The feast over, we moved on. The servants were left to pack up, and instructed to join the family at a certain shrine some distance away; devotions at that place would end the festival.
The closing down of night was like the working of some magic. From every point of temple, shrine, and tree sprang a light. Fireworks shaped like huge peonies, lilies, and lesser flowers spluttered in the air. Myriad lights turned the garden into a place of enchantment. In the hand of every feaster swung a paper lantern, gay in color, daring in design, its soft glow reflected on the happy face above. The whole enclosure seemed to be a bit of fairy land, where workaday people were transformed into beings made only for the pleasures of life.
I kept close to Zura regardless of where she led, for all she saw seemed not only to increase her interest, but to intensify her reckless mood. On ourway we paused at a Pagoda. A group of priests were marching around it chanting some ritual. They were very solemn and their voices most weird.
"What are they doing with their throats, Miss Jenkins?" asked Zura.
"Singing."
"Singing! Well, they know as much about singing as tit-willows do about grand opera. But the colors of those gorgeous robes are fascinating. Aren't the curves of that roof lovely? See how the corners turn up. Exactly like the mustache of the little band master at home. Oh, look at those darling kiddies!" she suddenly exclaimed, going swiftly to the nearby stand of a cake man.
A dozen children or so, wistful-eyed and a bit sad, stood around. These were the city rats and street waifs, who only came from their holes after dark. Too poor to buy, they could only gaze and wish. The old man, for the sake of the hungry birdlings at home, could give no further of his store.
Zura stopped before the little heaps of sweet dough. The children closed about her. None were afraid, and all instinctively felt her friendship. Her bargain was quickly made. Soon each child had a large share not only of cake, but also of tinyflags and paper cherry blossoms which had adorned the owner's booth. Zura emptied a small knitted purse of "rins" and "sens." She had told me earlier that she had sold a picture to a postcard man. The cake dealer got it all.
We left the children open-mouthed, gazing at the "Ojosan" (honorable elder sister) who had proved nothing less than a goddess; but the girl heeded neither their looks nor their thanks, for we had come upon the ancient rite of firewalking, once a holy ceremony for the driving out of demons, now used for the purpose of proving the protection of the gods for the devout.
On a mat of straw, overspread by a thick layer of sand, was a bed of charcoal kept glowing by attendants armed with fans attached to long poles. Priests were intoning a prayer to the god of water, who lived in the moon, to descend with vengeance upon the god of fire. With much twisting of fingers and cabalistic waving of hands, a worshiper would draw something from a bag purchased from the priest. This he told the onlookers was spirit powder. Sprinkling a part of it on the fire and rubbing his feet with what was left he would cross the live coals, arriving at the other end unharmed. His swaggering air, indicating "I am divinely protected," deeply impressed the wondering crowd.
Absorbed in watching the fantastic scene, I failed for some time to notice Zura's absence from my side. Neither was she with her family, who were near by. Anxiously turning to search for her, I saw her opposite in a cleared space and, through the background of an eager, curious crowd, Page Hanaford hurriedly pushing his way to the front.
At the edge of the fire stood Zura without shoes or stockings.
Page saw. His voice rang out, "Miss Wingate! I beg of you!"
For a moment she poised as light as a bird; then, lifting her dress, she quickly walked across the burning coals. The sparks flew upward, lighting the bronze and gold in her hair, showing too her face, a study in scornful daring.
The lookers-on cheered, some crying, "Skilful, skilful!" and others, "Brave as an empress!" "She is protected by her foreign god."
Heedless of the crowds, as if they were not, Zura took her hat, shoes, and stockings from the adoring small boy who held them and rejoined me. I glanced around at the family. The women's faces said nothing. To at least two of them, Zura was a strange being not of their kind and with whomthey had nothing to do. But the look in Kishimoto San's eyes made me shrink for the fate of the girl.
Laying my hand upon her arm I asked, "Oh, Zura, why did you do it? Aren't your feet burned?"
"Burned! Nonsense! They are not even overheated. I used some of their spirit powder, which is plain salt. I did it to prove to myself that all they teach and do is fakery."
Page joined us, inquiring anxiously, "You are not hurt? I call it plucky, but very foolish. Didn't you hear me call to you?"
Zura, looking up from fastening her shoe, replied stiffly, "Mr. Hanaford, once is quite enough for you to interfere with my affairs."
The boy flushed, then smiled, and dropped to the rear.
As she spoke I could but notice her voice was a little less joyous. It sounded a note of weariness as if her high spirit, though unconquered, was a bit tired of the game.
In depressed silence our party mingled with the throng on its way to the shrine where the last tribute was to be paid. The place of devotion was in a dense grove, isolated and weird. A singleupright post held a frail, box-like contrivance. The inner recess of this was supposed to hold a relic of Buddha—some whispered a finger, some a piece of the great teacher's robe; but whatever the holy emblem, both place and shrine were surrounded with a veil of superstitious mystery and held in awe. A lonely taper burned before the shrine, dimly lighting a small opening covered with ground glass and disclosed above a written warning to all passers-by to stop and offer prayer or else be cursed.
The crowd of worshipers paid tribute, but rather than pass on, lingered in the shadow, their curious eyes fixed upon the half-foreign girl.
It was splendid for her to brave the fire-god, but no living soul dared face the Holy Shrine with the scorn Zura's face and manner so plainly showed. Admiration melted into distrust. They would wait and see the end.
One by one my host, his mother, wife and daughter passed before the relic and reverently bowed. Then they stood aside in a silent group, slightly apart from Page and me. It was Zura's turn. In the face of Kishimoto San, as he looked at his granddaughter, was concentrated the power of his will and all the intolerant passion of his religion.He looked and he waited—in vain. The girl did not move.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, but his words fairly stabbed the air. "Obey me! Approach and bow!"
Zura seemed to be turned to stone. But her words were as clear and as measured as his own. "I will not! Now or ever!"
Past all endurance of the girl's disrespect, the man made one step forward, grasped Zura by the shoulders, and pushed her towards the shrine. The force sent her forward. As she stumbled she seized a bamboo pole. With it she gave one swift blow. At our feet the little shrine lay shattered, and out of its secret recess rolled a pasteboard box, mildewed and empty.
Then, like the hissing wind, rose the quick anger of the people.
At the same instant Page and the crowd rushed toward Zura, who, with bamboo stick in her raised hand, stood white and defiant.
A coolie made a lunge at her. With closed fist Page Hanaford struck him full in the face; the other arm shielded Zura. Another man spat at her, and met the fate of his brother from Page's well-directed blow. There is nothing so savage asa Japanese mob when roused to anger. Knowing them to be cruel and revengeful, my heart stood still as I watched the throng close about Page and Zura. I knew the boy single-handed could not hold out long before the outraged worshipers.
Then above the noise and curses and threats Kishimoto San's voice rang out. "Stop! you crawling vipers of the swamp! How dare you brawl before this sacred place? How dare you touch one of my blood! My granddaughter accounts to me, not to the spawn of the earth—such as you! Disperse your dishonorable bodies to your dishonored homes! Go!"
Blind to reason, they cowered before a masterful mind. They knew the unbending quality of Kishimoto's will, his power to command, to punish. The number grew steadily less, leaving Page and Zura and her grandfather alone.
Kishimoto San turned to the girl and with words cold as icicles, cutting as a whiplash, dismissed the child of his only daughter from his house and home. He cared neither where she went, nor what she did. She no longer belonged to him or his kind. He disowned her. Her foreign blood would be curse enough.
Bidding his family follow, he turned and left.As Mrs. Wingate passed her disgraced offspring, with troubled voice and bewildered looks she repeated once more her set formula of reproof, "Oh, Zura! I no understand yo' naughty; I no like yo' bad."
The homeless girl, Page, and I were left in the darkness.
"Come with me, Zura," I said, not knowing what else to do; and the three of us made our way toward the high twinkling light that marked the House of the Misty Star.
As the boy walked beside her, hatless, tie and collar disarranged, I could but see what his defense of Zura had cost him in physical strength. His face twitched with the effort to control his shaking limbs; that strange illness had robbed him of so much.
"Please, Mr. Hanaford, do not trouble to climb the steps with us," I urged. "There is no danger. By now the crowd is doubtless laughing over the whole thing."
"No, Miss Jenkins," he said, "I cannot leave you till you are safely shut in the house. Rather interesting, wasn't it?"
"Interesting! Well, I guess I know now what making a night of it means."
It was my one attempt to lighten conversation. We went on in silence.
Wordless my other companion walked beside me. She gave no sign. Only once, when I stumbled, the hand she outstretched in quick support was shaking and cold.
On reaching the house Page declined to come in; but, seeing the knuckles of his right hand torn and bleeding, I would take no refusal. "Boy, your hand is bleeding. Come right in and let me dress it," said I.
"Don't trouble. It's nothing; only a bit of knocked-up skin. That coolie must have sharpened his teeth for the occasion."
Zura spoke for the first time as I made the room light. "Oh! I didn't know you were hurt, Mr. Hanaford. I am sorry. Let me see." She took his hand in both of hers and held it closer under the lamp. Still holding it, she lifted her eyes with sympathy to his. "I'm not worth it," she said softly.
I did not hear Page's answer; but I thought he was almost gruff when he quickly drew away and walked to the window. He had nothing to say when I bandaged his hand, and he soon left.
