“Father would have you happy to-day, children. This is his day, darlings. So be happy.”
And so they were. They played the games popular in Japan, engaged in the fascinating sport of kite-flying, listened with eager ears to the tales of the grandfather, and then, sleepy, homeward bound in their jinrikishas, lazily attacked passing festival-makers with the petals, to be smothered in turn with the flowery shower.
When they reached home it was gloaming. Norah made the discovery that most of the children were asleep.
“Shure,” said the girl, “they’re all babbies, mam, just look at the darlints,” and she indicated the heads of the three little girls all resting asleep on the back of the seat. Marion was in the middle with a hand of each step-sister in her own. Mrs. Kurukawa stood silently looking at them, then Norah interrupted her thoughts again.
“Did you think, ma’am, I’d have the heart to leave them?”
“I hoped not, Norah,” she answered, gently, “but I know it has been hard for you, and you are a good girl.”
She helped the Irish girl lift the sleeping Juji from the carriage. As a maid from the house came to the jinrikisha Mrs. Kurukawa turned to direct her to assist Norah. Something in the girl’s face startled her. The usual impassive expression was gone, and in the dim light of the evening her mistress saw the silent tears rolling down her face.
“Why are you crying, Natsu?” she said. “Are you in trouble?”
The girl shook her head.
“What is it? You are unhappy about something.”