"It is the room for the chanoyu, the tea-ceremony," said her cousin.
Inside, the walls were daubed with earth; and a round window barred with bamboo sticks gave a view into what was apparently forest depths.
"Why, it is just like a doll's house," cried Asako, delighted. "Can we go in?"
"Oh, yes," said the Japanese. Asako jumped in at once and squatted down on the clean matting; but her more cautious cousin dusted the place with her handkerchief before risking a stain.
"Do you often have tea-ceremonies?" asked Asako.
The Muratas had explained to her long ago something about the mysterious rites.
"Two or three times in the Spring, and then two or three times in the
Autumn. But my teacher comes every week."
"How long have you been learning?" Asako wanted to know.
"Oh, since I was ten years old about."
"Is it so difficult then?" said Asako, who had found it comparatively easy to pour out a cup of drawing-room tea without clumsiness.