. From that time--ten daysago--till now, they have served and cared for me as only sons whohave not forgotten their mothers could do. 

On that awful night I came, while forcing food on me, they saidthat Jack had stopped with them on his way out to the desert, wherehe was to complete his work for the Government. He was to go partof the distance with the English woman, who, with her camels andher guides, was traveling to the Siberian railroad. The next daythey heard the whole caravan had returned. Four days out Jack hadbeen taken ill. The only available shelter was an old monasteryabout a mile from the village. To this he had been moved. Myhosts opened a window and pointed to a far-away, high-up light. Itwas like the flicker of a match in a vast cave of darkness. Theytold me wonderful things of the rooms in the monastery, which werecut in the solid rock of the mountain-side, and the strange dwarfpriest who kept it. 

They lied beautifully and cheerfully as to Jack's condition, andall the time in their hearts they knew that he had the barestchance to live through the night. 

The woman doctor had nursed him straight through, permitting no oneelse near. The dwarf priest brought her supplies. 

Her last message for the day had been, "The crisis will soon bepassed. "

Even now something grips my throat when I remember how those dearboys worked to divert me, until my strength revived. They riggedup a battered steamer-chair with furs and bath robes, put me in it, promising that as soon as I was rested they would see what could bedone to get me up to the monastery. But I was not to worry. Allof them set about seeing I had no time to think. Each took histurn in telling me marvelous tales of the life in that wildcountry. One boy brought in the new litter of puppies, begging meto carefully choose a name for each. The two ponies were trottedout and put through their pranks before the door in the half lightof a dim lantern. 

They showed me the treasures of their bachelor life, the familyphotographs and the various little nothings which link isolatedlives to home and love. They even assured me they had had _the_table-cloth and napkins washed for my coming. Household interestsexhausted, they began to talk of boyhood days. Their quiet voicessoothed me. Prom exhaustion I slept. When I woke, my watch saidone o'clock. The house was heavy with sleeping-stillness. 

Through my window, far away the dim light wavered. It seemed to besignaling me. My decision was quick. I would go, and alone. If Icalled, my hosts would try to dissuade me, and I would not listen. For life or for death, I was going to Jack. The very thought lentme strength and gave my feet cunning stealthiness. A high wall wasaround the house but, thank Heaven, they had forgotten to lock thegate. 

Soon I was in the deserted, deep-rutted street shut in on eitherside by mud hovels, low and crouching close together in theirpitiful poverty. There was nothing to guide me, save that distantspeck of flame. Further on, I heard the rush of water and made outthe dim line of an ancient bridge. Half way across I stumbled. From the heap of rags my foot had struck, came moans, and, by thesound of it, awful curses. It was a handless leper. I saw thestumps as they flew at me. Sick with horror, I fled and found anopen place. 

The light still beckoned. The way was heavy with high, driftedsand. The courage of despair goaded me to the utmost effort. Forced to pause for breath, I found and leaned against a post. Itwas a telegraph pole. In all the blackness and immeasurableloneliness, it was the solitary sign of an inhabited world. Andthe only sound was the wind, as it sang through the taut wires inthe unspeakable sadness of minor chords. A camel caravan came by, soft-footed, silent and inscrutable. I waited till it passed outto the mysteries of the desert beyond the range of hills. 

I began again to climb the path. It was lighter when I creptthrough a broken wall and found myself in a stone courtyard, withgilded shrines and grinning Buddhas. One image more hideous thanthe rest, with eyes like glow-worms, untangled its legs and cametowards me. I shook with fright. But it was only the dwarfpriest--a monstrosity of flesh and blood, who kept the temple. Ipointed to the light which seemed to be hanging to the side of therocks above. He slowly shook his head, then rested it on his handsand closed his eyes. I pushed him aside and painfully crawled upthe shallow stone stairs, and found a door at the top. I openedit. Lying on a stone bed was Jack, white and still. A womanleaned over him with her hand on his wrist. Her face was heavilylined with a long life of sorrow. On her head was a crown ofsnow-white hair. She raised her hand for silence. I fell at herfeet a shaking lump of misery. 

I could not live through it again, Mate--those remaining hoursof agony, when every second seemed the last for Jack. But morningdawned, and with the miracle of a new-born day came the magic giftof life. When Jack opened his eyes and feebly stretched out hishand to me, my singing heart gave thanks to God. 

And so the crisis was safely passed. And the hateful science Ibelieved was taking Jack from me, in the skilful hands of a goodwoman, gave him back to me. 

The one comfort left me in the humiliation of my petty, unreasoningjealousy--yes, I had been jealous--was to tell her. 

And she, whose name was Edith Bowden, opened to me the door of hersecret garden, wherein lay the sweet and holy memories of herlover, dead in the long ago. 

For forty long and lonesome years she had unfalteringly held beforeher the vision of her young sweetheart and his work, and throughthem she had toiled to make real his ideals. 

I take it all back, Mate. A career that makes such women as thisis a beautiful and awesome thing. 