It was only a matter of a few minutes to lightthe lamp and arrange the bed in the guest-room I had taken such pleasure in preparing before for Zura's visit. I went through these small duties without speaking. I bore no ill will to the girl who had been thrust upon me. My thoughts were too deep for anger against the wayward child whose start in life had been neither fair nor just. But in separating herself from her family she had done the most serious thing a girl can do in whose veins runs the blood of a Japanese. Everything ready, I said good-night as kindly as circumstances would permit.
Zura put out her hand and thanked me. A smile twitched her lips as she said, "Never mind, Miss Jenkins. Don't be troubled. No use fighting against fate and freckles." The tears in her voice belied her frivolous words.
Anxious for what might happen, I sat for the rest of the night in the room adjoining the one occupied by my unexpected guest. Twice before the coming of the dawn there reached me from the farther chamber sounds of a soul in conflict—the first battle of a young girl in a strange land, facing the future penniless and heavily handicapped.
It was a lonely vigil and a weary one.
If becoming a member of my household was a turning-point in Zura's life, in mine it was nothing less than a small-sized revolution, moving with the speed of a typhoon.
The days piled into weeks; the weeks plunged head-foremost into eternity, and before we could say "how d'y' do" to lovely summer, autumn had put on her splendid robes of red and yellow and soft, dull brown.
If once I yearned for things to happen, I now sometimes pined for a chance, as one of my students put it, "to shut the door of think and rest my tired by suspended animation." For I had as much idea about rearing girls as I had on the subject of training young kangaroos. But it grew plainer to me every day my nearly ossified habits would have to disintegrate. Also I must learn to manipulate the rôle of mother without being one.
Soon after the girl's break with her family theineffective child-woman who had given Zura life passed quietly into the great Silence before the daughter could be summoned. Though Zura was included among the mourners at the stately funeral, she had no communication with her grandfather. Afterwards the separation was final.
Once only I visited Kishimoto San's house and had an interview with him. He was courteous, and his formality more sad than cold. He would never again take Zura into his house; neither would he interfere with her. Her name had been stricken from his family register. As long as I was kind enough to give her shelter, he would provide for her. Further than that he would not go, "for his memory had long ears and he could never forget."
It was a painful hour which I did not care to repeat.
I acquainted Zura with her grandfather's decision.
Her only comment was, "His memory has long ears, has it? So has mine, and they'll grow longer, for I have longer to live."
In the first intimate talk I had with my protégée, her one idea was to earn the money to return to America, where there was "more chance to make aliving." So far as she knew her father was without relatives. There was no one to look to for help. But she could work; she knew many girls who worked; and there was always "something to do" in Seattle.
"How good it will be to get back to it. Wish I could get a whiff of the air right now. Yes, indeed! I am American to the ends of my fingers, and hallelujah to the day when I sail back."
I entered into her plans with enthusiasm, reserving my determination never to lose sight of her till she was in safer hands than mine.
She was very eager to begin earning money for her passage home, offering to teach, to scrub, and even to learn to cook, if we'd learn to eat it.
I pointed out that, with her ability to sketch and her natural fascination for young girls, the forming of classes would be a simple matter. She was only to teach them drawing at first.
To this she demurred; the pay was so poor that she pleaded to be allowed to have one little class in English.
I was dubious; but, as it was only a beginner's class, I consented—upon her solemn promise to "cut out all ragtime classics and teach plain cats and dogs, rats and mice."
The process of readjustment in life is sometimes as painful as skin grafting. The passing of each day under the new conditions which Zura's coming had brought about marked for both of us either a decided growth or a complete backset. With earnestness I endeavored to make my old eyes see the world and all its allurements from the windows of Zura's uncontrolled youth. Earnestly I then appealed to her to try to understand that life was a school and not a playground and to look without prejudice at the reasonableness of conventions which life in any country demanded, if happiness was to come.
For the first time since I had known her the girl seemed fully to realize that regulated law was a force, and no bogey man which crabbed old grandfathers dangled before pleasure-loving girls, and for her running loose in the green pasture of life was at an end. The bit she must learn to wear would teach her to be bridle wise. However stupid, the process was an unavoidable necessity.
Zura was really serious when we finished our long conference. She leaned over and put her hand on mine. "Nobody but father was ever so kind to me. I'll truly do my best." As if afraid of growing too serious she added: "But, Miss Jenkins,"—her voice was low and her eyes sparkled, provinghow hard the old Zura was dying—"I just bet I kick over the traces some time. I feel it in my system."
"You what?" I reminded.
"Madam, I have a premonition that this process of eliminating the gay and the festive will be something of a herculean task. In other words, keeping in the middle of the road is a dull, tough job."
