“That is true,” nodded Gonji reflectively. “It’s bad business,” he added.
“Perhaps,” she essayed almost timidly, “that new God is also kind and good.”
Gonji shook his head skeptically.
“The priest at the temple says that he is really an evil spirit.”
The girl shuddered. She turned away from Gonji and he resumed his way down the hill.
Azalea walked listlessly back to the mission house. When she had reached it, she paused irresolute. A sudden idea had come to her. Why should she not pretend to be converted? When the barbarian priest had paid her she would go to the shrine of Kwannon and confess her lie. She would give half of the money to the gods, who would forgive her; she was hungry and ill-treated and she wished to leave the home of her step-mother, who was cruel to her. If money could be earned by a little lie, why should she not earn it? She would! She would!
The young minister closed and locked the door of the church. Turning on the threshold, he paused a moment before descending the little flight of steps, and looked about him at the smiling, sunny landscape.
The bells of the neighboring temple were melodious, and he found himself absently listening to them. With his hands clasped behind, and his head somewhat bent, Richard Verley turned slowly toward his home.
It was only the length of an iris field from the church, a pleasant saunter. The minister was wont to dream upon these walks—dream of the future harvest which would repay his earnest labors.
He had come quite close to his garden gate before he perceived the little figure waiting there. It was her voice—her odd, breathless voice, which called his attention to her—though he heard the one word ‘convert’ spoken in English. The rest of her speech was unintelligible.