In spite of all my pleadings to come with us, Miss Bowden startedonce again on her lonely way across the wind-swept plains, back toEurope and her work, leaving me with a never-to-be-forgottenhumility of spirit and an homage in my heart that never before haveI paid a woman. 

I am too polite to say it, but I have had a taste of the place youspell with four letters. Also of Heaven. Just now, with Jack'sthin hand safely in mine, I am hovering around the doors ofParadise in the house of the boys in Kalgan. If you could see thedusty little Chinese-Mongolian village, hanging on the upper lip ofthe mouth of the Gobi Desert, you would think it a strange place tofind bliss. But joy can beautify sand and Sodom. 

Yesterday my hosts made me take a ride out into the Desert. Oh, Mate, in spots these glittering golden sands are sublime. My heartwas so light and the air so rare, it was like flying through sunlitspace on a legless horse. 

Life, or what answers to it, has been going on in the same waysince thousands of years before Pharaoh went on that wild lark tothe Red Sea. Every minute I expected to see Abraham and Sarahtrailing along with their flocks and their families, hunting aplace to stake out a claim, and Noah somewhere on a near-bysand-hill, taking in tickets for the Ark Museum, while the "two bytwo's" fed below. I never heard of these friends being in thispart of the country, but you can never tell what a wandering spiritwill do. 

Jack is getting fat laughing at me. But Jack never was a lady anddoes not know what havoc imagination and the spell of the East canplay with a loving but lonesome wife. And take it from me, beloved, he never will. Nothing gained in exposing all yourfollies. He sends love to you. So do I--from the joyful heart ofa woman whose most terrible troubles never happened. 

PEKING, February, 1912. 

_Mate_:

I do not know whether I can write you sanely or not. But write youI must. It is my one outlet in these days of anxious waiting. Ihave just cabled Billy Milton, in Nebraska, to come by the firststeamer. I have not an idea what he will do when he gets to Japan, or how I will help him; but he is my one hope. 

Yesterday, on our arrival here, I found a desperate letter fromSada San, written hurriedly and sent secretly. She finds that theman Hara, whom her uncle has promised she shall marry, has a wifeand three children!

The man, on the flimsiest pretest, has sent the woman home to clearhis establishment for the new wife. And, Mate, can you believe it, he has kept the children--the youngest a nursing baby, just threemonths old!

One of the geisha girls in the tea-house slipped in one night andtold Sada. She went at once to Uncle and asked him if it was true. He said that it was, and that Sada should consider herself verylucky to be wanted by such a man. Upon Sada telling him she woulddie before she would marry the man, he laughed at her. Since thenshe has not been permitted to leave her room. 

The lucky day for marriage has been found and set. Thank goodness, it is seventeen days from now, and if Billy races across byVancouver he can make it. In the meantime Nebraska seems a millionmiles away. I know the heartbeats of the fellow who is riding tothe place of execution, with a reprieve. But seventeen days is adeadly slow nag. 

I had already told Jack of my anxiety for Sada San and of the fatethat was hanging over her, but now that the blow has suddenlyfallen I dare not tell him. In a situation like this I know whatJack would want to do; and in his present weakened condition itmight be fatal. 

It is useless for me to appeal to anybody out here. Those in Japanwho would help are powerless. Those who could help would smileserenely and tell me it was the law. And law and custom supersedeany lesser question of right or wrong. By it the smallest act ofevery inhabitant is regulated, from the quantity of air he breathesto the proper official place for him to die. But, imagine the_majesty_ of any law which makes it a ghastly immorality to mildlysass your mother-in-law, and a right, lawful and moral act for aman, with any trumped-up excuse, to throw his legal wife out of thehouse, that room may be made for another woman who has appealed tohis fancy. 

Japan may not need missionaries, but, by all the Mikados that everwere or will be, her divorce laws need a few revisions more thanthe nation needs battleships. You might run a country withoutgunboats, but never without women. 

This case of Hara is neither extreme nor unusual. I have been faceto face in this flowery kingdom with tragedies of this kind when awoman was the blameless victim of a man's caprice, and he wasupheld by a law that would shame any country the sun shines on. Bya single stroke of a pen through her name, on the records at thecourthouse, the woman is divorced--sometimes before she knows it. Then she goes away to hide her disgrace and her broken heart--notbroken because of her love for the man who has cast her off, butbecause, from the time she is invited to go home on a visit and herclothes are sent after her, on through life, she is marked. If shehas children, the chances are that the husband retains possessionof them, and she is seldom, if ever, permitted to see them. 

I know your words of caution would be, Mate, not to be rash in mycondemnations, to remember the defects of my own land. I amneither forgetful nor rash. I do not expect to reform the country, neither am I arguing. I am simply telling you facts. 

I know, too, that some Fountain Head of knowledge will rise fromthe back seat and beg to state that the new civil code containsmany revisions and regulates divorce. The only trouble with thenew civil code is that it keeps on containing the revisions andonly in theory do they get beyond the books in which they arewritten. 

Next to my own, in my affections, stands this sunlit, flower-covered land which has given the world men and womenunselfishly brave and noble. But there are a few deformities inthe country's law system that need the knife of a skilled surgeon, amputating right up to the last joint; among these the divorce lawsmade in ancient times by the gone-to-dust but still sacred andrevered ancestors. Who would give a hang for any old ancestor socut on the bias?

I cannot write any more. I am too agitated to be entertaining. 

I wrote Sada a revised version of Blue Beard that would turn thatvenerable gentleman gray, could he read it. Uncle will be sure to. I dare him to solve the puzzle of my fancy writing. But I madeSada San know the Prince Red Head was coming to her rescue, if theengine did not break down. 

Now there is nothing to do but wait and pray there are no weakspots in Billy's backbone. 

Cable just received. William is on the wing!

PEKING, CHINA, February, 1912. 

Well, here we still are, my convalescent Jack and I, bottled up inthe middle of a revolution, and poor, helpless little Sada Sancalling to me across the waters. Verily, these are strenuous daysfor this perplexed woman. 

It is a tremendous sight to look out upon the incomprehensiblesaffron-hued masses that crowd the streets. I no longer wonder atthe color of the Yellow Sea. 

But, Oh, Mate, if I could only make you see the gilded walled city, in which history of the ages is being laid in dust and ashes, whilethe power that made it is hastening down the back alley to amountain nunnery for safety! Peking is like a beautiful goldenwitch clothed in priceless garments of dusty yellow, girded withropes of pearls. Her eyes are of jade, and so fine is the powderedsand she sifts from her tapering fingers it turns the air to anamber haze; so potent its magic spell, it fascinates and enthralls, while it repels. 

For all the centuries the witch has held the silken threads, whichbound her millions of subjects, she has been deaf--deaf to thecries of starvation, injustice and cruelty; heedless to devastationof life by her servants; smiling at piles of headless men; gloatingover torture when it filled her treasure-house. 

Ever cruel and heartless, now she is all a-tremble and sick withfear of the increasing power of the mighty young giant--Revolution. She sees from afar her numbered days. She is crying for the mercyshe never showed, begging for time she never granted. She is atottering despot, a dying tyrant, but still a beautiful goldenwitch. 

We have not been here long but my soul has been sickened by thesights of the pitiless consequences of even the rumors of war allover the country and particularly in Peking. If only theresponsible ones could suffer. But it is the poor, the innocentand the old who pay the price for the greed of the others. Inthis, how akin the East is to the West! The night we came therewas a run on the banks caused by the report that Peking was to belooted and burned. Crowds of men, women and even children, hollow-eyed and haggard, jammed the streets before the doors of thebanks, pleading for their little all. Some of them had as much astwo dollars stored away! But it was the twenty dimes that deferredslow starvation. Banks kept open through the night. Officials andclerks worked to exhaustion, satisfying demands, hoping to placatethe mob and avert the unthinkable results of a riot. Countlesssoldiers swarmed the streets with fixed bayonets. But thebloodless witch has no claim to one single heart-beat of loyaltyfrom the unpaid wretches who wear the Imperial uniform; and when bysimply tying a white handkerchief on their arms they go over ingroups of hundreds to the Revolutionists, they are only repayingtreachery in its own foul coin. 

Though I hate to leave Jack even for an hour, I have to get outeach day for some fresh air. To-day it seemed to me, as I walkedamong the crowds, fantastic in the flickering flames of bonfiresand incandescent light, that life had done its cruel worst to thesepeople--had written her bitterest tokens of suffering and woe inthe deeply furrowed faces and sullenly hopeless eyes. 

Earlier in the year thousands of farmers and small tradesmen hadcome in from the country to escape floods, famine and robber-bands. Hundreds had sold their children for a dollar or so and for dayslived on barks and leaves, as they staggered toward Peking forrelief. 

Now thousands more are rushing from the city to the hills or to thedesert, fleeing from riot and war, the strong carrying the sick, the young the old--each with a little bundle of household goods, all camping near the towering gates in the great city wall, readyto dash through when the keeper flings them open in the earlymorning. 

And through it all the merciless execution of any suspect orundesirable goes merrily on. Close by my carriage a cart passed. In it were four wretched creatures with hands and feet bound andpigtails tied together. They were on their way to a plot ofcrimson ground where hundreds part with their heads. By the sideof the cart ran a ten-year-old boy, his uplifted face distortedwith agony of grief. One of the prisoners was his father. 

I watched the terrified masses till a man and woman of therespectable farmer class came by, with not enough rags on to hidetheir half-starved bodies. Between them they carried on theirshoulders a bamboo pole, from which was swung a square of matting. On this, in rags, but clean, lay a mere skeleton of a baby withbeseeching eyes turned to its mother; and from its lips camepiteous little whines like a hunger-tortured kitten. Tearsstreamed down the woman's cheeks as she crooned and babbled to thechild in a language only a tender mother knows, but in her eyes wasthe look of a soul crucified with helpless suffering. 

I slipped all the money I had into the straw cradle and fled to ourroom. Jack was asleep. I got into my bed and covered up my headto shut out the horrors of the multitude that are hurting my ownheart like an eternal toothache. 

But, honey, bury me deep when there isn't a smile lurking aroundthe darkest corner. Neither war nor famine can wholly eliminatethe comical. Yesterday afternoon some audacious youngsters askedme to chaperon a tea-party up the river. We went in a gailydecorated house-boat, made tea on a Chinese stove of impossibleshape, and ate cakes and sandwiches innumerable. Aglow with youthand its joys, reckless of danger, courting adventure, the promotersof the enterprise failed to remember that we were outside the citywalls, that the gates were closed at sunset and nothing but awritten order from an official could open them. We had no suchorder. When it was quite dark, we faced entrances doubly lockedand barred. The guardian inside might have been dead for all heheeded our importunities and bribes. At night outside the hugepile of brick and stone, inclosing and guarding the city fromlawless bandits, life is not worth a whistle. A dismayed littlegiggle went round the crowd of late tea revelers as we looked upthe twenty-five feet of smooth wall topped by heavy battlements. Just when we had about decided that our only chance was to stand oneach other's shoulders and try to hack out footholds with a breadknife, some one suggested that we try the effect of college yellson the gentlemen within. Imagine the absurdity of a dozenterrified Americans standing there in the heart of China yelling inunison for Old Eli, and Nassau, and the Harvard Blue!

The effect was magical. Curiosity is one of the strongest ofOriental traits, and before long the gates creaked on their hingesand a crowd of slant-eyed, pig-tailed heads peered wonderingly out. The rest was easy, and I heard a great sigh of relief as Imarshaled my little group into safety. 

Jack's many friends here in Peking are determined that I shall haveas good a time as possible. Worried by disorganized business, harassed with care, they always find opportunity not only to planfor my pleasure but see that I have it, properly attended--for ofcourse Jack is not yet able to leave his room. 

Beyond the power of any man is the prophecy of what may happen toofficial-ridden Peking. The air is surcharged with mutterings. The brutally oppressed people may turn at last, rise, and, in theirfury, rend to bits all flesh their skeleton fingers grasp. 

The Legations grouped around the hotel are triply guarded. Theshift, shift, shift of soldiers' feet as they march the streetsrubs my nerves like sandpaper. 

Rest and sleep are impossible. We seem constantly on the edge of aprecipice, over which, were we to go, the fate awaiting us wouldreduce the tortures of Hades to pin-pricks. The Revolutionistshave the railroads, the bandits the rivers. Yet, if I don't reachJapan in twelve days now, I will be too late. Poor Sada San!

Please say to your small son David that his request to send him anEmperor's crown to wear when he plays king, is not difficult togrant. At the present writing crowns in the Orient are notfashionable. As I look out of my window, the salmon-pink walls ofthe Forbidden City rise in the dusty distance. Under the flamingyellow roof of the Palace is a frail and frightened littlesix-year-old boy--the ruler of millions--who, if he knew and could, would gladly exchange his priceless crown for freedom and a bag ofmarbles. 

Good night. 

PEKING, Next day. 

It is Sunday afternoon and pouring rain. Outside it is so drearilymournful, I keep my back turned. At least, the dripping wet willsecure me a quiet hour or so. 

My Chinese room-boy reasons that only a sure-enough somebody wouldhave so many callers and attend so many functions--not knowing thatit is only because Jack's wife will never lack where he hasfriends. Hence the boy haunts my door ready to serve and reap hisreward. But I am sure it was only kindness that prompted him onthis dreary day to set the fire in the grate to blazing and arrangethe tea-table, the steaming kettle close by, and turn on all thelights. How cozy it is! How homelike!

Jack grows stronger each day, and crosser, which is a good sign. At last I have told him of Sada San's plight; and he is forstarting for Kioto to-morrow to "wipe the floor with Uncle Mura, "as he elegantly expresses it. But of course he 's still too weakto even think of such a journey. 

He makes me join in the gaieties that still go on despite theturmoil and unrest. I must tell you of one dinner which, of themany brilliant functions, was certainly unique. 

It was a sumptuous affair given by one of the Legation officials. I wore my glory dress--the color Jack loves best. I went in acarriage guarded on the outside by soldiers. Beside me sat astrapping European with his pockets bulging suspiciously. I wasnot in the least afraid of the threatening mob which stopped ustwice. 

I could almost have welcomed an attack, just to get behind my bigescort and see him clear the way. 

Merciful powers! Hate is a sweet and friendly word for what themasses feel for the foreigners, whom most believe to be in leaguewith the Government. 

Happily, nothing more serious happened than breaking all thecarriage windows; and, in the surprise that awaited me in thedrawing-room of the gorgeously appointed mansion, I quite forgotthat. 

Who should be almost the first to greet me but Dolly and Mr. Dolly, otherwise the Seeker, married and on their honeymoon! She wasradiant. And oh, Mate, if you could only see the change in him!As revolutions seem to be in order, Dolly has worked a prize one onhim, I think. He was positively gentle and showed signs of themaking of a near gentleman. I was glad to see them, and more thanglad to see Dolly's unfeigned happiness. The mournful littleprince has gone on his way to lonely, isolated Sikkam to take uphis task of endless reincarnation. 