"Oh, Zura!" I cried despairingly.
"Yes'm. But from this minute I am starting down the track on the race for reformation. Give me time. Even a colt can't get a new character and a sweet disposition in a week."
As the days passed it proved not a race, but a hard, up-hill battle, where in gaining one fight she sometimes lost two, and while still aching with the last defeat had to begin all over again. The vision, though, of the home-going to America lured and beckoned her to the utmost effort to conquer not only circumstances, but herself.
Jane and I helped whenever we could, but there were places so dark through which the girl must pass alone, that not even our fast increasing love could light the shadows of the struggles.
I realized that a young girl should have youngcompany of her own kind; but there was none for her. In Hijiyama, and especially in our neighborhood, were many high-class families. Even members of the royal line claimed it as residence. With these the taint of foreign blood in any Japanese marked that person impossible. I dreaded to tell Zura this. She saved me the trouble by finding it out for herself. Ever afterward, when by chance she encountered the elect, her attitude caused me no end of delight and amusement. In courteous snubbing she outclassed the highest and most conservative to them. In absenting herself from their presence Zura's queenly dignity would have been matchless, had she been a little taller.
As much as possible, I made of myself a companion for her and the most of our days were spent together.
It was a curious pact between young and old. One learning to keep the law, the other to break it, for in my efforts to be a gay comrade as well as a wise mother I came as near to breaking my neck as my well-seasoned habits. Zura had a passion for out-of-door sketching, as violent as the whooping cough and lasting longer and the particular view she craved proved always most difficult of access, It severely tested my durability and mettle. Iwondered if Zura had this in mind, but I stuck grimly to my task and though often with aching muscles and panting lungs, scrambled by dangerous paths to the edge of some precipice where I dared neither to stand up nor to sit down, but I had longed for excitement and happenings and dared not complain when my wish was fulfilled.
I could always count upon it that, whatever place Zura chose, from there one could obtain the most splendid view of vast stretches of sea, the curve of a temple roof, a crooked pine, or a mass of blossom. She was as irresistibly drawn to the beautiful as love is to youth. Her passion for the lovely scenery of Japan amounted almost to worship.
I had never been a model for anything. Now I was used as such by my companion indiscriminately, in the background, in the foreground and once as a grayhaired witch. I was commanded to sit still, to not wink an eyelash, though the mosquitoes feasted and the hornets buzzed.
Fortunately the summer holiday gave me some leisure. I absorbed every moment seeking comprehension of youthful ways of looking at things, and in Zura's effort to reduce her wild gallop to a sober pace, the way was as rough for the girl, as the climb up the mountain side was for me. Often shestumbled and was bruised in the fall. Brushing aside the tears of discouragement she pluckily faced about and tried again.
There were many battles of tongue and spirit but when the smoke had been swept away, the vision was clearer, the purpose firmer.
That monotony might not work disaster or routine grow irksome our workdays were interspersed with picnics, journeys to famous spots and, for the nights, moonlight sails on the Inland Sea.
Page Hanaford was our frequent guest. To Jane and me his attitude was one of kindly deference and attention. Towards Zura it was the mighty call of youth to youth. She answered with ready friendship. It was easy to see that the boy was buoyant by nature, but the moods that sometimes overtook him were strange. Often at a moment when the merriment was at its height, the hand of some invisible enemy seemed to reach out and clutch him in a dumb horror, confused the frankness of his eyes, left him with bloodless lips. From light-hearted happiness he plunged to silent gloom.
Twice it had occurred when the day was heavy with moisture, thick and superheated by the summer's sun. The last time it happened, to the heat was added the excitement of a police launch stopping our little pleasure craft and demanding our names and business. When it left Page grew silent and, until we landed, lay in the prow his face hidden by his hat. Mental or physical I could not say. I wished I knew for it subtracted the joy from the day as surely as dampness takes the kink out of unnatural curls.
When I mentioned the incident to Jane, she only looked wise and smiled. I could almost believe she was glad, for it gave her unlimited opportunity for coddling. Zura made no comment. So great was the rebound partial freedom induced, her spirits refused to descend from the exhilarating heights of "having a good time and doing things." She blandly ignored any suggestion of hidden trouble, or the possibility of it daring to come in the future. Untiring in her preparations for our festivities, the hour of their happening found her so gracious a hostess, naturally she was the pivot around which the other three of us swung.
I wondered if, in our many festivities we were not forming habits of useless dissipation. Jane said our parties were much livelier than church socials at home. Our experienced leader assured me, however, these picnics were as slow as a gathering of turtles in a coral cave, but they continued, ceasingonly when the nights grew too chill for comfort. Our pleasures were then transferred to the homeyness of the little living-room in "The House of the Misty Star."
