Part 3

“Arrest me!” shouted the now irate Norah. “And who in Harry are you?”

“Police,” said the little man, shortly.

“You a policeman!” cried Norah. “Now the saints forgive you for the lie! Shure, I niver saw a policeman of your sawed-off size before! Where I come from—”

But the grip upon her arm had tightened. Indignantly Norah sought to withdraw, but to her astonishment she could not move. The little, “sawed-off” policeman held her in a tighter grip than any Irish policeman could have done. Norah’s red face blazed.

“It’s yersilf that’ll be arrested for the outrage,” she said, and then began to wail aloud in most distressing accents.

“Oh, wirrah, wirrah, wirrah! And why did I iver lave the ould country? And why did I iver come to this haythen land of savages? Shure it was love for the innocent babe that—”

She stopped and turned to look for the baby. Carriage and child were gone!

A frightful scream escaped the lips of the terrified girl. Then she collapsed heavily in the arms of the little “haythen” policeman.

VII

IT would be cruel to dwell upon the sufferings of Norah. She came to consciousness while being carried bodily through the streets by half a dozen of “the finest” in Japan. But she retained consciousness only long enough to give vent to another terrific shriek and then faint again. When next she came to, she was in the “dhirty haythen doongeon,” as she termed it. There Mr. Kurukawa found her, secured her release, and took her home.

But the baby! It was only a little after nine when Norah had gone forth so bravely. By five in the afternoon the search for the baby had not ended. Everybody in the village appeared to have had the baby at one time or another through the day. The little one had been passed from house to house as an object of curiosity. Its clothing was a marvel to all Japanese eyes; its blue eyes were extraordinary; its little wisps of yellow hair the most amazing of sights ever seen in the little town; and its milk-white skin positively unreal. Japanese mothers brought their own brown offspring and put them side by side with the little white baby. They patted its little, chubby hands, and put their fingers into its mouth. The latter never failed to please the Kurukawa baby, which immediately fell to sucking the finger greedily. After a time, however, as no milk was forthcoming from the numberless fingers thus offered, the baby became cross.

Then nobody wanted it any longer.

Mr. and Mrs. Kurukawa and a policeman went about the town hunting for the child. The mother was almost prostrated, but insisted on accompanying her husband. As they turned away from each house the mother grew paler and more fearful. Finally the policeman suggested that they abandon the search until the following morning. It was getting towards night, and the Japanese retire early.

The parents would not hear of this. They would search all night if necessary. The policeman shrugged his shoulders. Very well, he had other duties. As the honorable excellencies could see for themselves, the streets were already almost deserted. Indeed, there were only a few children left yonder in the street. The father and mother turned almost aimlessly towards the place where a number of children were playing skip rope. One little girl after another would jump back and forth over the swinging rope. One girl seemed less nimble than the others. She slipped once, and trod on the rope often. As the Kurukawas came nearer to the group they noticed her because she seemed humpbacked. But the hump upon her back bobbed and moved up and down. When she stopped skipping and came to their side of the rope the hump upon her back moved a bit higher, until it rested against her neck. It was a little baby’s head!

Mrs. Kurukawa uttered a faint cry and rushed upon the little girl, pitifully trying to drag the baby from her back. It was sound asleep and seemed perfectly comfortable and none the worse for its late adventures. Mrs. Kurukawa hugged it wildly.

“Oh, my little, little baby!” she sobbed. It opened its sleepy blue eyes and gooed and gurgled softly.

From this time forth the baby became the centre of attraction to all the family. Even Juji seemed to be conscious of its enviable position. Was it not surrounded at all times by the little girls? Was it not hugged and petted in a way he had considered due only to him from his sisters?

He had watched with wonder the queer little plaything ever since it had come into the house. It was no larger than some dolls his sisters had; but when it opened its mouth it could make a noise almost as loud as Juji himself. In fact, its noises and its limbs and everything about it had an absorbing interest for Juji. He began to hang about its vicinity. Norah would discover him pressed up close to her knee, his little, serious slits of eyes intent upon every movement of the baby.

“Bless his heart,” she would say. “Shure the little lamb loves his wee brother. Then give him a nice kiss,” whereupon she would put the baby’s face close to Juji. The latter would rub his nose against the fat, soft, baby cheek. He must have pondered over his little step-brother, for one night Norah was awakened by strange little sounds in the vicinity of the baby’s bed. She reached over in the dark, found and enclosed a little hand in her large one. Then she saw a little figure in bed with the baby. Juji was sitting up and leaning over the baby. In his hand was a bottle, the end of which was thrust into the baby’s mouth!

Norah was too astonished at first to do anything but watch the child. Then she seized him.

“You lamb!” said she. “If you aren’t the swatest haythen, shure I don’t know who is!”

“Opey mouth,” said little Juji, in English, and pushed the bottle towards Norah’s lips.

He had seen the nurse-maid do this with the baby, and had heard her say:

“Opey mouthie, lovey!”

He had found the bottle, and while all were asleep and there was no one to interfere with him, he had sought to feed his baby step-brother.

VIII

MARION came flying into the garden, her cheeks aglow, her bright eyes dancing.

“Iris—Blossom!” she called, excitedly.

She could hardly get her breath to tell them the great news. In her hand she waved aloft a sheet of paper.

“What ees’t?” asked Plum Blossom, puzzled.

“A letter,” cried Marion. “Guess who from?”

“Gozo,” both answered at once.

Marion nodded.

“Right,” she said, “and to me!—_me_!” She began dancing airily about, waving the letter triumphantly and then caressing it.

Iris shrieked the news across the garden to Taro, pirouetting on his beloved pole. He leaped down and came running to join them.

“Why he ride unto _you_?” demanded Plum Blossom, enviously.

“Well, now, I’ll tell you,” confided Marion, sweetly. “You know ever since we’ve been here I’ve heard nothing but Gozo, Gozo, Gozo, from you all. Goodness! you never speak a sentence without ‘Gozo’ in it. Well, _I_ began to think him a real hero, and I just longed to _know_ him. Besides”—she lowered her voice—”I did think he ought to be warned about that—about Summer!”

“About Summer?” repeated Plum Blossom, hazily.

“We kinno understan’. You spik so fast.”

“Oh, dear, don’t you see? Why, she’s not good enough for a _hero_—now is she?”

“Wha’s ‘hero’?” asked Taro, disgustedly. Had they brought him from his favorite sport merely to bother him with words he could not understand.

“A hero is—is—well, he’s something _grand_!”

Iris yawned sleepily. She had forgotten all about the letter and now was lying on the grass blinking sleepily at the blue sky overhead.

“You’re not listening, Iris,” said Marion, frowning upon her and forcing her to get up.

“Don’t you want to hear Gozo’s letter?”

“Yes, yes—spik it,” urged Plum Blossom.

“But I didn’t finish what I was saying—explaining _why_ he wrote me. Don’t you see, _I_ wrote to him first. Yes, I did, too, I wrote him the longest letter, and I told him about you all—and—and—can he read English?”

Billy had joined the group, and he spoke up now:

“Ah, sis, go on now—read his answer. What’s he say?”

“But I can’t read it. See, it’s in Japanese.”

“You read it, Taro.”

“Me?” Taro seized the letter, and began laboriously reading it in Japanese.

“Well, well, what does he say?” asked Marion, excitedly.

Plum Blossom looked over her brother’s shoulder and translated in this wise:

“M-M-MADAME,—Your letter got—

“Yours truly forever,

“KURUKAWA GOZO.”

“Is that all?” inquired Marion, blankly, her blue eyes filling with tears.

“Postscript,” shouted Taro, then read it: “Write agin, thangs!”

Marion pouted and sat down in deep dejection.

“Well, I won’t do it, if _that’s_ the way he answers _my_ letters.”

She took the letter and went to her mother.

IX

ON the 15th of April the children dressed themselves in pink-and-white kimonos, simulating cherry blossoms, and strolled abroad for _hanami_ (flower picnic). They had been looking forward to this delightful occasion for weeks. The costumes had been prepared by their grandmother some days in advance of the festival. Even Marion had a little, white crêpe kimono embroidered with the pale pink flower, and with the sash or obi of the same shade. She made quite a picture, as with her eyes dancing and shining she came running into the garden to join her step-sisters. The wings of the dainty sleeves of her dress fluttered back and forth. Her cheeks were the color of the cherry blossom, and the golden crown of her hair, drawn up into the Japanese fashion, glistened in the sun. Plum Blossom wore a crêpe silk gown of deep pink, shading at the ends to white. The sash was white with pale green leaves and stalks embroidered on it. Iris, too, was in pink, and the bow of her obi was tied to imitate a cherry blossom. The three little girls had flowers in their hair—cherry blossoms, of course. They waited now in the garden for their brothers and parents. As the festival was new to Marion, she was the most eager of the girls.

From above their heads a voice rang out:

“Here, you, girls! get your masks and petals ready.”

“Where are you, Billy?” called Marion, looking everywhere about them.

“Here—up in the tree.”

He was perched in an old cherry-tree, where with vandal hand he was plucking the blossoms.

“O-o-oo!” exclaimed Plum Blossom. “You ba’ boy! No can pig flower. Tha’s nod ride!”

“Why, father _said_ we were to fill our sleeves—get all we could,” called down Billy.

“Yes, pig from ground,” said Plum Blossom; “never mus’ pig from tree.”

“Billy, you vandal, what are you doing up there?”

Mr. Kurukawa had joined the children in the garden. He, too, was in Japanese dress.

“Why,” said Billy, “you said—”

“Now, my boy, come down.”

Very promptly Billy obeyed.

Taking his step-son by the hand, Mr. Kurukawa taught him a lesson known to all Japanese children.

“Never pluck the flowers wantonly, least of all the sacred cherry blossom. When you wish the flower in your house, pluck out one branch, one flower. See, you have filled the front of your kimono, your sleeves, and your obi with the blossoms. Look at them!”

He held up the crushed branches to view. They drooped almost reproachfully at Billy.

“But, father,” he began again. “You did tell me—”

“To gather all the cherry-blossom petals you could. See, the ground is thick with them.”

“But they are all apart. They have no stalks.”

Mr. Kurukawa stooped and filled his hands full of petals. He held them a moment and then lightly tossed them into the air.

“_That_ is how we want them, boy. We use them like confetti. Now fill all your sleeves, children. Get as many as you can, and then we’ll start.”

Soon the long sleeves of their dresses were filled with the petals, and hung like little pillows. Mrs. Kurukawa was the last to join the merry party. All the children helped her to fill her sleeves, for she, too, wore the national kimono.

“Here are your masks, children,” said the father. With laughing chatter they fastened on the grotesque masks and clambered into the jinrikishas. It was a joyful day.

They passed numbers of picnickers, and exchanged showers of cherry-blossom petals with them.

They ate a delicious luncheon under a tree fairly weighted down with the heavenly flower. While they were in the midst of their repast, Taro and Billy mounted into the tree and shook it till the lunch was almost hidden under the petals, and the heads of all were crowned in cherry pink.

The petals they slipped into their food purposely, declaring that it added a delicious taste. Then the children played battledore and shuttlecock. Later, there being a pleasant wind, Mr. Kurukawa sent up a kite. Billy was permitted to hold the string. This was great fun, especially when Taro’s kite had a race with Billy’s, and finally won. By four in the afternoon they were all so refreshingly tired that nobody wanted to go home, and soon “father” was besieged for a story.

“Make it modern, father,” said Billy, “for we like that kind best.”

“Well, let’s see. What shall it be about?”

“War,” shouted Taro.

For a while there was silence, and Mr. Kurukawa looked very grave. He was thinking of Gozo.

“Very well,” said he, after a moment’s thought. “I will tell you a true story of to-day which has to do with a war.”

“Make it very, very long, father,” said Plum Blossom.

“And exciting,” said Taro.

“With a little girl in it,” said Iris.

“No, no, a liddle boy,” growled Juji.

“It’s about a little woman,” said Mr. Kurukawa, “and she was called ‘The Widow of Sanyo.’”

X

THIS is the story the Japanese father told, in English, for his own children understood the language better than they spoke it.

“You must know, children, that all loyal Japanese love and reverence Ten-shi-sama (the Mikado). No true Japanese would hesitate to give his life for the father of us all. That is why our boys go to war with faces shining like the sun. That is why we bid them go, and do not weep because we love them. We are proud and glad to give them for such service.”