Very soon I found another surprise--my friend Mr. Carson of theRockies. It seemed a little incongruous that the simple, unlettered Irishman should have found his way into the brilliant, many-countried company, where were men who made history and heldthe fate of nations in their hands and built or crumbled empires, and women to match, regally gowned, keen of wit and wisdom. 

But, bless you, he was neither troubled nor out of place. He wasthe essence of democracy and mixed with the guests with the sameinnocent simplicity that he would have shown at his village churchsocial. 

He greeted me cordially, asked after Jack and spokeenthusiastically of his work. 

I smiled when I saw that in the curious shuffling of cards he hadbeen chosen as the dinner escort of a tall and stately Russianbeauty. I watched them walk across the waxen floor and heard himsay to her, "Sure if I had time I would telegraph for me rollerskates to guide ye safely over the slickness of the boards. " Heranswering laugh, sweet and friendly, was reassuring. 

For a while it was a deadly solemn feast. The difficulty was tofind topics of common interest without stumbling upon forbiddensubjects. You see, Mate, times are critical; and the only way tokeep out of trouble is not to get in by being too wordy. By myside sat a stern-visaged leader of the Revolution. Across the way, a Manchu Prince. 

Mr. Carson and the beauty were just opposite. I became absorbed inwatching her exquisite tact in guiding the awkward hands of herpartner through the silver puzzle on each side of his plate to theright eating utensils at the proper time. I saw her pleasedinterest in all his talk, whether it was crops, cider or pigtails. And for her gentle courtesy and kindness to my old friend I blessedher and wiped out a big score I had against her country. How gladRussia will be!

But the Irishman was not happy. Course after course had beenserved. With every rich course came a rare wine. Colorado shook ashaggy gray head at every bottle, though he was choking withthirst. He was a teetotaler. Whenever boy No. 1, who served thewine, approached, he whispered, "Water. " It got to be "Water, please, _water_!" Then threateningly, "Water, blame ye! Fetch mewater. " It was vain pleading. At best a Chinaman is no friend towater; and when the word is flung at him with an Emerald accent itfails to arrive. But ten courses without moisture breddesperation; and all at once, down the length of that banquetboard, went a hoarsely whispered plea, in the richest imaginablebrogue, "Hostess, _where 's_ the pump?"

It was like a sky-rocket scattering showers of sparks on a loweringcloud. In a twinkling the heaviness of the feast was dispersed byshouts of laughter. Everybody found something delightful to tellthat was not dangerous. 

We wound up by going to a Chinese theater. When we left, after twohours of death and devastation, the demands of the drama for gorewere still so great, assistants had to be called from out theaudience to change the scenery and dead men brought to life to goon with the play. 

When I got back Jack was, of course, asleep; but he had been busyin my absence. I found a note on my pin-cushion saying he had senta wire to meet Billy's steamer on its arrival at Yokohama and thatI 'm to start alone for Japan in a day or two--as soon as it seemssafe to travel. 

Next day. 

Honey, there is a thrill a minute. I may not live to see thefinish, for the soldiers have mutinied and joined the mob, maddenedwith lust for blood and loot. I must tell you about it while Ican; for it is not every day one has the chance of seeing a freshand daring young Republic sally up to an all-powerful dynasty, centuries old with tyranny and treasure, and say, "Now, you vamoosethe Golden Throne. It matters not where you go, but hustle; and Idon't want any back talk while you are doing it. "

If I was n't so excited I might be nervous. But, Mate, when yousee a cruelly oppressed people winning their freedom with almostnothing to back them hut plain grit, you want to sing, dance, prayand shout all at the same time, and there is no mistake about youngChina having a mortgage on all the surplus nerve of the country. Of course, the mob, awful as it is, is simply an unavoidableattachment of war. 

All day there has been terrible fighting, and I am told the streetsare blocked with headless bodies and plunder that could not becarried off. 

The way the mob and the soldier-bandits got into the city is astory that makes any tale of the Arabian Nights fade away into dullmyth. 

Some years ago a Manchu official, high in command, espied abeautiful flower-girl on the street and forthwith attached her ashis private property. So great was her fascination, the tableswere turned and he became the slave--till he grew tired. He notonly scorned her, but he deserted her. Though a Manchu maid, theRevolution played into her tapering fingers the opportunity for thesweetest revenge that ever tempted an almond-eyed beauty. It hadbeen the proud boast of her officer master that he could resist anyattacking party and hold the City Royal for the Manchus. Alas! hereckoned without a woman. She knew a man outside the city walls--aleader of an organization--half soldiery, half bandits--whothirsted for the chance to pay off countless scores againstofficers and private citizens inside. After a vain effort to winback her lover, the flower-girl communicated with the captain ofthe rebel band, who had only been deterred from entering the cityby a high wall twenty feet thick. She told him to be ready to comein on a certain night--the gates would be open. The night came. She slipped from doorway to doorway through the guarded streetstill she reached the appointed place. Even the sentriesunconsciously lent a hand to her plan, in leaving their posts andseeking a tea-house fire by which to warm their half-frozen bodies. The one-time jewel of the harem, who had seldom lifted her ownteacup, tugged at the mighty gates with her small hands till thebars were raised and in rushed the mob. She raced to her home, decked herself in all the splendid jewels he had given her, stuckred roses in her black hair, and stood on a high roof and jeeredher lover as he fled for his life through the narrow streets. 