In my adoption of Zura the humor was incidental; in Zura's adoption of Jane it was uppermost. From the first the girl assumed proprietorship and authority that kept the little gray missionary see-sawing between pleasure and trouble. By Zura's merry teasing Jane's naturally stammering tongue was fatally twisted. She joked till tears were near; then with swift compunction Jane was caught in arms tender and strong and loved back to happiness.
Like a mother guarding a busy careless child, Zura watched Miss Gray's comings and goings. Overshoes and wraps became a special subject of argument. There was no denying that in the arrangement of Jane's clothes there was a startling transformation.
My attention was called to this one morning when I heard a merry, audacious voice cry out, "See here, Lady Jinny, do you think it a hallmark of piety to have that hefty safety-pin showing in your waistband? Walk right back and get your belt."
"Oh, Zury," pleaded the harassed woman,"what's the use of putting it on? I'll just have to take it off to-night and, my dear, people are waiting for me."
"Let 'em whistle, Sweetheart," was the unmoved response. "Even though the heathen roar, I cannot turn aside from my purpose of making you a Parisian fashion-plate."
"Yes, child! It is good of you to want to dress me up. But," with a half-laugh, "don't try to make me resemble one of those foreign fashion ladies. I saw one picture in a style paper that looked almost immoral. The placket of the dress was at the foot and showed two inches of the ankle."
"Trust your mother, innocent child," Zura advised, "those picture ladies don't wear dresses, just symptoms and I'd slap anybody that would ask you to wear a symptom. Now, tell me where to search for your belt."
Jane, ever weak in certain resistances, yielded and adored the more while submitting.
Under Zura's care Jane's person grew neater and trimmer. In her face, now filled out with proper food and rest, there was a look of happiness as if some great hope foreshadowed fulfilment.
The self-appointed missionary in her talks with me seldom referred to her work in detail. I respected her reserve and asked no questions, for I gravely doubted any good results from her labor. But to Zura she confided her plans and her dreams, and Zura having many dreams of her own, listened and sympathized. In all the Empire there was no collection of humanity that could surpass in degradation and sordid evil the inhabitants of the quarter that Jane Gray had chosen to uplift. Time and again the best-trained workers had experimented in this place. Men and women with splendid theories, and the courage to try them had given it up as hopeless, for fear of their lives.
Once only I remonstrated with Miss Gray and that when there had been in that section an unprovoked murder of particular horror. The answer of the frail woman was:
"I don't want to make you anxious, Miss Jenkins, but I must go back. The people are my friends. I've been charged with a message for them and I must deliver it. My poor life would be small forfeit, could I but make them fully understand."
I said no more for I thought if Jane was set on dying that way she'd just as well get all the pleasure out of it possible. To my surprise, unmolested and unafraid, she made her way through streets whereno one officer went alone. Haunts of criminals and gamblers, murderers in hiding followed by their unspeakable womenkind.
This dream of Miss Gray's scorned to limit itself to a hospital for diseased bodies of the wretched inhabitants, but included a chapel for sick souls. These days it was difficult enough to get money for real things, the unreal stood no chance. Without resources of her own, backed by no organization, it seemed to me, like a child planning a palace. To the little missionary the dawn of each glorious day brought new enthusiasm, fresh confidence and the vision was an ever beckoning fire, which might consume her body if it would accomplish her desire.
At present she rented a tiny house in the Quarters and called it her preaching place. I was told that to it flocked the outcasts of life who listened in silent curiosity to the strange foreign woman delivering a message from a stranger foreign God.
As the days went by the members of my household were deeply absorbed in dreams of a hospital, pursuit of passage money to America, and wisdom in guiding girls.
In all the years in my adopted country I'd never seen so lovely an autumn. Colors were brighter, thehaze bluer, and far more tender the smile of the heavens on the face of the waters.
The song of the North wind through the top of the ancient pines was no melancholy dirge of the dying summer, but a hymn of peace and restful joy to the coming winter.
One lovely day melted into another. The year was sinking softly to its close when one evening found Zura, Jane and me quietly at work in the living-room of the House of the Misty Star. Jane was knitting on the eternal bibs, Zura adding figures in a little book.
Our quiet was broken by a knock at the door. Maple Leaf appeared bearing on a tray a pink folded paper.
"It's a cable; I know its color," exclaimed Zura, "and it's for Miss Jane Gray."
With shaking fingers Jane tore open the message. She read, then dropped her face in her hands.
"What is it?" I asked anxiously.
"It's the hospital."
"In a cable?" cried Zura. "Think of that and break into tears."
"No, the money for it."
"Money! Where did you get it?" I demanded, thinking that Jane had suddenly gone crazy.
"I prayed and wrote letters," she answered. "Read."
