July, 1911.

_Mate_:

There ought to be some kind of capital punishment for the woman who
has nothing to do but kill time. It's an occupation that puts
crimps in the soul and offers the supreme moment in which the devil
may work his rabbit foot. No, I cannot settle down or hustle up to
anything until I hear from Jack or you. Very soon I will be
reduced to doing the one desperate thing lurking in this corner of
the woods, flirting with the solitary male guest, who has a strong
halt in his voice and whose knees are not on speaking terms.

Of course it is raining. If the sun gets gay and tries the bluff
of being friendly, a heavy giant of a cloud rises promptly up from
behind a mountain and puts him out of business. Still, why moan
over the dampness? It makes the hills look like great green plush
sofa-cushions and the avenues like mossy caves.

I have read till my eyes are crossed and I have written to every
human I know. I have watched the giggling little maids patter up
to a two-inch shrine and, flinging a word or two to Buddha, use the
rest of their time to gossip. And the old lady who washes her
vegetables and her clothes in the same baby-lake just outside my
window amuses me for at least ten minutes. Then, Mate, for real
satisfaction, I must turn to you, whose patience is elastic and
enduring. It is one of my big joys that your interest and love are
just the same, as in those other days when you packed me off to
Japan for the good of my country and myself; and then sent Jack
after me. Guess I should have stayed at home, as Jack told me, but
I am glad I did not.

Though it has poured every minute I have been here, there have been
bursts of sunshine inside, if not out. The other day my table boy
brought me the menu and asked for an explanation of _assorted_
fruits. I told him very carefully it meant _mixed, different
kinds_. He is a smart lad. He understands my Japanese! He
grasped my meaning immediately, and wrote it down in a little book.
This morning he came to my room and announced: "Please, Lady, some
assorted guests await you in the audience chamber; one Japanese and
two American persons."

I have had my first letter from Sada too, simply spilling over with
youth and enthusiasm. The girl is stark mad over the
fairy-landness of it all. Says her rooms are in Uncle's private
house, which is in quite a different part of the garden from the
tea-house. (Thank the Lord for small mercies!) S