“Ah, excellency,” said Aoi, “he merely looks like a child. He is, indeed, much older than he appears. Was he not always old for his age? It is merely his constant association with the tiny one which causes him to appear so young.”
“Well,” said the missionary, “we must think about it. I will talk it over with Mr. Blount.” He indicated his assistant, who bowed quietly.
Aoi appeared troubled.
“Excellency,” she said, “it was the will of his august father that he should see something of the world when he should have attained to years of manhood.”
The missionary nodded thoughtfully.
“I will give you my opinion to-morrow—to-morrow evening,” he said. “The matter requires serious reflection.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, gratefully. “You are so good the gods will bless you.”
Thus, even within the house of the new religion, poor Aoi let slip from her lips that almost unconscious faith in the gods of her childhood.
