Part 8

He had come to the priest’s apartments, the little palace where the great Shogun had lived in his retirement, before he was conscious whither his steps were taking him. His thoughts were across eight thousand miles of sea. He looked around him with a start. “Shall I go in?” he said to himself. One of the priests, although of a different sect, was his friend. On the porch, a temple student saluted him. He was known because he often came, not only to talk with his friend, but to study the screens of Kano Tan Yu and Jakuchu, and the marvelous folding screens painted by Korin and Soami, and the kakemonos by those other ancient masters, Cho Densi and Shubun and Eishin.

He took the student’s welcome as an omen and slipped off his sandals. He was ushered in and, after saluting his friend, the temple tea was brought and they sat with it between them and discoursed. The temple tea was not as other tea, but superior. It was a powder made of the tenderest of the young leaves of certain choice plants. It possessed the secret flavors of spring, and the property of making the mind glow and the brain crystal clear without racking the nerves.

They talked for a time, but to Caswell it was with an effort. His soul that day had no meeting with his friend, and the priest was aware of it. He produced tobacco and they lit the little pipes and, inhaling a few whiffs, sat in silence.

Presently Caswell turned his head to listen. Through the paper screen which made the partition wall, he heard the girl’s voice; then the voice of her aunt. They were entering the room next.

“It is a party of foreigners,” observed the priest. “They have doubtless been generous to the boy. Liberal foreigners are sometimes invited to partake of the temple tea. The tea money (_chadai_) goes to the restoration fund.”

“Is it so?” said Caswell. He was listening.

“I am afraid that I never could get used to sitting on my feet,” said her aunt.

“Poor auntie!” said the girl, and then she laughed, and as she laughed Caswell held his breath. It was a low, sweet, bubbling laugh; the laughter that is compelled by happiness in the heart, just as a fountain bubbles under a pressure of crystal water.

A moment later came the deeper tones of a man’s voice, also laughing, and the echo of the same happiness was in them.

Caswell smiled and a mist came into his eyes. He understood. He looked at the old priest, and he too was smiling.

“The young foreign lady has an agreeable voice,” observed the priest. “Unlike most.”

“Unlike most who travel here,” said Caswell, “she is of an honorable family.”

“Friends, no doubt, of your honorable family,” suggested the priest.

“No,” said Caswell. He realized that he did not even know her name. “But I know,” he continued. “One may know by the voice and the speech.”

“Assuredly, with us,” said the priest, “but I had thought that all families in America were equal.”

“Yes and no,” replied Caswell, absently. He had no mind for explaining the American system then. He was listening, for they were laughing again, although there seemed no reason for laughter in the conversation.

Presently Caswell rose and began his leave-taking, and the priest accompanied him to the porch where he had left his sandals. Beside the sandals they saw three pairs of shoes.

There was a pair of heavy men’s walking shoes, a pair of woman’s shoes of the type known as “common-sense,” and a third pair on which Caswell’s eyes rested. These were little Russia leather things, not new but with the workmanship and fine lines of the Oxford Street bootmaker, and they had the air of well-being which comes from proper trees and the care of an expert maid.

“It is a curious custom of the foreigners to make shoes out of leather,” observed the priest.

“It is, is it not?” said Caswell, but absently, for through the half-open wall panel he saw the party seated on the matting around the fire-pot which the fat temple boy had just deposited. The young man and the girl were sitting next one another. The aunt was examining a screen. Their backs were turned to him, so that Caswell could look without being seen. Suddenly, as he gazed at the little shoes, an idea came to him and he smiled.

The fat boy was coming out on his way for the tea and cakes, and as he passed Caswell stopped him.

The boy bowed ceremoniously.

“Did you remove the shoes of the honorable young foreign lady?” he inquired.

The boy bowed again and replied that he had indeed been so honored.

“In the foot of the stocking of the young foreign lady,” inquired Caswell, “was there not a hole?”

“Not the least hole,” replied the fat boy, wonderingly.

“No hole? Are you sure?” said Caswell.

“None,” said the boy.

“Thank you, that is all,” said Caswell, gravely. He looked at the little shoes again. “Simple one that I am,” he murmured.

“Is it true,” inquired the priest, “that foreign women wear stockings above their ankles and of colored fabrics?”

Caswell made no reply for a moment. The girl was speaking.

“But you never told me what you did to win your medal,” she said.

“It is true,” said Caswell, in reply to the priest’s question.

“But I should like to know,” said the girl.

“I finally got up the courage to go out after the cocoanuts,” said the youth, “after I was good and hungry.”

“But what else?” said the girl.

“But that was all--on my word,” said the youth, and they fell to laughing again.

“It is a curious custom,” observed the priest, referring to the stockings.

“It is,” said Caswell, politely, “is it not? And now I must depart,” he added.

He bowed his farewell. “_Sayonara!_” he said, “_Sayonara!_”

“_Sayonara!_” said the priest, bowing. “You will come soon again?”

Caswell straightened up. “I forgot to tell,” he said. “I shall not return soon. I am going to my own country.”

“Indeed, is it so? Is it so?” said the priest, gently. He bowed again and wished him the good wishes suitable to such a parting.

“_Sayonara!_” said Caswell. Then he walked toward the wicket gate that led out of the garden.

“He got up the courage to go out after the cocoanuts,” he murmured, as he walked away. He quickened his steps, but once he turned and looked back, for he heard their low, rippling laughter again.