“You must wear your white,” said the grandmother; “all wear white to-day. You must look your best. Now, Plum Blossom, let O’Chika arrange your hair.”
“Please, grandmother, tie my obi. You do it so beautifully,” begged Marion.
Smiling, Madame Sano pulled and twisted the little girl’s kimono into correct shape, wound the sash about her, and tied it in a huge bow behind. Then she slipped a fan and two little paper handkerchiefs into the sleeves of each little girl. Now that they were all ready, she took occasion to give them a short lecture.
“You mus’ wear sweed, smiling face to-day, liddle gells. No more cry.”
“Oh, grandmother, how can I help it?” asked Marion, a catch in her voice which already betokened the forbidden tears. “I’d better stay home. I can’t see father go away to that awful, cruel war.”
“When Gozo went away I nebber cry one tear!” said Plum Blossom, fervently.
“I no cry needer,” said Iris; “and when he say good-bye I laff and wave both these han’s like this.”
“She have flag in both those han’s,” explained Plum Blossom. “She have my flag also; so when I also wave my han’s I have no flag, but jus’ same—me—I laff, too.”
“Oh, didn’t Gozo feel bad to see you laughing at him like that?”
“No,” cried Plum Blossom, indignantly. “My! how good he feel. He hol’ himself like thisaway.” She threw out her chest in illustration. “And when he reached corner of street he put Juji down.”