“I haven’t said anything to hurt his feelings,” she answered. “It’s no disgrace to be a priest, for they are not exactly like other heathens. Ask him,” she added to the boy, “if he speaks English.”
The boy had often seen Caswell, but he did not know what he was or whence, except that he was a friend of one of the priests. He put the question. Caswell muttered something in Japanese without looking up.
“He say he spek no English.”
“There,” said the aunt, “I knew he couldn’t understand.”
“You speak very well,” said the girl to the Japanese boy.
The fat boy doubled over in a bow, sucked his breath, and beamed. “Ah, no! Sank you,” he said, “sank you ver’ much.”
“Ah, yes,” said the girl, smilingly. “Where did you learn?”
“At Kioto mission school,” he responded.
“So you are going to be a missionary,” said the aunt. “How interesting! You are a good boy.”
“Sank you,” said the boy, “yais, I am temple man boy; some day, perhaps, priest.”