Still doubting I took the paper and read aloud:
Build hospital. Draft for four thousand dollars on way.Friends of the Cause.
Build hospital. Draft for four thousand dollars on way.
Friends of the Cause.
For minutes the ticking of the clock sounded like the dropping of pebbles in a still pool. I could not speak, for the wonder of a miracle was upon me. By faith the impossible had come to pass. Finally Jane looked up and asked wistfully, "Oh! Zury, aren't you glad for me?"
"Glad!" echoed the girl, leaning over and caressing the faded cheek. "I'm as happy as if I were pinning on my own orange blossoms this minute. Dear, dear little Jinny with her beautiful dream coming true!"
I had never thought Zura beautiful. Now, as she bent over Jane, flushed with excitement, her eyes deep glowing, her shining hair flashing back the red of the firelight, she was as brilliant as a golden pheasant hovering above a little gray sparrow.
With some sudden memory the girl stood erect and reached for a calendar. "Hurrah!" she cried, "It's true! To-morrow is Thanksgiving at home.We are going to celebrate too, if I have to sell my shoes."
Seeing Jane still shaken with emotion and the glad tears so close to hand, Zura jumped up on a chair and began to read from the calendar as if it were a proclamation:
"Know all ye! Wherever you be up above or down below, far or near on the to-morrow, by my command, every citizen of these United States is to assemble all by himself, or with his best girl and give thanks. Thanks for living and for giving. Thanks for hospitals and people to build them. Sermons to preach and sinners to hear. Then give thanks and still more thanks, that to you and to me, the beautifulest land the good God ever made spells home, and friends, and America! Amen."
More and more Zura had assumed the duties of our housekeeping. The generous sum Kishimoto San promptly forwarded each month for her maintenance so relieved the financial pressure that I was able to relax somewhat my vigilance over the treasury. So I stepped aside that her ambition and energy might have full expression. I knew that absorbing work erases restlessness in mind and heart as effectively as a hot iron smooths out a rough-dried cloth. I urged her to further experiments and made a joke of her many mistakes, ofttimes when it was sheer waste of material. But what mattered that? Better to die softheaded, than hardhearted. I wanted the girl to be happy. Rather than be separated, I would let her make a bonfire of every bean, potato and barrel of flour in the house. As even the sun has specks on it, I saw no reason to be too critical of my understudy, whose shortcomings grew less as she grew prettier.
With all the cocksureness of youth, Zura seized the domestic steering gear. Sometimes the weather was very fair and we sailed along. Often it was squally, but the crew was merry, and I was happy. I had something of my very own to love.
To Pine Tree and Maple Leaf and the ancient cook the young housekeeper was a gifted being from a wonderful country where every woman was a princess. Unquestioningly they obeyed and adored her, but Ishi to whom no woman was a princess and all of them nuisances—stood proof against Zura's every smile and coaxing word. Love of flowers amounted to a passion with the old gardener. To him they were living, breathing beings to be adored and jealously protected. His forefathers had ever been keepers of this place. He inherited all their garden skill and his equal could not be found in the Empire. For that reason, I forgave his backsliding seventy times one hundred and seventy, and kept him.
Often Zura took the children she used as models for her pictures into the garden and loaded them with flowers. On the mossy banks they romped and indulged in feasts of tea and crackers. Ishi would stand near and invoke the vengeance of eighty thousand deities to descend and annihilate this forwardgirl from a land of barbarians. Finding his deities failed to respond, he threatened to cast his unworthy body upon the point of a sword, if Zura cut another bud. But I knew, if Ishi's love of flowers failed to prevent so tragic an end, his love of sake would do so.
For years the garden had been his undisturbed kingdom, and now that it should be invaded and the flowers cut without his permission and frequently without his knowledge enraged him to the bursting point. His habits were as set as the wart on his nose and he proposed to change neither one nor the other. "Most very bad," he wailed to me. "All blossoms soul have got. Bad girl cut off head of same; peaceful makes absence from their hearts. Their weep strikes my ear."
So on the day we were to celebrate Thanksgiving and Jane's happiness, and Zura had declared her intention of decorating every spot in the house, I was not surprised to hear coming from the garden sounds of an overheated argument. "Ishi, if it weren't for hurting the feelings of the august pig I would say you were it. Stand aside and let me cut those roses. There's a thousand of them, if there's one."
The protest came high and shrill. "Decapitateheads! You sha'n't not! All of ones convey soul of great ancestors."
"Do they?"—in high glee—"all right, I'll make the souls of your blessed ancestors serve as a decoration for America's glorious festival day."
The outraged Ishi fairly shrieked. "Ishi's ancestors! America! You have blasphemeness. I perish to recover!"
Hostilities were suspended for a minute.
