“But come along, Tomo-chan. I’ll show you what you have not seen yet.”
And I took her over the hill and pointed to the faint shadow of the peerless mountain.
“Why, Fujiyama!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how lovely! Could you see that every day from here?”
“Not in rainy weather.... But she wanted to see you to-day, as everybody else did, and waited there from morning.”
“I wish you would thank her for that, Sakae-san.”
“You ought first to thank him who told her about your coming.”
“Oh,” she smilingly said, “but don’t tell me his name now, as I want to repay him afterwards—abundantly.”
I touched her dimple as she said so, and then we went to the secluded part of the hill where the crimson branches of maples were projecting from the green background, the red frosted “crows’ melons” festooned high on the criptomerias, and the wild chrysanthemums were blooming lavishly. In such a charming spot Tomo-chan was a child of thirteen, and wanted me to take “crows’ melons”—I wonder if she remembered the watermelon incident?—and to gather chrysanthemums, and laughed and sang to her heart’s content. She was her old very self. As the setting sun was resting on her shoulder, I decked her hair with wild flowers, and whispered in her ear that she would remember evermore the day we spent together. She nodded, and smiled the sweetest of smiles.
THE END.