“Pray come into the house, my son,” said Madame Sano. “We can better speak there.”
They had been talking in Japanese. Noting her husband’s look of worry, Mrs. Kurukawa anxiously inquired the reason. Without explaining, he led her into the house. As they entered they were startled by the strange sound that greeted them. It was like the sharp sigh of a wind in an empty house. In reality it was the panic-stricken flight from the hallway of the children of Mr. Kurukawa.
Grouped closely together, the four children and Miss Summer had retreated to the far end of the hall, where they awaited the advent of the dreaded “barbarian” step-mother, for such Gozo had made them believe she must be. For many months they had conjured up in imagination pictures of their step-mother and her children.
They had seen but one foreigner in their town, the missionary, who had been their teacher. Him they had held in as much awe and fear as they would a strange animal.
Now their father appeared in the hall, holding by the arm what seemed to the children a most extraordinary looking creature, while behind them came, hand in hand, the strangest-looking little boy and girl, with eyes so big that Plum Blossom thought them like those of a goblin. The face, however, which frightened them most was that of the Irish nurse, who bore the baby in her arms. The children gazed only a moment at this outlandish group; then with one accord they fled, each in a different direction.
The strangers coming from the out-door sunlight into the darkened hall had barely time to see the children ere they were gone. They had a hazy glimpse of a patch of color at the end of the hall, and then its sudden, wild dispersion. For a moment they stood looking about them in blank astonishment. Suddenly Mr. Kurukawa, who was ebullient with humor and good-nature, burst into laughter. He laughed so hard, indeed, that his wife, the children, and the nurse joined him. This unusual mirth in the house brought the children cautiously back, too curious and inquisitive to withstand the novelty of the situation.
Through the paper walls little fingers were cautiously thrust; little black eyes peered at the new-comers from behind these frail retrenchments.
When his mirth had subsided, Mr. Kurukawa favored his wife with a sly wink, and then quick as a flash he pushed back one of the shojis, disclosing the little figure behind it. He lifted it up by the bow of its obi. Something strange stuck closely to it and invited the gaze of Mrs. Kurukawa. It was the corset!
At the same time the father perceived it, and, pulling it off, held it aloft.
“Ah, ha!” he cried, “here is surely a little flag of truce.”