“Father,” put in little Iris very gently, “_we_ are glad to give our Gozo, are we not?”

He hesitated a moment, and then said, simply:

“Yes, my child. But this story is not of Gozo.”

It was the first time since his return that he had mentioned his son’s name, and he did it without any sign of bitterness. His wife reached out and sought his hand, which she held for a moment closely.

“Go on,” urged Billy. “What do you want to interrupt for, Iris?”

She leaned against her father. He put his arm about her.

“Ten million egscuse,” said she to Billy.

“Where does the _widow_ come in?” asked Billy.

“Well, she was not a widow at the beginning. She was just a very young and very beautiful girl. But she had the spirit of a man. You see, before she came, her parents had prayed for a son to give to the service of Ten-shi-sama; but they were unfortunate. Their gods gave them only a girl, and they never felt quite the same to her as they would to a boy. They were very powerful people, and of noble ancestry, so they did not wish their race to die out. They prayed constantly for a son, and all they got was one daughter. Quite unfairly, they neglected the girl, just as if it were her fault that she were not born a boy. She grew up in the great shiro (palace) all alone, under the care of servants and tutors. None of the relatives cared to see her. Her mother died when she was born, and her father, being in the cabinet service of the Mikado, rarely saw her. But though a maiden, as I have said, she had the soul of a man, and she yearned to do the deeds of a man and a hero. Every morning of her life, as a little girl, she would prostrate herself before her shrine and beseech the gods to perform some miracle whereby she might indeed become a man. But that was a child’s prayer, and of course vain. So from childhood she came to womanhood. Looking one day into her mirror, she beheld the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Hitherto she had scorned to loiter over her mirror. Her thoughts were on other matters than her looks, she told herself. But this day she picked up her mirror on a sudden impulse, and the face which looked back at her so enthralled her that she could not put it down.

“‘Why,’ said she, ‘I am the most beautiful maiden in Japan!’ For a long time she continued to look at her face. Then she spoke again:

“‘And to think,’ said she, ‘that no one but my servants have ever seen me!’”

“What did she look like?” asked Marion.

“Well, let me see. I do not know whether Americans would regard her as the highest type of beauty, but to the Japanese mind she would have been considered peerless. Her hair was so black and shiny it was like lacquer. Sometimes when her maid would take it down it fell to her knees in a perfect glory of ebony. Her eyes were of the same color, almost pure black, and they were very long and poetic looking, the thick lashes veiling them. Her brows were perfectly formed, a slim, silky black line above the eyes. Her nose was thin and very delicate. Her mouth was small, the lower lip a trifle pointed, curling up just the least bit at the corners. The lips were red as blood. The shape of her face was oval, though her chin was delicately pointed. And she had tiny pink ears, as pretty as a baby’s, and small, exquisite hands.”

“Kiyo,” said Mrs. Kurukawa, gently, “who is this Japanese Venus?” She smiled.

“The Widow of Sanyo,” he replied as gently. “This is as she appeared when she looked at her own image in the mirror.

“Well, it was on that very day that Japan proclaimed war against China, and the country was pulsing with fever. Haru, as her name was, had spent many wretched hours in her chamber. Her despair and impatience at being unable to serve the Mikado and her country, was breaking her heart. What could she do, a helpless maiden? All the employment left to women she scorned. She wanted to do something more than a mere woman could accomplish. Her soul was the soul of a man, not a maiden’s. All day she prayed, and all night, and then she looked into her mirror and saw that lovely face! Suddenly the face changed, became curiously illuminated. A great idea had come to her. It was this:

“The gods had given her marvellous beauty. What man could resist her? She would wed a man, bear him children, and give them all to the Mikado.

“That was her first thought.

“But the war would be over by the time her children were grown—and they might not be men!

“No, that would never do!

“A better way presented itself to her. She sprang wildly to her feet, and wildly she clapped her hands, so!”

He illustrated her action, and the children did likewise, as they moved nearer their father to hear, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Her servants came running to answer her summons. She bade them dress her in the most beautiful and luxurious garments. At once a dozen maids waited on her. One brushed her glossy hair; dressed it in the most becoming mode, placed long, golden daggers and pins with sparkling stones glistening in them, and on either side of her ears set precious kanzashi. Another manicured, perfumed, and massaged her little hands. Still another softly kneaded her face until the blood sprang to the surface, and made it more beautiful than any paint could do. Then they robed her in a rosy gown—one fit only for a princess—as perhaps she was.”

He paused here, and the impatient children prompted him.

“Well—well?”

“What did she do then?”

“She was carried from the house and gently lifted into a gorgeous norimono.”

“A norimono!” cried Billy. “What’s a norimono?”

“Why—a little—something they used before jinrikishas.”

“But did not this all happen recently?” It was Marion’s question.

“Yes, that’s so,” admitted the romancer. “Now that I think of it, what she did was to walk down to her gate and allow them to lift her into the jinrikisha. That’s where the ‘lifting’ comes in.”

“Then where did she go?”

“I know,” said Taro.

“Where?” queried Billy.

“She go ad temple.”

“What for?”

“Pray to gods mek her man ride away.”

“Did she, father?”

“No. She drove to—” Again he paused.

“Where? Where?”

“To the house of the best known Nakoda in the town.”

“Nakoda!” Even Mrs. Kurukawa echoed the word.

“Professional match-maker.”

“Oh-h—what did she want there?” questioned Marion.

“A husband,” said Mr. Kurukawa. “Well, in she walked, and the Nakoda, when he beheld her glorious beauty, was overcome with the honor of her presence in his house. Said she:

“‘Honorable creature, cease to degrade yourself at my insignificant feet. Pray arise.’

“He did so, humbly and apologetically.

“Now, in America, a girl might have said: ‘Have you any husbands for sale?’ In Japan the girl said: ‘Deign to prepare a look-at meeting for me. I wish to marry.’

“Then she proceeded to explain herself further by means of questions.

“‘Know you many men creatures so depraved of mind they prefer not to go to the war?’

“‘I am, alas, acquainted with many such depraved reptiles,’ answered the Nakoda.

“‘Ah! Well, it is such a one I would marry. Do you think I can secure such a husband?’

“‘No man can look in the sublime direction of your serenity without immediately being willing to do anything you might command,’ declared the Nakoda.

“‘That is well, then,’ she smiled, graciously. ‘Bring forth a man-worm!’

“Well, a man-worm was brought forth and he fell at her feet. The thought of his great fortune in being able to marry any one so beautiful nearly drove him out of his senses.

“They were married at once, without much ceremony, and she took him home. He was like one in a dream of heavenly bliss. Well, the first thing she said to him as they entered the palace was:

“‘Man, dost thou adore me?’

“He fell on his face and kissed the hem of her robe.”

“Kiyo, I believe you’re making it all up as you go along,” interposed his wife here.

“Hush! Hush! We are coming to the thrilling part.”

“What a story to tell children!”

“When does the war begin?” asked Billy.

“Oh, the war is going right on now. Well, then, he fell on his face; she graciously bent over and lifted up his head, and she spoke in the most wooing of voices:

“‘If you of a truth adore me, are you ready to die for me?’

“He said he wanted to live for her. She shook her head, and said she wanted better proof of his affection than that. He then declared he would do anything she asked.

“She thereupon said: ‘You must be a soldier!’ At this he began to tremble, for he was a great coward at heart. However, she kept him in her house for five days, teaching him the principles of bravery and valor. At the end of that time she had so wrought upon his feelings that she persuaded him to enlist. She went in person to see him march away, which he did quite bravely for him! Her last words were the noble ones Japanese women say to their men at such a time: ‘I give you to Ten-shi-sama. Come not back to me. Glorious may be your end. The blessings of Shahra upon you.’

“He was not a good soldier; he turned out to be a wretched one, indeed, and in a short time was killed. She was free again to marry. Then she chose another man-worm, and again she sacrificed him to her Emperor, with the same result. He was one of those doomed in a transport sunk in Chinese waters. She married again, and her third husband was killed. Her fourth husband was blown to atoms, and her fifth met the fate of the first. Her sixth died scarcely six months later, and her seventh died of melancholia while in Manchuria.