The city is bright with the fires started by the rabble. Theyellow roofs, the pink walls and the towering marble pagodas catchthe reflection of the flames, making a scene of barbaric splendorthat would reduce the burning of Rome to a feeble little bonfire. 

The pitiful, the awful and the very funny are so intermixed, myface is fatally twisted trying to laugh and cry at the same time. Right across from my window, on the street curbing, a Chinaman isgetting a hair-cut. In the midst of all the turmoil, hissingbullets and roaring mobs, he sits with folded hands and closed eyesas calm as a Joss, while a strolling barber manipulates a pair offoreign shears. For him blessed freedom lies not in the change ofMonarchy to Republic, but in the shearing close to the scalp thehated badge of bondage--his pigtail. 

And, Mate, the first thing the looters do when they enter a houseis to snatch down the telephones and take them out to burn; for, asone rakish bandit explained, they were the talking-machines of theforeign devils and, if left, might reveal the names of the looters!

High-born ladies with two-inch feet stumble by, their calciminedfaces streaked with tears and fright. Gray-haired old men shiverwith terror and try to hide in any small corner. Lost children anddeserted ones, frantic with fear, cling to any passer-by, only tobe shoved into the street and often trampled underfoot. Andthrough it all, the mob runs and pitilessly mows down with swordand knife as it goes, and plunders and sacks till there is nothingleft. 

As I stood watching only a part of this horror, I heard along-haired brother near me say, as he kept well under cover, "Inscrutable Providence!" But (my word!) I don't think it fair tolay it all on Providence. 

So far the foreign Legations have been well guarded. But there isno telling how long the overworked soldiers can hold out. Whenthey cannot, the Lord help the least one of us. 

Jack's friends are working day and night, guarding their property. 

I guess the Seeker found more of the plain unvarnished Truth in theEast than he bargained for. He and Dolly have disappeared fromPeking. 

Nobody undresses these nights and few go to bed. Our bodyguard isthe room-boy. I asked him which side he was on, and without achange of feature he answered, "Manchu Chinaman. Allee sameebimeby, Missy, I make you tea. " I have a suspicion that he sleepsacross our door, for his own or our protection, I am not surewhich; but sometimes, when the terrible howls of fighters reach me, as I doze in a chair, I turn on the light and sit by my fire toshake off a few shivers, trying to make believe I 'm home inKentucky, while Jack sleeps the sleep of the convalescent. Then asoft tap comes at my door and a very gentle voice says, "Missy, Imake you tea. " Shades of Pekoe! I 'll drown if this keeps up muchlonger. He comes in, brews the leaves, then drops on his haunchesand looks into the fire. Not by the quiver of an eyelash does hegive any sign, no matter how close the shots and shouts. Inscrutable and immovable, he seems a thing utterly apart from thetremendous upheaval of his country. And yet, for all anybodyknows, he may be chief plotter of the whole movement. His unmovedserenity is about the most soothing thing in all this Hades. I amnot really and truly afraid. Jack is with me, and just over there, above the crimson glare of the burning city, gently but surelyfloat the Stars and Stripes. 

Good night, beloved Mate. I will not believe we are dead till ithappens. Besides, I simply could not die till Jack and I havesaved Sada San. 

By the way, I start for Japan tomorrow. The prayers of thecongregation are requested!

KIOTO HOTEL, KIOTO, March, 1912. 

_Beloved Mate_:

Rejoice with me! Sing psalms and give thanks. Something hashappened. I do not know just what it is, but little thrills ofhappiness are playing hop-scotch up and down my back, and my beadis lighter than usual. 

Be calm and I will tell you about it. 

In the first place, I got here this morning, more dead than alive, after days of travel that are now a mere blur of yelling crowds, rattling trains and heaving seas. A wire from Yokohama waswaiting. Billy had beat me here by a few hours. At noon, to-day, a big broad-shouldered youth met me, whom I made no mistake ingreeting as Mr. Milton. Billy's eyes are beautifully brown. William's chin looks as if it was modeled for the purpose ofdealing with tea-house Uncles. 

Not far from the station is a black-and-tan temple--ancient andrestful. To that we strolled and sat on the edge of the Fountainof Purification, which faces the quiet monastery garden, while wetalked things over. That is, Billy did the questioning; I did thetalking to the mystic chanting of the priests. 

I quickly related all that I knew of what had happened to Sada, andwhat was about to happen. There was no reason for me to adorn thestory with any fringes for it to be effective. Billy's face wasgrim. He said little; put a few more questions, then left mesaying he would join me at dinner in the hotel. 

I passed an impatient, tedious afternoon. Went shopping, boughtthings I can never use, wondering all the time what was going to bethe outcome. Got a reassuring cable from Jack in answer to mine, saying all was well with him. 

Mr. Milton returned promptly this evening. He ordered dinner, thenforgot to eat. He did not refer to the afternoon; and longintimacy with science has taught me when not to ask questions. There was only a fragment of a plan in my mind; I had no furthercommunication from Sada, and knew nothing more than that thewedding was only a day off. 

We decided to go to Uncle's house together. I was to get in thehouse and see Sada if possible, taking, as the excuse for calling, a print on which, in an absent-minded moment, I had squanderedthirty yen. 

Billy was to stay outside, and, if I could find the faintest reasonfor so doing, I was to call him in. This was his suggestion. 

I found Uncle scintillating with good humor and hospitality. Evidently his plans were going smoothly; but not once did he referto them. I asked for Sada. Uncle smiled sweetly and said she wasnot in. Ananias died for less! He was quite capable of lockingher up in some very quiet spot. I was externally indifferent andinternally dismayed. I showed him my print. At once he was theeager, interested artist and he went into a long history of thepicture. 

Though I looked at him and knew he was talking, his words conveyedno meaning. I was faint with despair. It was my last chance. Icould have wagered Uncle's best picture that Billy was tearing upgravel outside. I had been in the house an hour, and hadaccomplished nothing. Surely if I stayed long enough something hadto happen. 

Suddenly out of my hopelessness came a blessed thought. Uncle had. Once promised to show me a priceless original of Hokusai. I askedif I might see it then. He was so elated that without calling aservant to do it for him he disappeared into a deep cupboard tofind his treasure. 

For a moment, helpless and desperate, I was swayed with a madimpulse to lock him up in the cupboard; but there was no lock. 

It was so deadly still it hurt. Then, coming from the outside, Iheard a low whistle with an unmistakable American twist to it, followed by a soft scraping sound. My heart missed two beats. Idid not know what was happening; nor was I sure that Sada waswithin the house; but something told me that my cue was to keepUncle busy. I obeyed with a heavy accent. When he appeared withhis print, I began to talk. I recklessly repeated pages oftext-books, whether they fitted or not; I fired technical terms athim till he was dizzy with mental gymnastics. 

He smoothed out his precious picture. I fell upon it. I ravedover the straight-front mountains and the marceled waves in thatfoolish old woodcut as I had never gushed over any piece of paperbefore, and I hope I never will again. Not once did he relinquishhis hold of that faded deformity in art, and neither did I. 

Surely I surprised myself with the new joys I constantly found inthe pigeon-toed ladies and slant-eyed warriors. Uncle neededabsorption, concentration and occupation. Mine was the privilegeto give him what he required. 

No further sound from the garden and the silence drilled holes intomy nerves. I was so fearful that the man would see my tremblingexcitement, I soon made my adieux. 

Uncle seemed a little surprised and graciously mentioned that teawas being prepared for me. I never wanted tea less and solitudemore. I said I must take the night train for Hiroshima. It was asudden decision; but to stay would be useless. 

I said, "Sayonara, " and smiled my sweetest. I had a feeling Iwould never see dear Uncle Mura on earth again and doubtless ourenvironment will differ in the Beyond. 

I went to the gate. It faced two streets. Both were empty. Not asign of Billy nor the jinrickshas in which we had come. I trod onair as I tramped back to the hotel. 

HIROSHIMA, Five Days Later, 1912. 

_Mate dear_:

I am back in my old quarters--safe. Why should n't I be! Adetective has been my constant companion since I left Kioto, sitting by my berth all night on the train, and following me to thegates of the School!

I had planned to start back to Peking as soon as Sada and Billywere clear and away. But this detective business has made me verywary--not to say weary--and I 've had to postpone my return to Jackto await the Emperor's pleasure and lest I bring more trouble onSada's head, by following too closely on her heels; for I suspectthe blessed elopers are themselves on the way to China. 

When I took my walk into the country the afternoon after I gothere, I saw the detective out of the back of my head, and a merrychase I led him--up the steepest paths I knew, down the rockysides, across the ferry, and into the remote village, where I lethim rest his body in the stinging cold while I made an unexpectedcall. For once he earned his salary and his supper. 

That night I was in the sitting-room alone. A glass door leads outto an open porch. Conscious of a presence, I looked up to find twopenetrating eyes fixed on me. It made me creepy and cold, yet Iwas amused. I sat long and late, but a quiet shadow near the doortold me I was not alone. Even when in bed I could hear soft stepsunder my window. 

I have just come from an interview that was deliciouslyilluminating. 

Sada San has disappeared; and, so goes their acute reasoning, as Iwas the last person in Uncle's house, before her absence wasdiscovered, the logical conclusion is that I have kidnapped her. 

Two hours ago the scared housemaid came to announce that "two Mr. Soldiers with swords wanted to speak to me. "

I went at once, to find my guardian angel and the Chief of Policefor this district in the waiting-room. We wasted precious minutesmaking inquiries about one another's health, accentuating everyother word with a bow and a loud indrawn breath. We were tuning upfor the business in hand. 