Then Zura's fresh young voice called out from below my window: "Ursula, please instruct this bow-legged image of an honorable monkey to let me cut the roses. Hurry, else my hand may get loose and 'swat' him."
What the child meant by "swat" I had no idea; neither did I care. She had called me "Ursula!" Since childhood I had not heard the name. Coming from her lips it went through me like a sharp, sweet pain. Had she beheaded every rose and old Ishi in the bargain I would have smiled, for something in me was being satisfied.
I gave orders to Ishi, to which Zura added, "You are to take your dishonorable old body to the furthermost shrine, and repent of your rudeness to your young mistress." As he turned his angry back upon her, she inquired in honeyed tones, "Mercy,Ishi! How did you ever teach your face to look that way? Take it to a circus! It will make a fortune!"
Very soon after she came into the room so laden with roses that I could just see her face. "Aren't they darlings?" she exclaimed. "Poor old Ishi, I can't blame him much!" Then to me, "Say, beautifulest, tell you what: I'll arrange these flowers and I promise, if I find a sign of an ancestor, I'll go at once and apologize to his mighty madness—if you will write a note to Mr. Hanaford and bid him to the Thanksgiving feast."
I agreed, and she went her busy way. In addressing the note to Page, I was reminded that a few days before his servant had called for a package of his master's clothing which Jane and I kept in repair. To my surprise the servant said that Hanaford San had gone away on business.
Possibly my look of astonishment at the news invited confidence. After glancing around to make sure we were alone, he approached and in mixed Japanese and broken English told me how his heart was weighed "with anxious" for his employer. He said his master was very kind. Therefore, Master's trouble was his. Sometimes the young man was happy and sang tunes through whistle oflips; but one day he walked the floor all night. Lately he sat by the windows long hours and look fast into picture scenery. He feared illness for master. Often he forget to sing, whistle, and eat foods; just sit with hand on head. "One time I say 'Master, have got painful in brain spot? Or have fox spirit got brain?' He give big laugh; then myself makes many fools to see happy stay with master."
He wished Hanaford San had some people, but in his room was not one picture of ancestor. He never had a happy time with many guests, and samisens and feast drinks, like other young American Dana Sans in Yokohama. When not teaching he sat alone with only his pipe and heart for company, sometimes a book.
It was not polite for him to speak of Master's affairs but he hoped the foreign Sensies could advise him how to make Hanaford San have more happy thoughts all of time.
I told the boy that Mr. Hanaford had lost his money and all his people, and probably it was thoughts of these losses that caused his sad hours; he would be all right in time.
"Time," murmured the unsatisfied man, "time very long for troubled heart of young."
Then, as if trying to forget that he was powerless to help, he began to recite the events of a recent visit to the city of a group of Tokio's famous detectives. They were searching for special fugitives and making the rounds of all suspicious quarters. It was most exciting and because of master's absence he had been able to see much. Though he wished Page had been at home. It might have entertained him. With many thanks for my "listening ear" the servant left.
Everywhere I looked I seemed to see this question written: Was Page Hanaford's absence at the time of the detectives' visit accidental or planned? Try as I would to put the hateful thought away from me, it came back again and again.
The boy's slow return to health had troubled me more than I could well say. It was so unnatural. Jane and I did everything that sincere affection could suggest to ward off the hours of strange dejection, and he never failed in appreciation; yet we made no headway to a permanent sunny spot in his life, where he could be always happy and healthy, as was the right of youth. I gave him every opportunity to tell me what caused his moods. I showed him by my interest and sympathy that I wanted to believe in him and would stand by him at anycost. There were times when he seemed on the verge of making a confidant of me, but his lips refused to utter the words.
Usually he responded eagerly to Zura's gay coaxings to friendship and gladly shared her blithesome fun; but sometimes there was a look in his eyes such as a youthful prisoner might have when he knew that for life he is barred from blue skies. As time went on less often appeared the playful curve of his lips, the crinkly smile in the corners of his eyes.
Once in the moonlight I saw him stretch out his hand as if to touch Zura's glistening hair. Some memory smote him. He drew back sharply.
At times I was sure that he was purposely avoiding her. Yet the thought seemed foolish. If ever there was a goodly sight for eyes glad or sad it was the incarnation of joyous girlhood whose name was Zura Wingate.
Unable to solve the puzzle, I could only give my unstinted attention to the boy and girl. If only our armor of love could shield the beloved!
I sent the invitation for the Thanksgiving celebration, and was much relieved by the answer that Mr. Hanaford would join us that evening.
The dinner was a great success. For all of usit was full of good cheer. Jane in her happiness looked years younger. She was in high glee.
