The slender hand, pointed to the wooded height behind the garden. "Jus' there on the street call Prayer-to-the-gods. My house so-o-o small, an' garden 'bout such big." She indicated a space of perhaps six feet square. "Funny!—né?"
"And who lives there with you?"
Haru smiled brilliantly. "Oh, so-o-o many peoples! Papa-San, an'—jus' me."
"No brother?"
She shook her head. "My don' got," she said. "Papa-San very angry for because my jus' girl an' no could be kill in Port Arthur!"
She spoke with a smile, but the matter-of-fact words brought suddenly home to Barbara something of the flavor of that passionate loyalty, that hot heroism and debonair contempt of death which has been the theme of a hundred stories. "Do all Japanese feel so, Haru?" she asked. "Would every father be glad to give his son's life for Japan?"
The girl looked at her as if she jested. "Of course! All Japan man mos' happy if to be kill for our Emperor! Tha's for why better to be man. Girl jus' can stay home an' wish!" As the gown's last fastening was slipped into its place, she turned up her lovely oval face with a smiling, sidelong look.
"Ma-a-a!" she exclaimed. "How it is beau-tee-ful! né? only—"
"Only what?"