The chief began by assuring me that I was a teacher of greatlearning. I had not heard it but bowed. It was poison to hisspirit to question so honorable, august, and altogether wise aperson, but I was suspected of a grave offense, and I must answerhis questions. 

Where was my home?

Easy. 

How did I live?

Easier. 

Who was my grandfather?

Fortunately I remembered. 

Was I married?

Muchly. 

Where was my master?

Did not have any. My husband was in China. 

Was I in Japan by his permission?

I was. 

Had I been sent home for disobedience? Please explain. 

No explanation. I was just here. 

Did I know the penalty for kidnaping?

No, color-prints interested me more. 

Had any of my people ever been in the penitentiary?

No, only the Legislature. 

At this both men looked puzzled. Then the Chief made a discovery. 

"Ah-h, " he sighed, "American word for crazysylum!"

Would Madame positively state that she knew nothing of the girl'swhereabouts. Madame positively and truthfully so stated. I didnot know. I only knew what I thought; but, Mate, you cannot arresta man for thinking. After a grilling of an hour or so they leftme, looking worried and perplexed. They had never heard of Billy, and I saw no use adding to their troubles. Nobody seems to havenoticed him at dinner with me; and now that I think of it, he hadmen strange to the hotel pulling the jinrickshas. 

It was dear of Billy not to implicate me. I am ignorant of whatreally happened, but wherever they are I am sure Sada is in thekeeping of an honorable man. 

Last night, after I closed this letter, I had a cable. It said:

 "Married in heaven, "BILLY AND SADA. "

But the cables must have been crossed, for it was dated Shanghai;or else the operator was so excited over repeating such a messagehe forgot to put in the period. 

March 15. 

Just received a letter from Billy and Sada. It is a gladsome talethey tell. Young Lochinvar, though pale with envy, would how toBilly's direct method. I can see you, blessed Mate that you are, smiling delightedly at the grand finale of the true love story Ihave been writing you these months. Billy says on the night it allhappened he tramped up and down, waiting for me to call him, tillhe wore "gullies in the measly little old cow-path they call astreet. "

The passing moments only made him more furious. Finally he decidedto walk right into the house, unannounced, and find Sada if he hadto knock Uncle down and make kindling wood of the bamboodoll-house. But as he came into the side garden he saw in thesecond story a picture silhouetted on the white paper doors. Itwas Sada and her face was buried in her hands. That settled Billy. He would save Uncle all the worry of an argument by simply removingthe cause. There in the dusk, he whistled the old college call, then swung himself up on a fat stone lantern, and in a few minuteshe swung down a suitcase and Sada in American clothes. They caughta train to Kobe, which is only a short distance, and sailed out tothe same steamer he had left in Yokohama and which arrived in Kobethat day. 

Billy says, for a quick and safe wedding ceremony commend him to anenthusiastic, newly-arrived young missionary; and for rapidhandling of red tape connected with a license, pin your faith to afat and jolly American consul. So that was what the blessed rascalwas doing all that afternoon he left me in Kioto to myself. Cannotyou see success in life branded on William's freckled brow rightnow?

The story soon spread over the ship. Passengers and crew packedthe music-room to witness the ceremony, and joyously drank thehealth of the lovers at the supper the Captain hastily ordered. Without hindrance, but half delirious with joy, they headed forShanghai. 

Billy found that he could transact a little business in China forthe firm at home and with Western enterprise decided to make hishoneymoon pay for itself. 

And now that my task is finished I shall follow them as fast as thenext steamer can carry me. 

PEKING, APRIL, 1912. 

Back once again, Mate, in the City of Golden Dusts. Gloriousspring sunshine, and the whole world wrapped in a tender haze. Everything has little rainbows around it and the very air isstudded with jewels. 

Soldiers are still marching; flags are flying; drums are thumpingand it is all to the tune of Victory for the Revolutionists. Butbest of all Jack is well! To me Peking is like that first morningof Eve's in the Garden of Eden. 

What crowded, happy weeks these last have been. Waiting for Jack;amusing him when time hangs heavy--even unto reading pages ofscientific books with words so big the spine of my tongue isthreatened with fracture. 

And in between times? Well, I am thanking my stars for the chanceto doubly make up for any little tenderness I may have passed by. Put it in your daily thought book, honey, forevermore I am going toremember that if at the time we'd use the strength in doing, thatwe consume afterwards being sorry we didn't do, life would run onan easy trolley. 

Billy and Sada are with us, still with the first glow of theenchanted garden over them. Bless their happy hearts! I am goingto give them my collection of color prints to start housekeepingwith. How I'd _love_ to see Uncle--through a telescope. 

To-night we are having our last dinner here. To-morrow the four ofus turn our faces toward the most beautiful spot this side ofHeaven, home. The happy runaways to Nebraska, Jack and I to thelittle roost we left behind in Kentucky. 

There goes the music for dinner. It 's something about "dreamylove. " Love is n't a dream, Mate--not the kind I know; it's all oflife and beyond. 

I know what they are playing!

 Breathe but one breath Rose beauty above And all that was death Grows life, grows love, Grows love!

THE END