And there was Fuji indeed, towering in the golden sunset, its outlines clearly marked against the sky, and its summit wrapped in glistening snow.
But his attachment still expressed itself most touchingly in flowers. I know he kept a careful eye upon me to see what I did with his offerings, and when I occasionally wore one of his bouquets, his smiles and bows reached their highest extravagance. One morning he appeared early at the door with a beaming face, though it bore evidence of some anxiety, as if he had formed a plan of the success of which he was doubtful.
“Come, Mississy,” he said, pointing to the awaiting jinrikisha.
But I was too busy that day, and told him I could not go. He seemed almost ready to cry, and looked up to me again appealingly.
“Some other day, Eba,” I returned.
“No, no,—to-day. Cannot see to-morrow.”
After a little further conversation, I decided to spend a few moments this way, and so stepped into the jinrikisha. He started off in high glee, and ran at a pace that would have terrified me had any other than Eba held the shafts. One or two small children who were so unfortunate as to be in his way were overturned with a single thrust of his arm and went rolling over into the gutter. Eba laughed loudly at his little joke, and shouted lustily to Cho, who passed us with a perplexed and disapproving shake of the head. Finally we drew up before a florist’s shop, and Eba proudly led the way to the shrine of his peculiar pilgrimage.
He stopped before a small potted plant, and pointed at it with a smile. I was amazed to see a tiny pine-tree not over six inches high, but perfectly formed in the smallest detail. I had seen many other Japanese experiments in minuteness, but this surpassed them all. Eba was delighted with my satisfaction, and informed me that this thrifty dwarf had been growing for many years. It was to be on exhibition for that day only, and this explained his anxiety that I should visit the shop that morning.
When I told my two friends that we were to leave Yokohama, and spend a few weeks in China, their faces suddenly fell, and only brightened when I added that our journey would be a short one, and that we should expect to see them on our return. They carefully inquired when we were to go, and the exact time we were to stay. We thought little of this until, after having spent the allotted number of days in the land of the pig-tail, we rode into the station at Yokohama. During my absence I had given many a thought to the two friends, and wondered whether their thoughts of us had vanished when we ourselves left their sight. I was somewhat surprised, as well as pleased, as the train drew in, to see two familiar figures enjoying the old-time repose between the same jinrikisha shafts. They were Cho and Eba, who eagerly came forward as the train drew to a stop, and scanned the passengers. One or two of those alighting tried to engage their services, but in vain. Eba first caught sight of us, and came up bowing, smilingly followed by the less demonstrative Cho, whose face, however, disclosed that he was a delighted man. Eba later informed us that they had carefully counted the days and the trains, and had hit upon the exact time that we should return.