As soon as Plum Blossom ceased, Iris began reading. Her letter proved to be, however, an almost exact copy of her sister’s, for, sitting close to Plum Blossom, she had simply copied her sister’s letter bodily, thus saving herself the labor of composition. They all laughed when she re-read Plum Blossom’s letter. Marion read hers shyly.
“Dear Father,—Please come back soon. I pray for you every night. Have you got my Bible still? I hope you read it. Do you remember Miss Lamb in Chicago? She used to be my Sunday-school teacher, and when you became my papa she told me to be sure to urge you to read the Bible, for that was the way to convert the heathen, and I told her you were not a heathen, but my own dear father, and the best man in the world. But I don’t know why I condescended to write about Miss Lamb at this time. It makes my letter so long.
Dear father, I do love you. Mamma cries for you at night.”
She was interrupted here by a protest from the family. Father ought not to be told of tears. So she scratched that sentence out laboriously, and then continued:
“I know she cries at night, because her eyes show it, and it’s because she loves you so. So please come back to her at once and—”
Billy interrupted this time. “How much longer is it?” he asked, gruffly. Marion continued, her face flushed:
“—and this is all, dear father, and I hope you will win the fight, only please, please don’t kill anybody or let any one kill you. Your own little ‘Yankee girl,’
“Marion.”
“P. S.—Give my best love to Gozo, and tell him I pray for him, too, and, please, also, would you lend him the Bible I gave you sometimes?”
It was Taro’s turn. He began reading in Japanese, put was forced to translate: