THE farewell breakfast was as merry a one as they could make it under
the circumstances. To please the father, it was served in the
ceremonious Japanese fashion peculiar to such a time. There were hot
rice and freshly fried fish, fruit, persimmons and oranges, and clear,
delicious tea. Everything, in fact, there was to tempt the appetite at
this time, when the appetite might fail them. Even Mrs. Kurukawa, whose
white face showed a night of wakefulness, ate some of the crisp,
inviting fish, and drank the tea with grateful relish. Mr. Kurukawa
appeared all cheerfulness. He made them gifts. Each of the family had an
exchange gift for him. Smiling whimsically, he looked at the little
pile.
“Do you suppose I can find room to take them to the front with me?” he
asked his wife, jocularly.
“Oh yes, yes,” she said, earnestly, “for I advised them all to get you
something you could use there.”
“Let me see.” He began going over the heap of presents. There were
needles and thread from Plum Blossom. Iris had bought a tiny pair of
scissors. Taro’s gift was a little drinking-cup which folded up, a
foreign novelty. Billy gave a jack-knife, such a one as he had long
saved to buy for himself. A little Bible was Marion’s gift. The
grandparents gave the most sensible gift—certain clothes he would
appreciate, compactly rolled in a small bundle, and consisting of
Japanese underwear and sandals. He would find them grateful after long
use of the uniform. Juji had been permitted to choose his own gift.
“Buy something for father,” said Plum Blossom in the store. Then Juji
had pointed with a fat finger at something bright. It proved to be a
silk handkerchief. Even Norah and the baby had gifts for him. A pin the
Irish girl had prized much, since it had been given her by an old
sweetheart, and which bore in twisted letters of silver the legend,
“Remember me,” was the nurse’s tribute. The baby’s gift Mrs. Kurukawa
had chosen—a leather folder containing the photographs of the entire
family. Her own gift she put upon his finger, a ring he had given her.
“Bring it back to me,” she said, and he promised that he would.
The parting took place on the threshold. It was not similar to that of
most Japanese farewells, for Mr. Kurukawa embraced his little girls and
his wife, and they clung about his neck and kissed him, while Marion,
because she could not keep back her tears, rushed into the house to hide
them.
The boys, Billy, Taro, and Juji, were allowed to go with him to the
train. As Gozo had done, Mr. Kurukawa carried Juji on his shoulder.
The little boys waved their flags as the train drew out, and shouted at
the top of their voices.
“Banzai! Banzai! Banzai Dai Nippon!”
* * * * *
They were silent as they made their way homeward. Even Billy, the
garrulous, found he could not speak with such a great lump choking his
throat. When they reached the house they found all the blinds drawn.
Suspecting that the “females,” as Taro called them, had retired to weep
in their rooms, Taro drew Billy towards the pond.
“Let’s play,” said he.
Billy shook his head.
“Play fight,” urged Taro. “_I_ will be Admiral Togo—you be the Lussian
admiral.”
“_Me_ a Russian!” cried Billy, fiercely.
“Yaes, because you loog jes’ same.”
At the insult Billy became purple. He shouted:
“I don’t. Father says when I wear your old kimono I look Japanese.
_I’ll_ be Togo. I’m the oldest.”
Taro shook his head.
“I tell you what,” said Billy. “Juji can be the Russian. See how sleepy
and lazy he looks. Let’s just duck him in the water and wake him up.”
“He’ll cry too much.”
“Oh, the Russians all cry and pray and make a big noise, but they can’t
do anything after a Jap gets them. We won’t really hurt Juji. He’ll
groan like a wounded Russian, and you can be a Red Cross Japanese doctor
and make him better.”
“All lide,” said Taro.
So they began to play.
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[Illustration]
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