"Do you know, my friends in the Quarters are so happy over the hospital," she exclaimed. "I was obliged to ask the Sake Ya to sell only one little bottle of wine to each man. He promised and said he would dilute it at that. Wasn't it good of him to do it? Oh! it's beautiful how big difficulties are melting away—just like fax in the wire!" She joined in the laugh at her expense.
Zura urged, "Lady Jinny, please get you a pair of crutches for that limp in your tongue."
"Better than that, child. First operation in the hospital will be to take the kinks out of my foolish, twisted words."
Afterwards in the sitting-room Zura went through her pretty little ceremony of making after-dinner coffee and serving it in some rare old Kutani cups. The wonderful decoration of the frail china led her to talk of the many phases of Japan and its life that appealed to the artist. Of the lights and shadows on land and sea the effects of the mists and the combination of color that defied mere paint.
I'd never heard Zura talk so well nor so enthusiastically on a sensible subject. For a moment I had a hope that her love for the beauty of thecountry would overcome her antagonism to her mother's people. I was quickly undeceived.
Then, as if fearful that praise for the glories of old Nippon might make her seem forgetful of the festal day of her own land, she flashed out, "But please don't anybody forget that I am an American to the marrow-bone." She turned to Page. "Did you come direct from America to Japan?"
The usual miserable flush of confusion covered the boy's face. "Well—you see, I never keep track of dates; guess I'm too—maybe I've traveled a bit too much to count days—"
Either ignoring Page's evasion or not seeing it, Zura continued, "But you love the blessed old country, don't you?"
"With all my heart," he answered fervently.
"Then why do you stay out here? A man can go where he pleases."
"I have my work on hand and riches in mind. You know the old saw about a rolling stone?"
"Indeed I do. It gathers no moss. Neither does it collect burrs in gray whiskers and hayseed in long hair. I tell you," she half-whispered, leaning towards him confidentially, "Let's you and I kidnap Jane and Ursula and emigrate to 'Dixie Land, the land of cotton, where fun and life areeasily gotten.' Are you with me?" she audaciously challenged.
Page's face matched the white flowers near him. With a lightness, all assumed, he answered, "All right; but wait till I make a fortune—teaching." He arose, saying he would go out on the balcony for a smoke.
Soon after that Jane left, saying she must write many letters of thanks.
I was alone with Zura. The night being mild for the time of year, she proposed that we stroll in the garden. To her this lovely spot was something new and beautiful. To me it was something old and tender, but the charm, the spell it wove around us both was the same. It lay in perfect peace, kissed to silence and tender mystery by the splendor of the great, red, autumn moon. More beautiful now, the legend said, because the gods gathered all the brilliant coloring from the dying foliage and gave it to the pale moon lady for safe keeping.
"And look," exclaimed Zura, as we walked beside the waters which gave back the unclouded glory, "if the shining dame isn't using our lake for a looking-glass. You know, Ursula, this is the only night in the year the moon wears a hat.It's made from the scent of the flowers. Doesn't that halo around her look like a chapeau?"
We strolled along, and to Zura's pleadings I answered with ghost legends and myths from a full store gathered through long, lonely years. Charmed by the magic of the night and the wonder of the garden, we lingered long.
We paused in the ghostly half-light of the tall bamboo where the moonlight trickled through, to listen to the song of the Mysterious Bird of the Spirit Land. The bird is seldom seen alive, but if separated from its mate, at once it begins the search by a soft appealing call. If absence is prolonged the call increases to heart-breaking moaning, till from exhaustion the bird droops head downward and dies from grief.
That night the mate was surely lost. The lonely feathered thing made us shiver with the weirdness of its sad notes.
Suddenly we remembered the lateness of the hour and our guest. We took a short cut across the soft grass toward the house.
We turned sharply around a clump of bamboo and halted. A few steps before us was Page Hanaford. Seated on the edge of an old stone lantern, head in hands, out of the bitterness of some agonywe heard him cry, "God in Heaven!Howcan I tell her!"
Zura and I clutched hands and crept away to the house. Even then we did not dare to look each other in the face.
Soon after Page came in. He gave no sign of his recent storm, but said good-night to me and, looking down at Zura, he held out his hand without speaking.
Now that I could see the girl's face I could hardly believe she was the same being. With flushed cheeks and downcast eyes she stood in wondering silence, as if in stumbling upon a secret place in a man's soul, she had fallen upon undiscovered regions in her own.
When I returned from locking the door after Page, Zura had gone to her room.
In the night I remembered that not once had Page referred to his absence from the city.
Zura, Jane and I had not often discussed young Hanaford. When we did, it was how we could give him pleasure rather than the probable cause of his spells of dejection. But when I found Jane alone the next day and told her what we had seen in the gardens, omitting what we'd heard, she had an explanation for the whole affair.