ed around individual freedom.

She had such loving thoughts of Uncle, Sada sobbed, before she
came. She longed to make his home happy and be one of his people.
She loved the beautiful country of her mother and craved its
friendship.

Miss West had drilled it into her conscience that marriage was
holy, and impossible without love. (Bless you, Susan!) She wanted
to do her duty, but she _could not_ marry this man whom she had
never seen but once, and had never spoken to.

She knew the absolute power the law of the land gave Uncle over
her. She knew the uselessness of a Japanese girl struggling
against the rigid rules laid down by her elders. She knew
resistance might bring punishment. Well, Mate, I do not care ever
to see again such a look as was in Sada's eyes as she turned her
set face to me and forced through her stiff lips a stony, "I
won't!" But I thanked God for all the Susan Wests and their
teachings.

In spite of the girl's unhappiness, there was a thrill in the
region of my heart. Of her own free will Sada San had decided.
Now there was something definite to work upon. In the back of my
brain a plan was beginning to form. Hope glimmered like a
Jack-o'-lantern.

It was late evening. A flaming sunset flushed the sky and bathed
the ancient garden of arched bridges and twisted trees in a pinkish
haze. The very shadows spelled romance and poetry. It was wise to
use the charm of the hour for the beginning of my plan.

I drew Sada down beside me, as we sat in a queer little play-house
by the garden lake.

In olden times it had been the rest place of the Prince Asano, when
he was specially moved to write poetry to the moon as it floated
up, a silver ball in a navy-blue sky over "Three Umbrella
Mountain." Had his ghost been strolling along then, it would have
found deeper things than, "in the sadness of the moon night beholds
the fading blossom of the heart," to fill his thoughts.

I led the girl to tell me much of her life in Nebraska; of her
friends and their amusements. Hers had been the usual story of any
fresh wholesome girl. The social life in a small town had limited
her experiences, but had kept her deliciously naive and sweet.

For the first time in our talks, she avoided Billy's name. I
hailed it as a beautiful sign. I mentioned William myself and
delighted in her red-cheeked confusion. I gently asked her to tell
me of him.

She and Billy had gone to school together, played toget