Yuki drew back. "I have forgotten so many things," she murmured, flushing.
"They are not lost; they will spring quickly in the warm rain of home love," said Tetsujo, behind them.
The shoji were sliding apart, both at once, with noiseless precision. In the opening Maru's globe-like countenance beamed. Now, for the first time, Iriya performed the equivalent of an introduction. "Maru San," she said, in her pleasant voice, "this is our o jo san (honorable young lady of the house), Onda Yuki-ko, for whom we have been longing."
"Hai, o jo san! Go kigen yō! Irasshai!" palpitated the little servant, asking her to enter.
"I have written you often of Maru," Iriya went on, turning to her daughter.
Tetsujo brushed unceremoniously through the group, and strode alone to the big corner guest-room at the rear.
"She is the orphaned child of Suzumè's dead husband's step*-son," continued Iriya, placidly. "About two years ago she was left quite destitute, so of course her natural home was here. Maru is a good girl, and of much help to us."
"Ah, Mistress, Mistress," cried old Suzumè, nearly tripping on her clogs to reach them, "you know well that Maru is a very cat in the sun for laziness." The speaker struggled hard to look severe.
"Hai, hai," said Maru, in deprecating confirmation, and bobbed over to the matting.
"Why, o jo san, in my opinion Maru is not worth the honorable rice she puts in her gluttonous mouth," said Suzumè, on a high note of satisfaction. "Yet the kind mistress here, besides food and occasional outworn garments, allows her sixty sen each month for spending. Ah, Kwannon Sama, of divine compassion, will reward our mistress for her kind heart!"