CHAPTER IV
For two halcyon months Yuki San lived in a dream. The ample compensation Merrit insisted upon making for the hospitality extended to him more than met the modest needs of the little household, and once again, as in the earlier days, they went on jolly excursions, visited ancient temples, and picnicked under the shadow of the torii. The father and mother always trotted close behind, and Yuki San, vastly pleased with her ability, gaily translated the speeches from one to another. She talked incessantly, laughing over her own mistakes, and growing prettier and more winsome every day.
Merrit was glad to fill his leisure time in such pleasant companionship. Yuki San was the same little bundle of charm he remembered of old, with her innocence untouched, and a heart whose depths had never yet been stirred.
He teased her, and taught her, and played with her, as he would have played with a merry child. Naturally gentle and affectionate, he unconsciously swept Yuki San to the borderland of that golden world where to awaken alone is agony.
One morning, when the heavy mists of the valley lay in masses of pink against the deeper purple of the mountain, and his Highness, the sun, his face flushed from his long climb, was sending his first glances over the sunny peaks of Fuji-yama, Yuki San arose, after a sleepless night, and faced the morning with sorrowful eyes.
"You ve'y lazy, Mister Sun, this morning," she said, shaking a finger at him in reproof; "where you the have been? Why you not come the more early and make light for my busy?"
She tied the long sleeves of her bright kimono out of her way, and twisting a bit of cloth about her head, fell to dusting the shoji and setting the small room in order.
"I must the hurry," she said, as she kept up her brisk dusting. "I make the food so quick as that Robin San steal berry for his babies. To-day him one big, big day, but him no glad day. Merrit San go away." She paused in her work, and a look of pain darkened her eyes, but she shook her head reproachfully.
"Ah, Yuki San, you make sorry voice and your heart is thinking tears. You naughty girl! Quick you make the fire to rise in hibachi and give that Merrit San his gohan—same thing what that funny 'Merica call breakfast."
After the steam had begun to rise from the vessels on several hibachi, Yuki San, flushed by her exertions, rested upon her heels before the door that led into the garden. As she fanned her flushed face with her sleeve, she glanced again and again toward the narrow stairway that led to the chamber above, and at the slightest sound she listened in smiling expectancy.
From outside the wall came the gentle slip-slap of the water against the sampan, and the cheerful banter of the owners as they made ready for the work of the day.
Circling the garden, the fern-like maples made a note of vivid crimson amid the feathery green of the bamboo. Every feature of the place was closely associated with her short happy life. She had learned to walk on the soft sandy paths, she had spelled out her first characters on the old stone-lantern. She had whispered her secrets to the broken- nosed image of Kwannon, who sat in the shadow of the pines, and there under the plum-tree she had caught the naughty kitten that first brought her and Merrit San together.
As she sat, with folded hands, and watched the sunshine on the dewy leaves and flowers, her intense, restless, vivacious body relaxed in sudden languor and her soft mouth drooped in wistfulness.
A splash in the pool below attracted her, and looking down she saw the gleaming bodies of the goldfish as they leaped into the air. Instantly she was all life and volubility.
"Yuki San one big bad girl; she no remember li'l fish. They always like hungry baby San in early morning. I make fast to fill big hole inside—ve'y li'l outside."
Slipping her half-stockinged feet out of her straw house-shoes, she stepped into her wooden geta, and passing a shelf, filled her hands with round rice-cakes.
The edge of the water turned to gold as the fish crowded close. Yuki San scattered the crumbs and stood watching the wriggling mass for a moment, then said:
"You ve'y greedy li'l fish. I never no can fill your bodies. Now I get flower for Merrit San's breakfast."
She made her way over the flat mossy stones, passed the miniature Fuji where dwelt the spirit of the wondrous "Lady who made the flowers to bloom." She paused before the gorgeous chrysanthemums and looked long at the morning-glories, with their tender tints of dawn. But at last she spied on a rose-bush, set apart from the rest, a single white rose with a heart of red.
With a little cry of satisfaction, she thrust her hands among the thorns to pluck it. The rebound of the bush sent fluttering to her feet a brilliant purple butterfly. Tender to all living things, Yuki San dropped quickly to her knees and folded the half-chilled creature between the palms of her warm hands.
"Ah, Cho Cho San," she said, "the day of yesterday you so big and strong. The morning of to-day you have the weakness of cold body. That Jack Floss him ve'y naughty boy!"
She put her moist red lips to her folded palms and the warmth of her breath stirred to action the gauzy creature she held captive.
"You no must kick, Cho Cho San! Have the patience. I make you warm, I give you one more day of happy."
Yuki San's wooden shoes sent a sharp click into the quiet morning air as she quickly crossed the arched bridge and followed the path to the stone image beyond the pool. With a touch as soft as the wings she held, the girl lightly balanced the now thoroughly warmed butterfly on the broad forehead of the Goddess of Mercy.
In sharp contrast to the spirit of the scene came the clear, rollicking strains of an American air, whistled by some one coming down the steps.
For a moment Yuki San stood motionless, pressing her lips softly to the rose she held. Then, with a swift pitter-patter, she ran back to the house.
"The top of the morning to the honorable Miss Snow," said Merrit, who quite filled the doorway.
Not willing to be surpassed in salutation, Yuki San laid a hand on each knee, and bending her back at right angles, replied with mock gravity:
"Ohayo Gozaimasu-Kyo wa yoi O tenki."
Merrit knew she had him at a disadvantage in her own language, but, always delighted to see the play of her dimples and the soft pink creep into her cheeks when he teased, he stood by her now, big and stern, and growling.
"See here, Yuki San, otherwise Miss Snow, you just come off your high stilts of that impossible lingo, and speak nice English suitable for a little boy like me to understand."
