THE old grandmother was the first to arise on the auspicious morning.
The sun had not yet made its appearance when she opened her shoji and
looked out at the dawning.
She dressed herself hastily, and then went to arouse the servants. While
the family still slept the house was put in perfect order, and soon
breakfast was preparing. When she had set all the maids at their tasks
the grandmother returned to the floor above, and entered the room now
shared jointly by Taro and Billy. Opening the shutters she let in the
light. Then as they did not stir, she deftly turned down their
bedclothes and drew the pillows from beneath their heads. Taro sat up
grumbling and yawning, while Billy turned over on his side, felt about
for the pillow, and then slept uneasily without it. Taro, now awake,
shook Billy.
“Oh, let me sleep,” complained Billy.
“All ride,” said Taro, slipping out of bed and beginning to put on his
clothes quickly. “You kin sleep when we marsh off with my fadder. No
more Port Authur. Soon no more Lussians!”
Billy was out of bed in a minute, suddenly recalled to the fact of what
this day was to bring forth.
“I’ll beat you dressing,” said he.
Meanwhile, Madame Sano was helping the little girls with their toilets.
Iris was standing patiently while her hair was being dressed in an
elaborate mode. Plum Blossom, her round, fat little face still flushed
with sleep, was sitting on the floor drawing on a white stocking.
A maid was helping Marion. The latter’s hair was arranged in the same
fanciful mode as her step-sister’s.
“Grandmother, please let me wear my new cherry-blossom kimono to-day,”
coaxed Iris.
“You must wear your white,” said the grandmother; “all wear white
to-day. You must look your best. Now, Plum Blossom, let O’Chika arrange
your hair.”
“Please, grandmother, tie my obi. You do it so beautifully,” begged
Marion.
Smiling, Madame Sano pulled and twisted the little girl’s kimono into
correct shape, wound the sash about her, and tied it in a huge bow
behind. Then she slipped a fan and two little paper handkerchiefs into
the sleeves of each little girl. Now that they were all ready, she took
occasion to give them a short lecture.
“You mus’ wear sweed, smiling face to-day, liddle gells. No more cry.”
“Oh, grandmother, how can I help it?” asked Marion, a catch in her voice
which already betokened the forbidden tears. “I’d better stay home. I
_can’t_ see father go away to that awful, cruel war.”
“When Gozo went away I nebber cry one tear!” said Plum Blossom,
fervently.
“I no cry needer,” said Iris; “and when he say good-bye I laff and wave
both these han’s like this.”
“She have flag in both those han’s,” explained Plum Blossom. “She have
_my_ flag also; so when I also wave _my_ han’s I have no flag, but jus’
same—me—_I_ laff, too.”
“Oh, didn’t Gozo feel bad to see you laughing at him like that?”
“No,” cried Plum Blossom, indignantly. “My! how good he feel. He hol’
himself like thisaway.” She threw out her chest in illustration. “And
when he reached corner of street he put Juji down.”
“Juji? Where was he?”
“Gozo carry him on shoulder all way down stleet. And Taro he too marsh
ride nex’ his side with Gozo. Then when Gozo reach that corner he put
Juji down and he putting his han’ on his head thisaway, and then he turn
quick, and thad was las’ time we saw Gozo.”
Her voice fell at the end, and her face had now a distressed expression.
“_I_ only cry after he gone way,” admitted Iris.
Plum Blossom turned on her fiercely.
“If you talk of thad cry _now_, you goin’ cry again, and to-day you
_mus’_ smile, accounts our fadder marshing, too.”
Iris smothered all signs of tears.
“_Me?_ _I_ cry to-day?” she said. “Never I cry.”
“Did Juji cry?” asked Marion, curiously, mindful of the child’s talent
in that direction.
“No, Juji never cry, even after Gozo gone. Everybody cry then ’cept
Juji. He forget he god brudder naime Gozo.”
“Now all honorably go down-stairs and sedately wait for your august
parents to descend for breakfast.”
Later the grandmother dressed little Juji, and the baby, too, for the
lazy Norah could not see the necessity for such early rising, and
grumbled at being awakened.
“Shure an’ wot time is it he’s afther goin’ away?” she inquired of the
grandmother.
“Your master go away at three o’clock,” said the grandmother, quietly.
“Thray o’clock! In the afthernoon, may I arsk?”
“Certainly.”
“And you get up at thray in the morning because he laves at thray in the
afthernoon?”
The grandmother did not answer. She was unused to such questioning from
her own servants, and found it hard to tolerate it from the Irish girl.
But Norah persisted:
“What’s the sinse of getting up before you’re awake?”
The grandmother condescended an explanation.
“We desire to make this day a long one, since we can’t have your master
with us long.”
Still grumbling, the Irish girl dressed herself, and then took the baby
from the grandmother.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------