"Li'l boy like you!" she rippled, "li'l boy like you! Merrit San him so long when he make Japanese bow he come down from top like big bamboo-tree—so!" Putting her hands high above her head, she bent till the tips of her fingers touched the floor. Still bent, she twisted her head till her eyes, bright with laughter, looked straight into Merrit's.
He lifted his eyebrows quizzically. "See here, Yuki San, you are fast developing the symptoms of a coquette."
She quickly straightened her back, and with a smile of bewilderment, exclaimed:
"Me croquette? No, no; croquette, him li'l chicken-ball what you eat. I no can be eat!"
Merrit shouted with delight, then grew grave.
"No, Yuki San, you don't ever want to be a coquette. You want to be your sweet little self, and make a good wife to that handsome soldier Saito, with all his gold braid and dingle-dangles. But what about breakfast? You see, my train leaves in an hour. If you don't give me something to fill my honorable insides, I'll have to eat you, sure enough."
In mock fear she quickly brought a low table from an inner room, and with deft hands placed the steaming soup and broiled fish before him. The knife and fork were a concession to Merrit's inability to wield the chopsticks, and sitting on his heels was Merrit's concession to the inability of the house to provide a chair.
"Hello!" he said, picking up a long-stemmed rose, "where did you find this beauty?"
"I guessed her with my nose," the girl answered. "You know what make her heart so red? Long time ago, most beautiful princess love with wrong man. Make Buddha ve'y angly, and he turn her body into white rose. But her heart just stay all time red 'cause of beautiful love that was there."
"My! he's a fierce old customer, that Buddha of yours," said Merrit.
Yuki San paused in the filling of the rice-bowl and looked at him gravely:
"Merrit San, do you know God?"
"Do I know God?" he repeated, with a half-embarrassed laugh.
"Yes, Christians' God, what you must love and love, but no never can see till die-time come. You know, Merrit San?" Then, lowering her voice in earnest inquiry, she went on: "You believe that Christians' God more better for Japanese girl than Buddha?"
For a moment Merrit felt the hot blood of confusion rise to his temples. The role of spiritual adviser was a new and somewhat embarrassing one. Struggling for expression, he floundered hopelessly.
"I—I—I guess I don't know very much about it. But there's one sure tip, Yuki San, the Christians' God is all right. You can't lose out if you pin to him." He stammered like a foolish schoolboy, but struggled bravely on: "When things get pretty thick and you've struck bottom, that's the time you find out. I know. I've been there. More's the pity I don't remember it oftener!"
"And you think him more better for me?" asked Yuki San, still perplexed.
"You bet I do!" said Merrit with conviction. "Take my word for it and don't forget."
"I no forget," she said.
A sliding of the screen and a call from the court-yard announced the arrival of the jinrikisha men, who had come for the baggage.
Merrit thrust back his half-finished breakfast.
"By Jove! I'd most forgotten this is my last meal with you. Just to think all that tiresome old government contract is finished and I'll soon be on my way to the other side!"
"You want to see other side?" she asked. "Mama San not there no more." Then seeing his face darken, she laid a quick hand of sympathy on his. "I have the sorrowful for you," she said earnestly, then went on hastily: "That other side! Yes, I know that most beautiful 'Merica. Most big ship in the world come rolling into Hatoba. Merrit San so long and big, stand way out front and see over much people. Then he cry out, 'Herro!' herro!' with glad and much joyful. He see that lovely girl like picture waiting there!"
Without pausing for a reply, she pushed open a door and called in Japanese to her father and mother, who never made their appearance till Merrit's breakfast was finished.
"Come, make ready to give our guest an honorable departure," she said.
In the small courtyard facing the street the girl found the men, with their jinrikishas and baggage-wagon, waiting to convey Merrit to the station. She carefully directed the tying on of the various trunks and bags, and placed the family just where they should stand that the greatest honor might be done the departing guest.
As Merrit came out of the little house and reached for his shoes, which stood waiting at the side, Yuki San started toward him, eager to serve him to the last. Merrit motioned her back.
"Don't come too near, Yuki San. If you happened to fall into one of those shoes, you'd be lost for ever and ever, and that big Mr. Saito would be inviting me to cut off my head."
Yuki San laughed and smoothed the cushions in the jinrikisha while she gave minute directions to the jinrikisha men.
Merrit made his adieu with high good humor, and so many big words that Yuki San was hard pressed to interpret. He invited the family and all their relatives to come to see him in America. When he reached Yuki San he held out his hand. Made shy by the unusual ceremony, she timidly laid a cold and unresponsive little palm in his. He looked down from his height with tender memories of all her gentle courtesies.
"Good-by, little snow-girl," he said. "I'll never forget Japan, nor you."
She withdrew her hand and looked inquiringly up at him.
"Some long time you come back?"
Merrit climbed into the jinrikisha "No, Yuki San, you know I'll soon have a little home of my own to work and care for. I'll be a busy man for the next few years, so I guess I'll not come back."
As in a dream, Yuki San saw the men adjust their hats and tighten their sashes as they took their places in front of the small vehicle. Mechanically she bowed her farewell with the rest of the family, but she did not join their "Sayonara."
She watched the swift moving of the jinrikisha wheels, then she saw Merrit turn at the gate and wave his hat as he joyously called:
"Good-by, Yuki San, God bless you!"
The girl stood still, her eyes on the empty gate. Like a lonely, hurt child her lip quivered, and she caught it between her teeth to steady it.
"Ah, Yuki," cried her mother, "some spirit has wished you harm. A drop of blood rests on your lips."
Yuki San drew her hand across her mouth, and lightly answered that maybe a robin had tried to steal a cherry. But to herself she murmured:
"My heart bleed for lonely. He never come back."
